"no 'toons have been killed or injured as of yet, due to the remarkable ability of these creatures to regenerate themselves."

Wee!

Well, the word is finally out.

I well recall that fateful Elders of Zion meeting. It was the early '60's, a time of heady triumph in the Movement - we had just assassinated Kennedy, were ramping up the war profiteering in Southeast Asia, and the Enslave N' Starve Africa(tm) plans were just being finalized. Money was pouring in from our ongoing home foreclosure and Muslim organ farming operations, and the masses were responding far more submissively to the water fluoridation mind-control project than expected, a scheme which admittedly I had thought was overly ambitious. I am not too proud to admit now how wrong I was. Kudos to you, General Moses!

In any case, life was good. So good, in fact that ennui had begun to set in. After all, how many white virgins can one man violate? At some point, no matter how creative you get, even infiltrating a society and corrupting it from within becomes banal. Such is the weakness of Man. Jezebel and I had moved to a cute little 800 bedroom spread outside Geneva, where we spent our days at peace, sometimes wandering hand-in-hand amongst our slaves, randomly plucking out families to be fed into the generators, other days simply enjoying the successes of Jeremiah and the rest of the Interest Rate boys on television. To be frank, we were lazy; we grew fat on the fruits of success, and we lost focus.

But like they say, a Jew can't live like an Arab forever. Deep within, the old fire was still there. After a year or two, a yearning rose within us to get back into the game, to come up with something spectacular that would inject some of the old thrill back into life. I guessed that the other Elders felt the same way. So I called Moishe, who called Heshy in Vegas, who got Irving to fly in from Dubai, and before you know it, we had a quorum and a Special Meeting was called.

And so, our Eye wandered towards new projects. After sitting on the sidelines for a while, most of us were flush with new ideas, bubbling with excitement over the possibilities. After all, with unlimited funds, absolute control of the world media and every government on earth dancing like puppets on our strings, the problem was thinking up something we couldn't do.

We had gone through all the usual standbys - plagues, earthquakes, financial catastrophes - and were actually starting to get bored again when some guy in the back, who later turned out to be Brother Damien (sorry - "Dammann") just said quietly "cartoons." Well, you can imagine how well that went down with the other Brothers (I think the Velociraptor almost choked on his braised Christian baby shank), but eventually the room quieted down, and Damien laid out his plan.

You see, we were still smarting from that little setback in Europe back in the '40's. True, we had engineered the whole conflict in order to set up the DeathStar (I still can't believe Lucas stabbed us in the back and put the name out there, after all we did for him) and, of course, to make a couple of bucks, but who knew that that little Austrian vegetarian would turn on us like that? Thankfully our media people managed to pump up the figures from the 17 war dead (mostly from unfortunate gold-coin bathing accidents) to 6 million, and of course we got the DeathStar up and running in the end, but still, it left an unpleasant taste in the mouth. Anyway, Damien, for reasons known only to himself, always had this odd fascination with mice, anthropomorphisizing them in a way that others found, well, icky, and he couldn't get it out of his head that the Austrian bastard had defamed not only the Jews, but the mice as well by comparing the two. And he wanted to change that by going pro-mouse to the kids.

Obviously, I found this whole line of reasoning out of whack, not to mention self-hating, but we're kind of prone to that as a group. Anyway, we're sitting there on our goyskin thrones, having a blast, and what with the l'chaims and the bottles of Carmel Double Heavy Sweet Malaga going around the table, before you know it the little Mouseketeer had talked us into this crazy plan to flood Europe with Tom and Jerry cartoons to promote a positive image of mice, and in the process, ourselves. I know, I know, but I'm telling you, it seemed to make sense at the time. And, I think that we were just at a point where we thought "what the hell?"

Well, what's even crazier is - it worked! After a few decades of Tom's adorable antics, not to mention kicking the shit out of the goyishe cat, mice were suddenly the "it" rodent. And sure enough, no longer did Europeans call Jews "dirty mice". Capitalist pigs, communist dogs, dirty rats even, but no more mice. And in this business, you take what you can get.

So for years, this odd little program worked like a charm. Not only the Europeans, but even the Arabs started loving the Mouse, and generally going along with all the other social directives pumped out by the Hollywood branch.

Now, I had noticed the first signs of sloth amongst the Brethren early in '62, when some members (and you know who you are) began to outsource the small, routine chores of world domination to outsiders. Nothing major - a well-poisoning here, a Bangladeshi ferry sinking there - but I vigorously protested to the Council about the possible breach of security in using outsiders. Especially the Masons, who have always been untrustworthy fuckers. Remember - we had not yet tasted the bitter gall of our first defeat at the hands of the Glorious Islamic Revolution in Iran , so perhaps we were somewhat cocksure.

Anyway, I am freely admitting it: I should have insisted, as the Lord High Poobah for Zionist Infiltrations and Counterinsurgency Tactics, that letting an outside agency provide all the electric anal probes and people-shredders for our Iraqi adventure was a bad idea. I mean, we invented the concept, and now we outsource to China? It's a shonda. We should have done it all in house.

And it is now apparent that somebody from the Mukhabarat managed to get in, because all of a sudden, everything's coming out. Our invasion-planning. Our mosque-bombing operations. Our nuclear aggression. And now, most shockingly, the Tom and Jerry Caper.

But look on the bright side. We managed to poison whole generations of kids through our schemes, and the fact that the Iranians are dropping the dime on us now just means that we'll have to come up with new and improved consipracies that will knock your socks off. And even if they are onto us, what can they really do? Apparently, not much! I mean, Zionist Tom and Jihad Jerry are still on the air, right? So take each earth-shattering pronouncement coming off the wires of the Arab services as further evidence of our racial superiority, not to mention our chokehold over every element of human society. I can't tell you what our upcoming plans are, of course, but hang in there, and I guarantee you'll be thrilled by the news coming out of Tehran in the near future!

Over and out. And a hearty mazel tov to you all.