Nobody much thought the Americans would bomb Nagasaki. Not even after they'd crisped Hiroshima. The Americans. Because Nagasaki, it was even less a "military" target, than had been Hiroshima. And, it was hard to fly the airplanes in there. Finally, also, there were all those Catholics, in the city. For more than 400 years, Nagasaki, it had been the principal redoubt, in Japan, of the alien faith of Catholicism. The place, it was veritably crawling, with Catholics. And, it was presumed, the Americans, they would be more averse, to frying co-religionists, than those Japanese adhering to their own, native, heathenist faiths.

The first problem with these assumptions, is that, there in 1945, many of the Americans, they regarded Catholicism as a faith every bit as strange and dangerous and deranged, as Shinto or Buddhism, or whatever heathenism it was the Japanese were always on about.

Less than 20 years before, Al Smith, candidate for US president, he had been beaten like a gong by Herbert Hoover, not least because so many of the Americans believed that Smith, as a Catholic, once in the Oval Office, he would immediately deliver the keys to the American kingdom unto the Vatican, which would then commence to forcibly seed the land with popery, and from sea to shining sea.

Four years before that, Smith had been blocked from receiving the nomination by members of his own party, the Democrats, as convention delegates from the Southern states, many literally members of the Ku Klux Klan, declared they'd be damned, if they would surrender the party to a man in thrall to the Whore Of Babylon, united with Jews, Freemasons, and—yea, verily—Satan hisself, in a fiendish plot to destroy everything White and Right, in Amurica.

Nagasaki was actually more or less founded as a Catholic city, by a daimyo who'd gone over to the Western weirdness, not so long after white people had first bulled their way into Japan, back in the mid-1500s.

With the bullers, came their priests. Who hopped around the islands like fleas. The various head-cutters then vying for power in Japan, they vacillated in their treatment of these pests: sometimes they were given free rein, sometimes they were crucified. Eventually it was decided some of the white people, and some of their pestiferous priests, could remain in Japan—but only stuffed into a couple remote holes, one of which was Nagasaki.

By the time August 9, 1945, rolled around, the Urakami district of Nagasaki, it had been considered the "heart and soul" of Japanese Catholicism, and, indeed, of Catholicism throughout the Far East, since the sixteenth century.

And that district, it was ground zero, for the Americans' atomic bomb.

The Americans. They blew it all. Away.

Some thought had been given, by the Americans, to the fact that the pope, he might have a seizure, if the Americans, they might happen to burn up all the Catholics, there in Nagasaki.

But then, it was decided: the pope, he could just bugger right off.

For the Vatican was not, then, at its peak of influence, with the Americans. Because the pope, and his various primates, they had spent the past dozen years or so, closing their eyes, and putting their fingers in their ears, and trilling "la-la-la," whenever anybody happened to mention that the Germans were frying the Jews. Among many, and manifold, other, Teutonic, unpleasantnesses.

The US, and all the other Western nations, they had given no shits, about burning Jews, at the outset of the fires that time. But, now, that the Jews, they had incontrovertibly been burning, for years and years and years, these nations, they were feeling Guilty.

And the guy familiarly—and accurately—known as Hitler's Pope, he was an easy scapegoat. For all of their sins.

This, the guy, who, "as Hitler's armies crossed the Russian frontier in June 1941," together, with his female "aide," "joined in joyful prayers," and "said novenas for the Nazis and asked God to intercede for their total victory in Russia."

Party.

See, Hitler's Pope, he was pretty much interested, solely, during all that war-in-Europe business, in "Bolsheviks," being dead.

That, during the course of the Nazis making Bolsheviks dead, they also, out there, in the East, the Nazis, incinerated six million Jews? Well . . . fuck the Jews.

The Jews, they killed Jesus. Says so right there, in the Catholic liturgy, of the Passion. And has so said so. For more than a thousand years.

Jesus. Uber alles.

You shut your eyes, you lift no finger, when you could, for people, who are on fire, who are burning, who are not of you?

Then, fire, it may rain down, on people, who are of you.

Because. That's just the way. It works.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmNYaCkCmsM]

Nagasaki, it was not initially identified, by the Americans, as a city that should be nuke-bombed. In the beginning, the cities Kokura, Hiroshima, Yokohama, Niigata, and Kyoto, they were those, selected.

But then Harry Truman, the small-time Kansas City bagman then serving as president of the Americans, he was made to understand, by someone who had actually opened a history book, that Kyoto, it had been Japan's capital—when white people, they were still grunting and rooting in caves—and for more than a thousand years. So Kyoto. It was removed, from the list. And Nagasaki, it was selected, in its stead.

When the planes took off, to deliver the bomb: Nagasaki, it was but the back-up target. The nuke-rain, it was intended to fall, on Kokura.

But that city, it was obscured by smoke, lingering from a 229-plane-strong B-29 sortie over neighboring Yahata, the previous day.

Three times, the plane flying the nuke, passed over the city. But three times, the bombardier, he couldn't sufficiently See.

Meanwhile, a fuel pump, it had ODed, there in the nuke plane.

Because: it's always something.

The nuke-plane, it was weak, and it was coughing up fuel-blood: and so, it needed to drop, and soon

And so, the nuke people, they winged off to Nagasaki.

To find: sufficiently clear, there.

And so, there, the Americans, they dropped it.

And some 75,000 human beings. Instantly died. Incinerated. Not even, up in smoke.

The Americans, they had always intended, to drop both the bombs.

Long, very long, before any nuke bombs fell, the Japanese, they were already defeated; the Americans, they had long ago cracked the communications codes of the Japanese, and, therefore, they knew, the Japanese, were, even then, before any nuke-plane ever took off, amidst the intricate, very Japanese dance, that would inevitably lead to surrender; but the Americans, they needed to do Science Men experiments, with their bombs: the Hiroshima bomb, it was a uranium-235 anathema; while the Nagasaki anathema, it was a plutonium cthulhu: and the American Science Men, and their military overlords, over to whom the Science Men had sold their souls, they needed to Know, how both, and each, might work, in Real Life—in killing, evaporating, vaporizing, Real, People.

And, meanwhile, display to all the world—and especially the Soviet Union, already lined up as the Americans' new Foe—how truly, and really Big, was, now the American—nuclear!—Penis.

And when once the Americans, they had dropped "Little Boy," on Hiroshima, and "Fat Man," on Nagasaki: that was it.

The Americans, they were then out of nuke-bombs. They had no more. The nuke-larder, it was empty. And they had no hope, the Americans, of securing another, until at least October. If then.

Much that was "secret," it leaked out of the Manhattan Project, and environs. But the fact that the Americans, they had shot their extant nuclear wad, after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, that doesn't seem to have, anywhere, dribbled.

It is true that, after Hiroshima, a couple of Japanese nuclear scientists, they surmised that the Americans, they couldn't possibly hold many of these weapons in reserve. Wait it out, these Science Men urged. Not that much more Bad, they predicted, could Soon Come.

But the Emperor, he waved them away, told them to cut the shit. He said: "The nation is clearly dealing with barbarians, beyond any previous imagining, and beyond all control. They will burn the very sky, the earth, the water, the air. They don't care. They will Burn it All. To Win. And they do not understand, that just as it takes years to get into a war, it takes years to get out of one. These are people—utter barbarians—who cannot wait. They are so impatient, that they slam the toilet-seat down on their dicks, even as they are still peeing. And they will then continue to urinate, even into the ballroom, as they court their young ladies. Nothing can be done with such people. Now. Except to give them what they want. Immediately. And then lay back. Smiling. And wait."

That information, we know, without doubt, now, did indeed leak from the Manhattan Project, unto "foreign powers," this is an excellent illustration of how "the right," it is always "right," even as it is always "wrong," just as "the left," it is always "right," just as it is always "wrong."

For, back in the day, the "right," it went on jihad, that the Rosenbergs, Ethel and Julius, they were scummy disgusting commie spies, who passed Manhattan secrets, on to the Russkies.

While the "left," people from there, they moaned and marched and cried, that both Rosenbergs, they were innocent as lamb's fleece.

With the passage of time, we have learned, that both were wrong. As both were right. Because Julius, he did pass Manhattan info, on to the Russians. Not that it was of much use. But Ethel, she did not. And was unaware, that Julius did.

To me, the only most interesting part of this tale, is that those Americans prosecuting the Rosenbergs—including the judge—knew that Ethel was guiltless. But went after her anyway. Knowing she was innocent. Hoping that, through their hard-nosed prosecution, Julius, he would break, to save his wife. And/or, that one or the other would break, to save Ethel, to be with their two young children.

But their plan did not work. And then they sat on their hands. As they sent Ethel to the electric chair. And watched her fry. A woman they knew to be innocent.

The truest book, in the history of the Americans, is Robert Coover's The Public Burning. And the truest passage, therein, is the burning of Ethel Rosenberg. Which concludes thusly:

Her body, held only at head, groin, and one leg, is whipped like a sail in a high wind, flapping out at the people like one of those trick images in a 3-D movie, making them scream and duck and pray for deliverance. Her body, sizzling and popping like firecrackers, lights up with the force of the current, casting a flickering radiance on all those around her, and so she burns—and burns—and burns—as though held aloft by her own incandescent will, and haloed about by all the gleaming great of the nation.

Roy Cohn, he presided over the public burning of Ethel Rosenberg. Knowing she was innocent. Roy Cohn, the mentor of The Hairball. Who connected The Hairball, with the mobsters, who made The Hairball his first fortune. Roy Cohn, the man, who The Hairball, today, patterns himself to be.

Roy Cohn, who, when dying of AIDS, sucked the blood from healthy young men, in a vain attempt to live. Just as, today, The Hairball's token gay-boy, Peter Thiel, sucks the blood from young people, in his vain attempt to live.

People here. This site. They seem to be comfortably settled in. To the notion. That The Mad Bomber. She is a vampire. Sucking blood from the earth. And all of its inhabitants.

But. Never forget. That The Hairball. He is. In no way. Better.

He sucks. He burns. Baby. He sucks. He burns.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAKTy_9Yok0]