You Say Gazpacho, I Say Gestapo. Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off (Apologies to George and Ira Gershwin)—Satire
“Congresswomen Taylor, it’s good to see you again. Last time I interviewed you was after your Jewish laser beam fiasco. I recall you made that trip to New York City to tour Brooklyn with a bunch of Orthodox Jews. Those Black Hats taught you the lay of the land—taking you to a kosher restaurant, a yeshiva and a matzah bakery. They koshered you. You even learned a little Yiddish.”
“Honey, bless your heart. Ya’ll got a great memory. I’ll never forget how those yiddsha yeshiva boychicks stared at my tuches. It was like they never saw a shiksa’s backside. But now I’m in hot water again. You gotta help me pull my cute little ass out of this fire. I need your help to convince those Yosemites that I ain’t stupid because that Brooklyn yeshiva is getting ready to award me an honorary degree in the Humanities.”
“Well Marjorie, what did you say this time?”
“Well, I was ranting and railing against that alter cocker, Nancy Pelosi, and her “gazpacho police” when one of my aides whispered into my ear that it was the “Gestapo police” not gazpacho police. But by then it was too late to correct my silly mistake. I hoped it wouldn’t find its way to FaceBook, TikTok, YouTube or Twitter. But you know my luck. It went viral. I reckon I shoulda kept my flap shut. It’s not fair for the public to expect a congresswoman to know the difference between Hitler’s brutal secret police force and a chilled red Spanish tomato soup. They’re always picking on me.”
“Marjorie, didn’t I tell and warn you to stop making references to the Nazis and the Jews. It’s not in your field of expertise.”
“Yup, you did. But I just couldn’t help myself. When I start talking about that so-called January 6th Insurrection and those good-for-nothing Democrats, my little ol’ mouth gallops a lot faster than my brain trots. So I want you tell the media my story. You tell them, I was hungry because that morning, I missed my bacon and eggs breakfast. So while I was talking, my head yelled and my stomach roared, ‘I want a chilled bowl of rich and creamy tomato soup.’ I craved a soup bursting with fresh-from-the-garden-summer flavors. Now ya’ll understand how my slip of the tongue occurred. That itsy-bitsy mistake made me look like an ignoramus. Now the whole country is laughing at little ol’ me because of my innocent slip up. And it ain’t funny. I’m looking for a final solution to have the press give me a bissel of a break and quit riding my ass.
“Well Marjorie, we could visit the Holocaust Museum in DC and learn about the Shoah.”
“You mean you would showah little ol’ me what those nasty Gestapo folks did to the Jews”
“Yup.”
“Well, we’ve got a date.. See you tomorrow at the museum at nine. I hope your plan gets me out of this hot soup. No pun intended. I want that honorary degree from that yeshiva. It will help me get reelected in Georgia and maybe even get me a shot at being nominated as the GOP’s vice-presidential candidate.
“Great, after the museum, I’ll treat you to a bowl of gazpacho or is it Gestapo soup.”
