They toast Helen on her 100th birthday.
She then raises her glass and makes a toast:
“To the Palestinian people”
The Rabbi takes a drink and makes a toast:
“To the Israelis”
“Why are you toasting the Jews, Imam? asks Helen.
“I’m not a Imam. I’m a Rabbi.”
She reacts with a sigh and losing control of her bodily functions.
“Go back to Poland, I’m not drinking with you.” she says.
She tries to stand up and walk out, but she has soiled herself.
“That’s alright Helen.” says the Rabbi.
“The smell is almost as offensive as you. I’ll go now.”
“He probably wants something stronger to drink… like the blood
of Palestinian children.” Helen slobbers to Father Flagher.
“You say too much, Helen.” Father Flagher tells her.
He is sickened by the stench too and moves away.
She dissolves into a puddle. The stench clears the room. The bartender turns out the lights and closes the bar.
“Fine” says the puddle. “They love me in Dearborn. Obama gave me a medal. The Jewish Lobby can’t buy me…”
Still alive, the White House Press Corpse goes back to work. She soaks into the foundation, and lives forever.