Jews, Don’t Talk To Me About People Not Caring When You’re Killed

By Kenny McCormick, South Park

You Jews have got it tough. You’ve been persecuted. Enslaved. Massacred. Impoverished. Slandered. Dehumanized. And precious few people seem to care, if at all. Nevertheless, you’ll have to excuse me for not rushing to show compassion or to protect you, because I’m a little bit caught up in my own drama right now of being killed repeatedly and having the event barely register among my so-called friends, let alone the world. So don’t talk to me about people not caring when you’re killed.

I will grant that there are certain parallels between our experiences, you Jews and I. We get mocked a lot. There is an initial reaction to our many grisly deaths that includes anger at the perpetrator, followed soon after by a return to the normal state of affairs as if nothing important has happened. And we are disproportionately associated with efforts to undermine or lampoon widely accepted weltanschauüngs. So I should feel some affinity for you, and perhaps some empathy deriving from our common experiences, but I don’t. I’m not there. I’m focused on my own suffering right now, from disillusionment born of the repeated discovery that people who I thought cared about me don’t really care at all.

I will even concede that in many ways the Jewish experience features far more pain, suffering, death, humiliation, and unearned antipathy than does my own. Basic arithmetic shows why: you’ve been around much longer than I. I was created in 1992, and did not start getting murdered with any regularity until 1997 or so. You, on the other hand, have been getting shafted every which way since the second millennium BCE. But I’m sorry, I just don’t find myself moved by your plight, because, let’s face it, you’ve always bounced back, in ways to which an animated cartoon character such as I simply cannot relate. I don’t inhabit your flesh-and-blood, three-dimensional world. You’re going to have to find someone else to express solidarity.

Don’t get the wrong idea – I’m not constitutionally incapable of empathy for you; I’m just not in a conducive emotional and mental state to do so. Maybe when I’m older and more mature I’ll develop the requisite capacity, but for now, let’s remember I’m perpetually in the fourth grade. I’ve progressed one year in my entire cartoon life. You can’t expect me to suddenly develop real human empathy. If anyone

 

[Ed. 1: Oh my God! They killed Kenny!] [Ed. 2: You bastards!]