Kosher Eucharist / יוקאריסט כשר

Remember how every teacher you had would impart that tidbit? Not “Native American languages are on of the few examples of polysynthetic syntax in the world, along with some native Australian languages.” Not “Let’s consider what it would have been like to live in a society with different ideas about the nature of property than our own.” Not even “Native Americans have longer penises that any other ethnic group.” (This last is apparently true.) No, just “Indians called corn maize!” Hooray! One word, in one of many, many languages, has survived! A culture has been saved!

This is a feeble introduction to a post I probably ought to apologize for.

Anna Nicole Smith continues her Fruma Sarah-like odyssey to stir up shit from beyond the Styx.

AN INDIAN LOVE CHILD?! FUCK YES! I cannot express how giddy I am about this. Seriously, “as a historian,” this shit is awesome and trumps all those feeble Tudor succession crises. Everything that happens in this story - ev-a-ry-thing - has just added to my perverse delight. She flees to the Bahamas to whelp! Her son dies, mysteriously, of a fatal combination of methadone, ennui, and having more money than sense! Then she abruptly dies, of natural causes that are variously held to be methadone, pneumonia, Femi-Slim (or whatever) overdose, alligator attack, or some combination thereof! Her infant daughter inherits the moon! Her infant daughter has four potential fathers - including Zsa Zsa Gabor’s husband, who judging by the last name may be distantly related to Catherine the Great! Her corpse is the center of a legal battle!

And now. Oh, and now. She has, according to the Red Man’s Jared Leto who claims to be the father, a half-Indian love child - the fruit of an illicit and race-hysterical affair. I CAN BARELY STAND IT. I feel like I should talk about the taboo against intercourse between a non-white man and a white woman. I ought to make some intelligent comment about media saturation in modern culture. I should at least make a tit joke.

But… she referred to herself as his “squaw!” Squaw! That’s probably not even a word! She referred to his penis as “big wampum!” That doesn’t even come close to making sense - I’ve certainly never, during the Act of
Love, advised anyone to do anything to my “token of an intermediate economical stage between barter and a cash-based system.” When he hid with the child at the reservation, she called him an Indian giver! Yes, she fucking did! Even her alleged papoose-daddy gets in on the act, referring to Smith’s hunger to be hunted and gathered by someone who knows how as “scarlet fever.” Can you even believe it?

Here’s the original Phoenix New Times article, if you can stand it. I… I have to lie down.