After a long morning in the antique shops, it’s lunchtime. Hilton and Jim Cohen, an old friend from Harvard, are enjoying excellent beef tacos with shaved red cabbage and cilantro.

“Hilton, I’m really glad we’re doing this. I need to ask you a big favor.”

“Shoot”

That’s just what I’ve been thinking, but more like incendiary.”

“You lost me. Besides’ I haven’t got any.”

“Let me start over. Last week my doctor gave me some bad news. I won’t get medical, but he says I’ve only got about four months of normal function ahead, then rapidly down from there.”

“Sorry to hear this. How can I help?”

“You know I’m Jewish, but not one of those scriptural assholes who think that our destiny as a race must be to take everything away from everybody else. I’m a Libertarian Nationalist, same as you. I’ve been thinking lately that to keep my personal integrity about indigenous populations, I should either live in Israel or just renounce Judaism and stay here, but I like Qabalah too much.”

Hilton interrupts, “You know I’m a Qabalist too. You don’t need to be Jewish.”

“I know, but you’ve adapted it for Nordic pantheons, and I think you should have based your attributions on the Nine Worlds, not the Ten Sephiroth. I’m into Qabalah is a very Hebrew way… but we’re off-track here.

“Anyway, the New World Order media bosses are not my kind of Jew. I want to atone for what they’ve done to this country by striking back on a scale that will have people talking, and even thinking, for some time to come.”

Jim stops to enjoy his taco for a minute, now going on two minutes. Hilton looks anxious,

“Please, the suspense is too much to bear. You must continue.”

“Hah. You know that I can fly a jet fighter, even though I never had to in war. You also know that I don’t like the huge rise in the open display of fagotry. I’ve always believed that queers should not be persecuted, so we gave them that, but the next thing you know they’re trying to recruit in the elementary schools, petitioning Congress to make mandatory the reading of books like Mary Has Two Fathers. They are trying to teach little kids that degeneracy is an alternative lifestyle equal in viability to sexual normalcy! And the media bosses support it, and everything else that’s rotten and depraved. The more unnatural and destructive, the more they promote it.

“I prepared a short essay that should be sent to law enforcement abd media just before the event. That’s where you come in, with a mass email. Here’s the part I do, actually getting several birds with one stone. I commandeer a jet fighter. I’ve already located surplus napalm. In June they have the Gay Rights Parade...:

Hilton interrupts, “Holy shit! You said scale. I was with Liz when it was on the TV news one year. There were seventy thousand, of them in a column. I said ’Jeese, Ma, look! It’s the fudge packers union on strike again this year.”

Jim chuckles. “I plan to set the plane down near a rental car, then straight to the airport for a flight to Israel, where they can’t touch me. Plus, I have the foremost medical expert on my problem practicing in Tel Aviv, so who knows, maybe at least I can get a little more time to write my memoirs. See what I mean about many birds?”

“I do, but I need to ask two things… First, don’t you think the media people will turn your intention around with the homophobia bullshit? After all, you are being pretty hard on people just for being consenting perverts.”

Jim frowns remembering…

“When I was eleven. I was at a public urinal in Cambridge. A tall man about thirty, with a pompadour and widow’s peak, wearing a navy p-coat, came to the urinal on my left. He looked like a vulture with hunched shoulders and long neck as he craned his head over the top of the stall and stared down at my pecker. He had a long severe nose with flaring nostrils and used it like a Coati Mundi sniffing for truffles.”

I looked into is face. A madman with bloodshot eyes. He licked his quivering lips as if viewing a fine dinner. Then he came around the petition and grabbed my pecker. I turned away, but he threw an arm around my neck, then reached into my pants and started squeezing my balls hard. It still gives me a bad twinge of pain sometimes.”

Luckily, a cop came in right at that minute and arrested the guy. They had him on a half dozen other counts, so I begged off on further involvement, but for me, faggots are not just harmless consenting perverts.”

My parents had warned me about people like this at an early age, so I didn’t suffer any anxiety about it, but the physical pain will piss me off the rest of my life. I don’t have a phobia, just a healthy interest in preventative medicine. To me it’s like cleaning out a cave of vampire bats with a flame thrower. The essay you send covers all this briefly.”

“I see your point, but now the second question… won’t they get out jet fighters and shoot you down before you can even land?”

“No, I forgot to mention… very short timetable. It’s a Harrier. The entire footprint is less than three miles. I’ll be half way to Israel before they even figure out it’s me, plus I’ll be on board with phony I.D. wearing a beard and wig.”

You’re a genius, Jim.”

“You just figuring that out?”

June 24, 2026 Morning

A huge bulkhead opens and the Harrier slowly rises to position and moves off. The plane handles smoothly. Jim sees the pathetic legion just ahead and releases his cargo of death as he accelerates over them. The strafing instantly incinerates sixty thousand marchers in the middle, leaving ten thousand at each side partially burned, screaming, rolling on the ground or breaking through bystanders trying to get to water.

During the breakfast hour, Hilton sent Jim’s essay simultaneously to three hundred law enforcement agencies and news providers from a campus library computer, then went home to watch the truth on Infowars. The camera coverage equals what it would have been without the napalm, but minus the close camera people who had to run for their lives.

Hilton is astounded by the entire spectacle, and is glad when he hears that the “madman” or “Dragon of God’s Wrath,” depending on the source, got away. It isn’t until the evening news that Jim’s name is first mentioned. They don’t talk about Israel until the next morning. Jim’s neighborhood Rabbi will make no comment.

The subverted media are paralyzed with ambivalence. What should they do? If only it were a white gentile who aced the queers. They finally decide to fabricate a story from “sources whose identities must be protected” about Jim being a sensitive artistic Jewish boy badly beaten as a child by a homophobic white Catholic babysitter, then persecuted at school by homophobic white Protestant students.

The populace at large is surprised that a Jew would be implicated in something like this, but most are, even if they don’t say so, generally delighted by the success of the mission, especially the numbers.

Prophesy reconcilers are having a field day, quoting the Bible, Koran, and Nostradamus.

The homosexual community, or what’s left of it, are planning weeks of pink candlelight vigils. Pantywaists everywhere are so enraged and frustrated that all they can do is sca-ream.

“The Journal of Human Normalcy” headlines “80,000 Flaming Fags go up in Smoke.”

A pretty little Mormon woman is devastated by the news of this event. She calls it sick. A friend riding with heron the bus says,

“I think there are many who would say that eighty thousand sex perverts marching publicly to show how proud they are to be sex perverts is itself pretty sick.”

She scowls stubbornly, but still looks pretty.

July11. 2026

Daryl, Hilton, Jeff, and Sigurd have heap big big pow-wow in Las Vegas.