“J. Kenji López-Alt, a chef, writer and part owner of a beer hall in California, took to Twitter… ‘It hasn’t happened yet, but if you come to my restaurant wearing a MAGA cap, you aren’t getting served, same as if you come in wearing a swastika, white hood, or any other symbol of intolerance and hate,’ he wrote.
His Twitter account has been inundated by angry responses from the pro-Trump crowd on Twitter, some of whom threatened to boycott the business and López-Alt’s cookbooks.”
— “How a star chef’s angry MAGA-hat tweet triggered a storm of misleading news,” The Washington Post, Feb. 2, 2019
Rick’s Cafe Americain in Casablanca has no respect for Nazi officers in uniform! Tonight, my men and I were subjected to the cruelest act of bullying the world has ever seen, simply because we were singing songs of the Fatherland. O Mein Gott, I can barely type this, my hands are shaking so badly!
Here is how it all went down. Today began calmly. We went about our peacekeeping duties, intimidating the low-lifes of Casablanca in hope that they might give up any fugitive French Resistance leaders stranded in their midst without letters of transit. After work, we decided to unwind at the famous Rick’s Cafe Americain. We chose Rick’s because it has good reviews on Yelp, and it’s not like there are any other respectable—how does one say?—“gin-joints” in the area. So off we went, just a group of innocent Nazi officers in our magnificent Nazi regalia, excited to sample the local libations.
The place was lively when we entered. The piano player (I believe his name is Sam) was on the bandstand and a number of debauched women decorated the gleaming bar. Mr. Rick himself cut a neat, if insolent, figure in his white dinner jacket, cigarette dangling from his lips. A hush fell over the room as we were escorted to our table, but we’re used to that; people often find it hard to contain their awe in the presence of the Master Race.
Anyhoo, the men and I settled down to some serious stein-hoisting. (I cannot lie—Rick’s selection of brews on tap will blow your mind.) Our spirits were high as we drank to the health of our dear Fuehrer. Noticing the piano player had gone on break, I motioned to my talented aide-de-camp, Gunther, that he should take a turn on the ivories. I thought we might have a jolly sing-song with our fellow patrons. Oh, what fun! The men and I were in full throat, and we had just swung into a lusty “Die Wacht am Rhein” when the trouble began.
As if on cue, the house band picked up their instruments and started playing “La Marseillaise.” I turned and saw the dangerous Resistance leader Victor Laszlo singing so loudly as to drown us out. Ah, I thought, if it’s a sing-off he wants, it’s a sing-off he shall have! But instead of abiding by the rules of the sing-off, he continued to sing right over us! Worse, all the patrons jumped to attention, even the debauched women, to bellow their French anthem louder and louder until the roof rattled. It was as if they were deliberately trying to defy us! Even the Vichy lapdog, Captain Renault, said he was shocked, SHOCKED, at the contempt those patrons showed for their conquerors. My little group was greatly outnumbered and I feared for our lives. Signaling for my men to stop singing, I ordered Renault to shut the place down.
Ach du lieber Himmel, what a terrifying experience! So much for the tolerant left. And what was Rick’s answer to the bigoted lynch mob mentality of his savage clientele? He banned us, the injured party, from ever wearing the Nazi uniform again at his watering hole—the uniform “symbolizes hate,” he says. Hate? Nazis? Pah! Has any group of people ever suffered such blatant persecution?
Gunther believes that we should march upon Rick’s Cafe to avenge this outrageous insult to the glory of the Fatherland, but I have ordered the men to stand down. I believe that the ignominy of an unfavorable Yelp review will do far more damage to Rick’s business than flaming torches ever could. Therefore, I, Major Strasser of the Third Reich, am giving Rick’s Cafe Americain just one-half-star, for the vast beer menu; try the Camel’s Kiss IPA—you’ll lose your shit, it’s that good. I advise anyone who cares about freedom of speech to stop frequenting this failing establishment and think on it no more. As our dear Fuehrer exemplifies, a Nazi always takes the high road in a dispute, so I am walking away from any further engagement with Mr. Rick Blaine. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he got death threats over this.
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