The last man standing (Poslední stojící muž)

Karl-Heinz Schnellebakker, Röchibäüld Sächse-Héûtélîér, zür Botendaddy and The Stalker were drinking Stoli 🦆 and roaking малю Сигаретю цжэкиже in Wroclaw (Breslau) (Pronounced Vi-roach-ya-Slav) at the Annual Pareczenethy Philosophy Conference when an aged professor approached. He had white hair, he reeked of marijuana and he walked with a cane.

Breslau Konzentrationen Kampf, 1944

”I was there.” He said to the Botendaddy.

„Was sagen Sie denn meiner Geehrter Häär Professor?“ Also grefragt (Pronounced guh-frocked) Schnellebakker.

“I was there when Pareczenethy was shot! You stupid, fat, shit-covered, nitwit, ass-hat scumbags! He died for Hoch Philosophische Prinzipalen! I saw it! He died with no emotion, no feeling, no concern. It is because of him that I swore that I would survive and study das Hoch Philosophischen Prinzipalen!”

The group was silent. The old man accepted Cigaretu from Schnellebakker and he continued with his story.

“My name is Häär Doktor Professor Klaus vanEyck DeLaCroix. I was a 👨‍🍳 baker’s apprentice in Diekirch in the Grand-Duchy of Luxembourg 🇱🇺. I was 18 years old and an extrême homosexuelle. The Gestapo came in to the Bakery one day and that demanded that I denounce my boss, the esteemed Meng Häär Schwarzen-Boom auf den Bäckerei und die Fascisten gesagt das er war einen halbs-Jüde! In the name of my beloved Grand-Duke, I told the National Socialisten Geheimstadtspolizei of the unnamed fascist entity Isst schlechtes Scheiße 💩 und Sterben!

Vianden Castle, Luxembourg 🇱🇺

The Stalker, being Luxembourgeoise, gave the crazy 😜 old man a big hug 🤗 with a tear in her eye  👁 😭 for upholding the honor of the ancient Grand-Duchy.

“Of course I was accused of decadent Jewish! Sympathy and extrême bourgeois homosexualité, beaten and repeatedly homosexually raped (ah the taste of it!) and sent to the filthy Concentration Camp here at Breslau. I still remember the barbed wire, the barking of shitty dogs 🐕, the unintelligible Teutonic gibberish on the loudspeaker 📢 the snow of Tötenfleisch…“

He roaked his malu Cigaretu, waved his hand and continued his account.

”It was in Januar 1944, that I met Häär Professor Pareczenethy and his dear friend Häär Professor von Anstädt, who was drafted as a Kamp Guard. I was working in the Kamp Bäckerei. I wore the homosexual pink triangle and Pareczenethy the Jewish! yellow star ⭐️. He also proudly wore his Eisenkreuz from the glorious Great War. Die Faschismus  did not take it from Häär Pareczenethy  upon orders of the Oberstürmführer, who was himself a Veteran of the Great War.“

“Pareczenethy taught me that we should never blame the German for National Socialism as it was a crime of Philosophy and not of Nationality. Thus I never say German. It is impossible to blame a Nationality for such a thing. Botendaddy himself is a proto-Jew! Albeit a green eyed blonde English Cromwell Crypto-Jew!“

“Why do you always shriek the word Jew?“

Also Gefragt Röchibäüld.

“It must be thus schroaken like the cry of the shrieking Valkyrie (Pronounced Wall-Kye-Rhee)“

“The Oberstürmführer, himself a scientist 👨‍🔬, would call in Pareczenethy and von Änstädt for ‘secret interrogation’ where the three of them would laugh, drink and discuss the Great War like old times auf den Universitäte. The Philosophische discussions taught me a great deal. I listen to every argument and syllogism. I was thus quite ready when I started University in Lille in 1947.

”Zaftiger Cigaretu! I was a camp Phücken-boi where I would be raped constantly by the soldiers, because I was a quasi-Aryan.“

“Pareczenethy taught me to experience each man-rape with fatalistic, nihilistic dialectical existentialism to thus achieve self-actualization. He told me that every experience, while meaningless from an objective point of view had intrinsic value for formulation of future philosophical discourse and argument.”

Schnellebakker offers another Czech Cigaretu. The old man nods approvingly, inhaling a healthy roak of the toxic poisonous ☠️ cyanide, radioactive, nicotine fumes. He waves his hand 🤚.

“One day, I believe it was Oktober 30, 1944, consequentialist, utilitarian orders came down from das Schützstaffel Quartier-Générale in Berlin. All Jews! Except Great War Veterans had already been liquidated, so the remaining few Jews! had to be likewise exterminated! Jewish! Veterans were given the Hoch honor of death 💀 by rifle. Von Anstädt begged the Kommandant for the privilege of Shooting! Pareczenethy. Zur Kommandant of course, agreed, as under his deontological view, duties create rules per C.D. Broad. Pareczenethy roaked his last Cigaretu, stood by the bloody wall conversed fondly with von Anstädt and apathetically told me not to look away, but to experience the event with Existential,  Nihilistic fatalistic apathy. To thus celebrate 🎉 his death 💀 with a higher Philosophische Weltunshauung!“

“His death 💀 was perfectly meaningless. It proved that Life was without objective meaning, purpose or value. He died with no expression on his shitty, hairy, repulsive face. It was for the glory of Philosophy! I loved him! I loved him! His death was a beautifully, meaningless, irrelevant event.“

“In 1946, I was present at the phony victor’s show trial of the Oberstürmführer for his obvious and grotesque crimes against humanity. The bourgeois, muscular, macho, silly Americans 🦅 asked me to testify. I testified in elaborate, cold detail every hideous, cruel, soulless crime including the slaughter of toddlers. I described in unemotional detail the piles of baby 👶 shoes. It was beloved Häär Pareczenethy who instructed me to look at the piles of baby clothes with a unwavering objective gaze to absorb the tragic result of bourgeois, emotion-based Philosophy. I see them to this day.“

“I told the court that the only way they could free the tortured, pathetic, rotting soul of the haggard, destroyed Oberstürmführer for his crimes against humanity was that he be hanged in shame and disgrace in a muddy, rainy shitty prison-yard surrounded by his enemies devoid of friends, love, humanity… and that his name would be stricken from the history books forever for his vile and disgusting cowardice. He of course received only five years hard labor, commuted to three months in exchange for coming to Langley and providing the Americans with Rocket 🚀 Science 🔬 data from the V-2 program. He died alone seven years later. He hanged himself in the muddy courtyard of an anonymous, shitty block of apartments in Trier, his soul condemned and beyond salvation. I received the news as if I heard the day‘s weather report.“

The Old man puts a hand on Botendaddy’s shoulder.

”My life, like yours is meaningless, purposeless shit. Your writing is verbal bowel movement. No-one will care when you die and it won’t matter. I will lecture here at Wroclaw at this Existential Nihilism Conference every year until I die. And I hope that when I die, that you stupid, fat, moronic idiots will be equally unemotional as I rot and I am eaten by filthy shit-covered worms 🐛 because my life and death are irrelevant and without objective meaning or purpose as was the beloved and esteemed Häär Doktor Pareczenethy, master of Existential Nihilism and a hero of Czech, Slovak, Polish and German Philosophers alike. No-one loves him more than the purposeless, lazy Czechs. His Nihilism reflects the apathetic, hopeless, self-indulgent Czech soul. There is, to this day, a statue of Pareczenethy in a forgotten quarter of Old Praha in a muddy, shitty parklet with a bronze Cigaretu forever in his filthy, grubby, shitty, hairy mouth 👄“





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