Luckily, just as I was about to give into this irrational urge and surrender to some boss man, the king of Morocco himself did me a favor and kicked me out—not in a deal with Israel, he just wanted me gone, he didn’t care where in the world I went. He had heard the false rumors regarding the indecent charges leveled against me. It was not in the interest of the good name and image of his degenerate nation of debauchers to harbor even within the borders of this disputed territory such a reputed deviant and pervert as I so falsely was accused of being.

I regret to report, didi, that these trumped-up charges involving me reached the ears of the king from fellow Jews—for the slanderers let there be no hope, may they perish in an instant, may they be cut down, uprooted, smashed—Israeli Mafia and criminals of Moroccan descent given safe haven in Marrakech and Casablanca in exchange for baksheesh, bankrolling the realm. Murderers and extortionists and money launderers like themselves were one thing, the kingdom could handle that; but an alleged sex offender was intolerable, insupportable in terms of pubic relations. Harboring such a fugitive from the point of view of the officials could damage a country’s good name, ruin its image in the eyes of the civilized world, yes, but even more important, the way our Jewish gangsters so cynically calculated, it could seriously jeopardize by racial association the asylum granted to them.

And I had been so good to these guys in Israel. I had done them so many favors, rescuing their sons and other low-life relatives from drugs, murder, gang warfare, crimes of rape and sex offenses, arms dealings, and so on and so forth, reaching out to their troubled youth, drawing them close, using my powers to rehabilitate their children, turning them into pious, religious Jews who prayed with such fervor three times a day. The transformation was breathtaking, everyone marveled, you can see my handiwork even today, these Sephardi and North African returnees to the faith dancing rapturously in circles and carrying out the good work of our ashram. And this is how they thanked me? Where was their gratitude? You may wonder, didi, how it is that I know they were the ones who squealed on me to the king. The answer is, one among them whose son I had saved from sure madness and death due to heroin addiction, plucking the kid right from the brink—that father still possessed a shred of decency, and he alerted me. I cannot mention his name, his life would not be worth a single dried-up turd of a constipated camel. But he gave me a heads-up, and moreover arranged for a private jet to transport us in the night over the waters and snowcapped mountains to Switzerland, another haven for criminals who could afford it. How it galled me to be regarded as a criminal, didi, I cannot even begin to tell you.