Wednesday, February 4, 2009

SS in Uruguay Egypt, sous un chapeau de paille eucalypt--us....

He was a Nazi doctor. He hid out in Egypt for almost 50 years. He died of rectal cancer in 1992. The fascinating tale is here. A book should be written about this. Any takers?

P.S. 13 Feb.

The title of this meager post comes from from a song on Serge Gainsborough's poppy Nazi-themed album Rock Around the Bunker (1975). The album leads off with a kitschy little number called "Nazi Rock" and finishes with "S.S in Uruguay." But not without first covering Harbach and Kern's "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"....


  1. My God ... I think that I knew this man when he was younger!

    * My playful Uncle Suarez

    * The evil "Uncle Tarek"

  2. From the article:

    "Dr. Heim was accused of performing operations on prisoners without anesthesia; removing organs from healthy inmates, then leaving them to die on the operating table; injecting poison, including gasoline, into the hearts of others; and taking the skull of at least one victim as a souvenir."

    Not so much different from the cannibals you posted about.....

  3. Yes - in many ways much like General Butt Naked ...

    Only horrifying in the cold, experimental calculation that he must have played with. The way that he must have been testing his own limits as he cooling cut into people, sawed their limbs off, his guilt externalized into a synesthetic balloon inside his breast bone, feeling it stretch, elastic, as he pushed himself just a bit further and just a bit further; the excitement of the tension of that emotion stretching, so much like when, as a child, he caught fat frogs and tossed them in air, first three feet, then five, then ten and twenty, hearing that plopping crunch that expanded that little balloon of guilt and wondered how long it would last. Till supper? Till he drifted off? Would it go away; would it take a little more next time? One wonders if he ever connected with the same feelings he had when he snuck into the bathroom, sat on the toilet and stared at himself until he grew hard and wrapped his penis with toilet paper and forced himself to pee, soaking the paper warmly, knowing how wrong it was and delighting somehow in the wrongness, the little secret, that familiar stretching emotion in the breast bone? Did he carry it all the way, eventually masturbating to the thoughts of sawing people apart, that terror in their eyes, their disbelief? If so, how did he move on to become a Beloved Uncle? How did he resist touching little boys just to see that look of Oh My God in the eye that would've swelled that little balloon in his chest? Or was that connection never made between the careful tests of the limits of when that elastic would burst and the raw emotion, the raw sexuality of it all would spill out like General Butt Naked charging forth drunken on it all? Not this cool, clever man, his little elastic balloon trained to hold the guilt, so lovely and exciting inside a swelling breast.

    Or I dunno, just some idle speculation...


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