Non-Holocaust Accounts "In the Style of the Holocaust"
Posted: Wed Dec 24, 2025 1:36 am
Elsewhere, I suggested a writing experiment: composing non-Holocaust witness statements in the style of Holocaust schlock.
With a few minor edits, my attempt is below. HansHill wrote one, too, and he should contribute his.
This is presented in the same spirit of ecumenism as Jewish musicians who have written schlocky-but-catchy Christmas songs.
THREE WEEKS IN LAS VEGAS
It happened on September 4th, 2016, during the time of the COVID shutdowns.
When we arrived at the festival, the grounds were covered with dead bodies, hundreds of them. Other people were huddling together on blankets, starving to death in small groups.
The cruelty of the Ticketmeisters knew no bounds. On the way in, we were beaten with clubs and pipes. It was only then that everyone knew they were going to their deaths.
I managed to mingle among a group of workers, selling band T-shirts and CDs. People begged us for water, offering $10 or sometimes $15 for a single bottle of Gerolsteiner.
The Oberticketmeisters had set up booths to fool the concert-goers. There were two lines with fake ticket booths. Some people went to the left, the others to the right. People were forced to turn over their valuables in exchange for a ticket to the fake concert. They entered the grounds, and I never saw any of them again.
Later, a bus pulled up, but 80% of the people were dead. They were shot to death with poison gas bullets by the security guards outside of the venue. The few survivors didn't suspect anything on their way into the concert.
When they handed over their concert ticket, they were given a shirt and a QR code for the band's official website, to trick them to continue on. As they were walking into the concert, the guards beat them mercilessly.
Christmas trees covered in barbed wire lined the path, hiding the death yard. Amidst the shouting and beatings, none suspected that their lives would be over within minutes.
The Jason Aldean orchestra was forced to play songs to drown out the screaming. It didn't work. After each song, they screamed louder as they calmly waited for their turn to die.
During one song, the sound of gunfire rang out. People started panicking. I saw a nude woman carrying a small child. Her eyes were blank. The golden dream of freedom for the caged bird was over.
I saw everything: how our brothers were led to the shooting ground and the terrible trials they endured before their deaths. It weakened some, and revived others.
The sight of everything became commonplace. I grew indifferent.
The worst part was standing naked in the biting November cold, awaiting their turn for a cruel death. However, the gunshots were no less horrific.
There were approximately 3.5 million corpses.
I escaped into the desert, where I hid for 1 year. I have worked through the winter, seen the suffering and death of millions, and have already lived to see the first warm rays of the sun.
With a few minor edits, my attempt is below. HansHill wrote one, too, and he should contribute his.
This is presented in the same spirit of ecumenism as Jewish musicians who have written schlocky-but-catchy Christmas songs.
THREE WEEKS IN LAS VEGAS
It happened on September 4th, 2016, during the time of the COVID shutdowns.
When we arrived at the festival, the grounds were covered with dead bodies, hundreds of them. Other people were huddling together on blankets, starving to death in small groups.
The cruelty of the Ticketmeisters knew no bounds. On the way in, we were beaten with clubs and pipes. It was only then that everyone knew they were going to their deaths.
I managed to mingle among a group of workers, selling band T-shirts and CDs. People begged us for water, offering $10 or sometimes $15 for a single bottle of Gerolsteiner.
The Oberticketmeisters had set up booths to fool the concert-goers. There were two lines with fake ticket booths. Some people went to the left, the others to the right. People were forced to turn over their valuables in exchange for a ticket to the fake concert. They entered the grounds, and I never saw any of them again.
Later, a bus pulled up, but 80% of the people were dead. They were shot to death with poison gas bullets by the security guards outside of the venue. The few survivors didn't suspect anything on their way into the concert.
When they handed over their concert ticket, they were given a shirt and a QR code for the band's official website, to trick them to continue on. As they were walking into the concert, the guards beat them mercilessly.
Christmas trees covered in barbed wire lined the path, hiding the death yard. Amidst the shouting and beatings, none suspected that their lives would be over within minutes.
The Jason Aldean orchestra was forced to play songs to drown out the screaming. It didn't work. After each song, they screamed louder as they calmly waited for their turn to die.
During one song, the sound of gunfire rang out. People started panicking. I saw a nude woman carrying a small child. Her eyes were blank. The golden dream of freedom for the caged bird was over.
I saw everything: how our brothers were led to the shooting ground and the terrible trials they endured before their deaths. It weakened some, and revived others.
The sight of everything became commonplace. I grew indifferent.
The worst part was standing naked in the biting November cold, awaiting their turn for a cruel death. However, the gunshots were no less horrific.
There were approximately 3.5 million corpses.
I escaped into the desert, where I hid for 1 year. I have worked through the winter, seen the suffering and death of millions, and have already lived to see the first warm rays of the sun.
