“Won’t ya let me take you on a sea cruise?”

by David Benjamin

“No one reached out to me and said, ‘As a senior citizen, are you willing to take a chance on your survival in exchange for keeping the America that all America loves for your children and grandchildren?’ If that’s the exchange, I’m all in.” 

— Texas Lieutenant Gov. Daniel Patrick

WASHINGTON, D.C. — Deputy Acting Assistant Provisional Temporary Chief of Cabinet Operations and Chinese Virus Vice-Czar Marvin Q. Kadiddlehopper needed desperately to get the attention of the Dear Leader. Risking his job, Marv stepped in front of the TV, obstructing the Dear Leader’s view of the smokin‘ hot Blonde in the middle of the couch on “Fox and Friends.”

DEAR LEADER: “Hey, what the (expletive!) Get the (expletive) out of my way, you little (two expletives)!”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Sir, I’m sorry. But you have to decide today. Moscow Mitch is on the phone every ten minutes.”

DEAR LEADER: “Decide? Why me? Who died and made me responsible?”

Marv fell silent, helpless to answer to this blurt. Finally, as the Dear Leader craned his neck to see around Marv and savor the Blonde, Marv persevered. 

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “It’s about the elderly, Your Eminence.”

DEAR LEADER: “Elderly? Who the (expletive) is elderly?”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Hm, well, technically, you are, sir.”

DEAR LEADER: (Rising up on his hind legs) “Are you callin‘ me old, you little (expletive) pile of (two expletives).”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “No sir! Oh no! I’m referring to the millions of senior citizens who are especially susceptible to the coron — er, Chinese virus.”

DEAR LEADER: “Oh, come on, you (expletive) jerkoff! I toldja the other day I came up with a perfect solution for the geezers. Goddamn, what a brain I’ve got!”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “I remember, Your Majesty. That idea about rounding them all up, loading them on trains and sequestering them in camps.”

DEAR LEADER: “Really nice camps! Beautiful camps!”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “But, well… camps, sir?”

DEAR LEADER: “What the (expletive) is wrong with camps?”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Well, Your Magnificence, the idea sort of brings back unfortunate memories for many people. You know, 1939?”

DEAR LEADER: “Nineteen thirty-nine? How (expletive) old do think I am, douchebag-face?”

Marv paused again. He sometimes struggled to steer a conversation away from the Dear Leader’s impenetrable focus on himself. He changed direction.

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “I agree! Wonderful idea, Your Reverence. But there are practical issues. The railroads are in bad shape. They would probably need — ”

DEAR LEADER: “Hey, move aside, willya? Whoo-ee, looka that Blonde. What’s her name? I forget her name. Ya think she’s wearin‘ a bra. I don’t think she’s wearin‘ a bra. You can see right through — ”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: (Fighting bravely for attention) “Sir, there’s another possibility, which dates back to that same period. Nineteen thirty-nine.”

For a moment, the Dear Leader loses focus on the Blonde.

DEAR LEADER: “Say what?”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Have you ever heard of the St. Louis, sir?”

DEAR LEADER: (Returning to the Blonde, who tosses back her mane and tugs at her nine-inch skirt) “Yeah, St. Louis. Sure, I know that. It’s in Kansas.”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “No, sir, not the city. I mean the ship, the S.S. St. Louis, which sailed out of Hamburg on May 13th, 1939.”

DEAR LEADER: “Looka that? She’s crossing her legs. You can almost smell…”

Marv soldiers on, explaining that the St. Louis, bound for Cuba with 937 Jewish refugees escaping Nazi persecution, was turned away in Havana, then spurned in Florida when President Franklin Roosevelt failed to intervene. The ship then tried Canada, where the government also refused to accept the refugees. The St. Louis, without a port in the mortal storm, steamed back into the Atlantic. 

DEAR LEADER: “This a long story, pencil-neck. I’m bored.”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Well, Your Holiness, the trick here is that even though everyone remembers Dachau and Auschwitz — ”

DEAR LEADER: “Who are they? They sound German? My dad was a German immigrant. Melania, too. Wait, no. Maybe she’s from Austria. You know, with the kangaroos?”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Let’s skip that part, sir. My point is that nobody remembers the fate of the people stuck in the middle of the ocean on the St. Louis. They were on a voyage to nowhere.”

The Dear Leader yawns and scratches his nether parts. 

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “There’s an opportunity here, sir. Because what pastime do seniors love more than just about any other leisure activity?”

DEAR LEADER: (He knits his brow, until suddenly, his eyes light up) “Porn stars! Dating porn stars!”

Marv takes another pause, waiting while the Dear Leader re-lives his eighteen seconds of ecstasy atop Stormy Daniels.

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “What I was referring to, Your Horniness, besides frolics with adult-film actresses, is that there’s nothing your typical American golden-ager loves more than a cruise. On the ocean, sir.”

DEAR LEADER: “On the ocean?”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Yes, O Captain My Captain. Think of it! We put them all on air-conditioned tour buses and drive them to Brooklyn, Oakland, Miami, Galveston, a dozen other seaports. We pile them into these gigantic cruise ships — which are all sitting idle right now. We give the geezers a nice stateroom, feed ’em all they can eat, provide free booze and give them floor shows with a lot of creaky has-beens like Wayne Newton and Dolly Parton. And there they are: the best and brightest of the Greatest Generation and the Baby Boom — all jammed together on the beautiful sea, eating, dancing, drinking, infecting…”

DEAR LEADER: (Finally interested) “It’s like my camps, only… wetter.”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Yes, My Lord, and the beauty part? It all happens out of sight. Out of mind. Out of the news. In the end, when they go, it’s like a whisper in the dark. You roll ’em up in a snow-white sheet, weight ’em down and slide ’em down a greased chute into the wine-dark sea. And all the while the band is playing ‘Nearer My God to Thee’ and a maybe few fellow old-timers in face-masks and American Legion caps fire off a 21-gun salute. Splash.”

DEAR LEADER: “Oh, you’ve touched my heart, kid. Maybe you’re not such a (expletive) moron, after all. I like your plan. Whip me up an Executive Order, and gas up the buses.”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “I think you should avoid the word, ‘gas,’ sir.”

DEAR LEADER: “Yeah, whatever. But there’s one thing you gotta do.”

KADIDDLEHOPPER: “Sir?”

DEAR LEADER: “If these are gonna be My Ships, I want my name on ’em. In gold letters, okay? Bigly!”