"Where's Kakihito?" That's the question throughout Japan in the wake of the devastating earthquake, tsunami and reactor blowup that left Japan looking like the atom bomb hit it. Thousands of Japs protested at the Imperial Palace, incensed that their Divine Emperor sits in his comfy palace while his countrymen suffer as they never suffered since the war his daddy started. "It's been a week and still no Kaki. Haven't they got milk of magnesia in the joint?", asked one protester. After several hours the court spokesman came out with a bullhorn, explaining that there were no functioning toilets in the flattened parts of the country, and it would not become His Imperial Majesty's exalted station to crouch in the bushes to do his business. Besides, the spokesman said, bushes have been out of fashion since 2009. A protester bellowed back, "Obama bin Laden must be behind all this. His name is Barak, right? And all this shit hit us like lightning." The spokesman assured the crowd that the country's best engineers were working on the problem and the Divine Kakihito would soon come out.
Unknown to the crowd, Emperor Kakihito had been whisked from the palace through secret tunnels and flown by helicopter to Fukushima, site of a crippled atomic reactor. Persian engineers rigged up a royal deluxe portapotty, with every amenity imaginable, and pronounced it fit for a Shah. No sooner did the Emperor set foot on the tarmac than a commotion arose from the disheveled crowd. "Shah! Shtill! What's all the hullaballoo about?", exclaimed the chief engineer. An official pointed him to where a group of female volunteers was gathered. Signs identified them as "JAPS OF BORO PARK," and everybody was shouting with amazement at their clothing, haridos and jewelry. "Look at that dress she has on," gushed one women, herself dressed in whatever shmattas she could grab as the tsunami hit. "I have a yen for a dress like that." "Fuggedabboudit," said the lady next to her. "Something like that has got to cost more yen than you'll see in a lifetime." After the soldiers calmed the crowd, the Emperor began to address the throng. "We've been through worse before," Kakihito proclaimed. "We Japs are tough, and we'll get through this stronger than ever. But for a while we will have to endure the unendurable -" and he clutched his stomach and made a beeline for the Persian portapotty. Noises from inside caused worry among the crowd, with some speculating that the radiation caused a tsunami in the elderly Emperor's kishkes. A little boy picked up a handful of shitkake mushrooms and threw it at the portapotty, excitedly shouting, "aki-kake, aki-kake." One of the soldiers whipped out a samurai sword and, with bloodcurdling shouts of "Kamikaze! Banzai!" ran up, skewered the boy and, swinging him over his head like a chicken, called out "Thus shall be done to the one who delights to dishonor the Divine Emperor." The volunteers from Boro Park were heard saying to one another, "Yom k'Purim, Yom k'Purim." Soon everybody joined them in what they thought was a prayer for the Emperor's recovery.
V'nahafokh hu. . .
Late-breaking news from Shushan News Service - This sign went up all over New York City's showpiece Central Park. Evidently some putz on a computer did not know that Hebrew and Yiddish are read from right to left, and got the words for rabies, a fatal disease spread by mad dogs, backwards.