Dear International League of Jewish Conspirators,

I have been waiting for an invitation in to your elite organization ever since my Bar Mitzvah seven years ago, but my patience is waning. Considering your control of all global communication networks, and the unerring scrupulousness – not the moral kind, of course – which this requires, I am disinclined to believe that it was lost in the mail or that you forgot to leave a message.

Which criteria have I failed to meet? I am circumcised, I attend services regularly, I observe every holiday, I never deviate from a strictly kosher diet, and I even go as far as to occasionally eat gefilte fish. If misfortune is a determining factor, then accept me now because my dreidel always seems to land on nun or shin, but never gimel. This is to say, life has been hard.

Until I was 18, my parents assured me that they would cover my university tuition. Then, as I was filling out an application to Harvard, I was told that they had only intended on paying for Hamburger University – the McDonald’s management training center in Illinois – and had always assumed I understood this. Instead of killing myself, I embraced what I thought would be a brief stint as a McDonald’s manager, and counted on my enlistment in to the Conspiracy ranks. But you never came and saved me from the deep-fried, “Would you like ketchup with that?” existence I was living. My misery continued. One night, while returning home from an introductory hamburger flipping class, I lost both of my arms in a bike accident, and the following year I lost both of my legs in a unicycle accident. Very recently I lost my nose and suffered severe head trauma in a head-controlled wheelchair accident. I am not a happy person. My penis, the only part of my body that remains unscathed, has been forced into a number of functions it is not designed for. I am uncomfortably bound to a penis-controlled wheelchair which speeds out of control every time I get an erection, and typing this letter, which would be quite easy to do with fingers, is an ominously daunting task for my penis.

Maybe now the extent of my suffering is apparent, but my alienation is not. As a misanthrope, the only people I can relate to are other misanthropes, but we can’t escape hating each other. The hope of joining the International Jewish Conspiracy is all I have left, and it consumes me. Each night I dream of surreptitiously raping the global economy while buxom Israeli women, sweaty and brown from a hard day’s work on the kibbutz, softly whisper fluctuating stock values in my ear. And each morning, I wake up beside my penis-controlled wheelchair, and I’m devastated.

I never cared about Superman or John Wayne. The International League of Jewish Conspirators has always been my hero, and I’m still inspired by the various stratagems and deceptions you’ve used against the naive masses throughout the centuries. It seems impossible to organize as many people and lies as you do, and maintain the staggering loyalty that this kind of operation requires, but somehow you manage it. Even when I beg my Savta for the truth about what she really did during World War II, she sticks to her original concentration camp story, and becomes perplexed and furious – she has great acting abilities – with my investigations. The Holocaust was probably your most brilliant fabrication, and would’ve worked perfectly, too, if it weren’t for those meddling revisionists and their stupid dog, Mel Gibson.

Please, don’t turn me down. If I still had knees, I would fall down on them and beg you. If I had the strength to remove myself from this damned penis-controlled wheelchair, I would prostrate myself before you. But I don’t have knees or strength. All I have is a very agile circumcised penis, and a dream of being a member of the International Jewish Conspiracy.

I won’t bother to mail this letter because I expect you’ll read it with one of your many tiny cameras undoubtedly hidden in my bedroom walls and ceiling.

Daily Nexus columnist Zach Phillips would like to thank Jewish conspirators Rabbi Mitch and his wife for a lovely Friday dinner.