WHEN I’VE COME BACK TO MY SENSES IN MY ROOM, I determine that the only reasonable course of action is to get on my computer and find something soothing to watch.


So I click onto Hulu and let stream the first thing that loads: a made-for-TV Movie called THE NEW ARYANS.


At first I disregard the set’s obvious similarities to Dodge City, but by the time Col. Pussygrab and his retinue of Swamp Creatures appears onscreen, it’s impossible to deny that what I’m watching is actually some form of news — either that, or else what I believe has been going on in reality has actually been nothing but some form of Cinema.


I sincerely hope it’s the latter, but now I’m so transfixed by the screen I can’t remember the distinction I was just trying to draw.



SO I GO ON watching as Pussygrab and Co. schedule appointments at the Dodge City Bleaching Clinic to have their lips, assholes, and even their eyes bleached. This segment is done in choppy montage — we watch as their jaundiced eyes and weeping brown assholes are buffed to a gleaming white, as a lederhosen-clad children’s choir chants the word Purity over and over in the background.


Then the Swamp Creatures parade past the cameras to the Dodge City Skin Dept., where the shed skins of various past heroes and villains hang on shelves, somewhere between museum pieces and costumes for rent.


Here they ask the Proprietor to take down the skins of the Dodge City Aryans, unused since the last Dodge City Genocide finally wore itself down decades ago, and the perpetrators were skinned alive in Sacrifice Square, their bodies thrown into Dead Sir to decompose.


Now, with Pussygrab at the fore, the Swamp Creatures make a grand ceremonial gesture of donning these old Aryan Skins, covering their green scales and pustules as fully as possible.


Except, it’s not very possible at all: try as they might, their Swamp Bodies are too bulbous, too tentacular, to be zipped up and called white.


So, in a rage, Pussygrab directs the Camera Crew to follow him back to Sacrifice Square, where he calls on Dodge City’s last surviving Kosher Butcher to perform a crucial service:


“Shave us down,” he says. “Do not delay. It must be done. These Skins are miniscule. The last batch of Dodge City Aryans was nothing compared with us! We are men where they were mere boys!!”


The Kosher Butcher, wilting with a look of infinite resignation, runs an extension cord into the Square and warms up his Electric Flensing Knife, whispering under his breath in Hebrew, despite the none-too-subtle growls of the Swamp Creature nearest him.


Once the Knife beeps red, he pulls on a set of safety goggles and, still muttering, begins shaving the Creatures down.


This part, I have to admit, amuses me: I’m slouching behind my computer, eating Room Service pasta that must have appeared sometime during the last segment, as the Butcher flenses off a tremendous flurry of goiters, tumors, snouts, and tentacles, greenish-yellow blood spurting in all directions as Rammstein’s “Tier” plays unironically on the soundtrack.



BY THE TIME IT’S DONE, the New Aryans are complete: the Swamp Creatures have vanished inside their Aryan Skins, which, now that they’ve been shaved down, cover all of them except their penises.


It’s strange to see Pussygrab and his retinue goose-stepping across Sacrifice Square, zipped into suits of gleaming white and platinum blonde, green erections in hand, dripping on the cobblestones.


TO BE CONTINUED … says the Hulu homepage, and immediately starts loading what appears to be a second feature in this series, entitled, predictably I suppose, THE NEW JEWS.



I PASS OUT. When I come to, I can’t tell whether I’m looking at my computer screen or out my window.


Either way, what I see is a pile of tumors and tentacles in the Square, twitching gently and then less and less gently in the moonlight.


Soon, they’re twitching frantically, slithering around one another, jittering and conjoining like cut lizard tails struggling to regrow. I watch as a Swamp Totem creates itself in the Heart of Dodge City, pulsing and twitching in a way that slowly or quickly (by this point, I can’t tell) hypnotizes me.


My vision goes green and I enter a frenetic reverie in a mossy grove on the banks of Dead Sir, where the New Aryans have unzipped their white skin to reveal their green chests, and are wearing bulls’ horns and drinking from severed goat heads and burning children in a pit and howling — at the moon, or at some unseen effigy or god — and all I can think is, Swamp Mode is real, Swamp Mode is real, remember that Swamp Mode is real …


I pass out again in front of my computer, afraid that I will have forgotten whatever I’m supposed to remember by the time I wake up, which I don’t necessarily hope is anytime soon.