Because 3’s The Charm!!!
“What is it with these people? Baring their teeth like wolves? Screaming through their noses? Swaying, shaking, rocking their heads? Can these really be those people? How’s that possible? They look like a legislature of rooks gone out of its mind!”
The only reason Steve Kowalski is talking out loud is because he knows he has an unwilling audience of One in the ancient, massive, and grotesque Hunched Cornish, who is trying to make up his mind about what he is going to do: claim the head in his macabre ages-old game with the Half Guinea, a seemingly easy acquisition under the circumstances, or just leave the scene and what will no doubt be, from that point on, a half-insane Kowalski, whom the Cornish disdains.
“Mmm… Yeah, I’m getting the fuck outta here…”
Fascinated, even transfixed on the budding scene before him, like a child, Kowalski barely registers the Cornish’s pronouncement as he continues watching from across the street male Hasidim form an ever-greater crowd outside the secret and undisclosed offices of The Kyiv Commix, somewhere in Kyiv’s war-wounded Podil District, whence he’d been fired earlier that day.
“Oh… ah… why, ah, why you wanna leave?”
“Because I don’t want to stay and see, that’s why, Kowalski – not that it’s any of your damned business. But when you see it, little boy, you’re not gonna like it… one bit.”
Silence, as Kowalski continues watching, ignoring the Hunched Cornish’s disquieting forewarning.
“You know,” Steve finally manages, “I do think capital punishment is justified with crimes so horrifying, that the state is absolutely obligated to reassure society of its safety and protection by carrying out the ultimate act of retribution and taking vengeance on its behalf. And… and… I know that denigrating, at least on paper, the Power of the Jews, by describing it as merely ‘temporary’ does not quite rise to the level of outrageous culpability as, say, slaughtering a local community center filled with elderly bingo players with an ax, but…”
“Well, that’s not such a big deal, Kowalski, but, yeah, I guess a guy like that should get the literary ax himself, for argument’s sake, let’s just say. But that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, I’m not particularly interested in seeing the guilty party drawn out of that building by soldiers and then marched to the sanctioned guillotine in the fenced-off front yard of the defunct Hasidic Strip Bar for execution, because… Look, Kowalski: the way I see it, you’ll actually have a pretty good chance of preventing it from happening. If you can do that, you’ll change your mind about the whole thing. And it won’t matter to you that the Joker who claimed the Jews were only short-term in this world was the same individual who called for your firing, and got what they wanted, which is why you want to see them dead. Right now, you think you’ll be happy to see their head roll, even if it’s for a made-up crime, the punishment for which is even more abominable than the cynical mockery and vicious depravity of the accusation itself. Trust me, you’ll think different when it happens. See ya…”
The Hunched Cornish dissolves into the falling night like a soft blue mirage. There he was, and now… “How did that happen? How did he do that?”
But Kowalski’s attention and excitement soon return to the present moment, as he stands but a short distance from a roiling mob of Hasidic Jews.
Any minute now, the Ukrainian soldiers who’d been ordered to bring out the Commix Union Joker, who’d insulted Jewish Power in a series of Anti-Notices posted to the Kyiv Unedited website, while in the same breath aggressively demanded Kowalski be fired, will be escorting out of the building that piece-of-shit loser, Bob Covertonesos, whom Kowalski’d tried to befriend, but who sneeringly laughed in his face in the kitchen, purposefully emptying the coffee pot into his own cup, only because he knew Kowalski had wanted the last of the hot and warmly satisfying vanilla-flavored joe.
Yes, no doubt, Steve Kowalski absolutely does not care if this Covertonesos’ pending beheading is equal to the made-up crime; yes… yes… he absolutely, ABSOLUTELY wants to be looking right at his fat fucking face as that guillotine blade comes down, and give it the finger precisely at the moment his balding head is swished and pops right off his fat, fucking, middle-aged, loser body – so that it’s the last thing he sees (of course) before it’s “bye-bye”…
But, what’s this?! It’s Commix Girl! Being shoved out the door and into the street by Ukrainian soldiers! Commix Girl?!
Sounds of some alarm and confusion rise up from the angry, indignant mob of Hasidic males; voices that, but a moment before, had been uniformly smug, raucously self-righteous, and clamoring jubilantly in worked-up frenzies, chanting and dancing for the consummation of their greatly anticipated and long-awaited act of revenge.
A girl? A young woman? They’d never expected it – that she had been the one who’d dared to hurt their feelings regarding their Power. And so, what do they do, now? Does this change anything? Do they march a goyim girly to her end and cut off her head? And do they then want to throw her body into a secret pit to be torn apart by their very own hunger-crazed dogs, until what’s left is no longer recognizable?
And Steve just can’t believe. CG?! She, it was, who’d consistently demanded the Commix give him the boot? And it did… and it did!!! Making her happy, he finally correctly guesses; giving her relief…
As for the Jews, well, no; a deal was a deal; an agreement, an agreement. In exchange for the Union Joker culprit writing his (well, her) disparagings about the Power of the Jews, they would leave The Kyiv Commix alone, and stop calling the news outfit “antisemitic”.
And now, they are all in the fenced-off courtyard of the boarded-up Hasidic Strip Bar, and Commix Girl is on her knees, her head, secured through the lunette of their state-sanctioned guillotine.
But there is still some palpable hesitation; some serious questions being raised if this is what they should really be doing to her, rather than putting her to some other, ‘better’, use(s).
To the Hasidic elders, some of the younger Jews are saying, like: ‘But, don’t you think, instead of killing her, maybe we should, you know, take her into the old bar and…?’
Far more directly, albeit, also far more nervously: “Don’t you think that, instead of cutting off her head, we should, you know… YOU know…?!?” says the Hasid who’s supposed to pull the rope that makes the blade to fall – Swoosh! Plunk! Roll, roll, roll…
For a while, conferring, the Hasid elders contemplate the suggested proposition, but then say: “No! Proceed with the beheading! There’ll be plenty of time for shtupping goyim shiksas, when each of us has 2,800 idolatrous goyim for slaves. But now, we get our earned and greatly deserved revenge…!!!”
True to the Hunched Cornish’s prediction, Steve steps forward among them in a lather and a rage. He says:
“Do you really think you will never know, never live to see, your own destruction? Are these the fulfillments of your auguries and prognostics, or some feverish dark horror wizarded out of Babylon?
“Everything’s been turned upside-down and twisted inside-out!
“I know all about the Wolf-Street Colonel, Sunday Goyim Editions; all about the Jewish Lobster Fund; and all about the Antisemitism Hunters Concern! I know about it ALL!!!
“Do you not fear the savage response – coming from a place of righteous love and divinely inspired intelligence, led by angels – from those God commissions to be instruments of His Will in emergency situations? And there will be many! FOR I AM ONE!
“Do you really think there will be no justice, no retribution, no fury; remember ye not that when the wind you sow, the whirlwind you shall surely reap? That your bulwarked worship of the harlot of power, and this, your irredeemable alliance with Satan, trothed at the altar of your invented shrine, will be your devastation and your ruin?”
And Steve begins to make toward the Jew holding the rope, about to pull it. He will stop him from doing so. The mob parts to let him through.
He’s doing it, he’s really, really doing it; and now, just a step more or two, and the rope man will be in reach, and…
But from behind him, a strong and determined hand grabs him by a shoulder to restrain him.
“Stevie… Steve… Steve…”
It’s… John Smith!!! Grabbing Steve with his left, while clearly holding his cold-blue revolver in his right.
Smith says no more, but calmy pushes Steve off to the side.
“Okay, you Jewish mugs… better let her go… or I’ll let you have it, see…”
But Steve is not having it. He jumps back into the action and makes a lunge for Smith; but Smith quickly flips the revolver in his hand and cold-cocks Kowalski in the head with the butt, crumpling him to the ground at his feet, like a soiled handkerchief.
Steve Kowalski blinks his eyes open. It doesn’t take long for it all to come back to him. But looking around, from the ground where he lies, there’s no one there: no soldiers, no Jews, and no Commix Girl in the guillotine, and no John Smith. Everyone is gone.
Steve rolls on his back and puts a hand to his head to feel and rub the spot where he’d been struck.
But over him he suddenly sees the Hunched Cornish – staring, no, glaring down at him, glowing-glowering blue. The Cornish reaches down for Steve…
And it is here our story cuts off, as we simply don’t know what happens next…
Filed by The One Who Shall Continue to Remain Unnamed, January 12, 2026