I once knew this cat named Adolf Ajax, a lonely caucasian with droopy eyes and a chipped tooth. The brotha was a sad sight, his face frequently covered in white greasepaint to hide his mortal scars. Adolf wasn't a Nazi or a proud German, as his name might suggest. Nope, in fact, on the contrary, Mr. Ajax was filled with a self-loathing befitting someone in the Woody Allen camp.

Constantly strung out on paint thinner and old gouda cheese, Adolf was the epitome of the seething gutter lifestyle, spending most of his nights bouncing around like Tigger up and down Houston street in New York, ranting and raving at the Hebes about his obsession with "matzos" and the lifelong vendetta he held against his parents for "making him German".
"The motherfuckers!" he would scream. "So goddamn German they would only snip the tip!" In his garbled, drunken colloquialisms, he was vociferantly damning his parents for being poor and only being able to afford the infant Adolf with half a circumcision, leaving him with a puny member akin to an acorn. "Oh my Hassidic brethren, hear my humble pleas! All I ask is that you understand that I hate myself more than Himmler hated kosher pickles! Why?! Why, you ask?!!! Because..." He sobbed pathetically. "I'm envious of a Ken doll!" More crying, followed by the obligatory shitting of his trousers.

Bear in mind, this was modern New York City and Greenwich Village no less. Naturally, nobody was paying much attention, writing Sir Ajax off as the garden variety psychotic mole person*. And even through glazed eyes and much a drool about nothing, Adolf could see this. So he climbed to the top of the closest tall thing in sight, a 400-pound bouncer from a nearby night spot, and cried out louder, showering his fellow man in chunks of New England Clam Chowder from Katz's Deli (where he shared a mutual ejaculation with Meg Ryan earlier in the evening) and booze-laden saliva.

"Jumping Jews of Jerusalem, lend me your ears...and your locks and bagels cuz I'm hungrier than a motherfucker!" He continued, "I despise my origins and want nothing more than to cut any ounce of German out of my otherwise proud Franco-American body! Oh, why! Oh, why?!"

This was it, the necessary button that needed to be pushed in order for the droves to trample the hobo swine. "Before I could count to Z, they had bum rushed me."

Yea, a crowd of minorities from the best gentrified City this side of Mortville (see: John Waters' Desperate Living) jumped the emaciated geek and tore his flabby ass to bits, lacing into him with everything from dog bones to garbage cans. In the aftermath, a decrepit Rabbi came hobbling into the gutter and asked the young man what the alarm was all about?

After pocketing his own jagged teeth and wiping blood from his nose with his dry, elongated tongue, Adolf replied: "I don't know. I guess the Jews and the Nigris took my beseechment as a joke and thought I was mocking them. Leave it to the minorities to get all defensive. God, what a bunch of cry babies."

As Adolf wobbled back and forth, attempting to find some footing in the dank alleyway, he saw a red light peripherally. His first thought was, "Hey, it must be the star of David, coming to rescue my humble ass. Well, hallelujah!"

But...this notion was quickly dismissed when the Rabbi's gun came into focus and Adolf acknowledged the red light for what it truly was---an infrared scope. Next thing he remembered, he was waking up in a hospital with gauze around his big cranium and a bottle of pain killers wedged in his buckteeth

"Goddammit! They put me in Bellevue? What the fuck?! The only thing I hate more than a ghetto-ass gulag like this is my own sorry ass."

With this, Adolf tore out his IV, grabbed the nearest bed pan and leapt out the window, successfully evading an approaching nurse with a fat bill for his hospital stay. In the parking lot, he itched his scalp raw, taking one last look at the Emergency parking lot before flipping Bellevue the bird and starting down the road on his newly-sprained ankle.

Later that day, Adolf was fatally gunned down by a group of anti-Fascist extremist Leprecaun terrorists who mistook his apartment for the one down the hall where their real enemy, S.S. Dr. Longfellow Hamburger, lived. Mr. Ajax is survived by his pet hamster Soon-Yi and his estranged mother Ilsa. A funeral will be held tomorrow, but who cares?