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Saturday, March 27, 2010

Free enterprise...run amok...

Shop owner defends sale of 'Holocaust' soap

The owner of a Montreal collectibles shop is defending his decision to sell a bar of soap he advertises as being made of the fat of Holocaust victims.

Jewish groups in Montreal are denouncing the shop in the city's Plateau-Mont-Royal neighbourhood where the beige bar of soap is displayed.

The soap is inscribed with a swastika and displayed in a glass case with a card that says "Poland 1940."

On Friday, Abraham Botines, a Spanish-born Jew who has operated the quirky boutique since 1967, admitted he has no idea whether the soap is really made of human remains.

"I'm 73 and I was collecting things from the Holocaust and from World War II because I belong to that period," Botines told The Canadian Press in an interview Friday in the cluttered shop.

"In my lifetime I got a lot of curiosity items -- that is, things that are hard to find ... and my things, my children, they don't have any interest."

But Botines is adamant he's selling a collectible item and not hateful ideology.

After reporters began descending on the store Friday morning, the controversial bar of soap was put aside.

Botines said it can now be seen only by serious collectors...

Insert requisite Marc Garlasco joke here. [h/t: The Flea]

I'm always reminded of the final moments of The Caine Mutiny when I read about something like this:

"'Scuse me, I'm all finished, Mr. Keefer. I'm up to the toast. Here's to You. You bowled a perfect score. You went after Queeg, and got him. You kept your own skirts all white and starchy. Steve is finished for good, but you'll be the next captain of the Caine. You'll retire old and full of fat fitness reports. You'll publish your novel proving that the Navy stinks, and you'll make a million dollars and marry Hedy Lamarr. No letter of reprimand for you, Just royalties on your novel. So you won't mind a li'l verbal reprimand from me, what does it mean? I defended Steve because I found out the wrong guy was on trial. Only way I could defend him was to sink Queeg for you. I'm sore that I was pushed into that spot, and ashamed of what I did, and thass why I'm drunk. Queeg deserved better at my hands. I owed him a favor, 'don't you see? He stopped Hermann Goering from washing his fat behind with my mother.

1 Comment

I would defend burning his shop to the ground.

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