On January 3, 1889, Friedrich Nietzsche, author of the idea of the Übermensch,
ran out into a Turin street to embrace an Italian draft horse that was being beaten.
He wept bitter tears for the fate of the poor animal, then fainted, leaving his mind behind.
Months later, without ever recovering, he died. It seemed a strange death for a Superman.
According to his many books, the Übermensch is a paragon among humans
who exerts immense worldly authority simply by asserting the power of his free will.
Given this assertion alone, he is capable of conquering the world and ruling the planet.
It is said that Nazi planners used his idea to manufacture a map for world domination.
On January 3, 1989, my brother-in-law posed as Fred Nietzsche on a trans-Atlantic flight.
He explained to a pretty American girl, "I'm just a mixed up philosopher who needs love."
When she took him home to meet her parents, he explained, "I'm a poor orphan in this world."
For two weeks, they fed and loved him to excess. He was philosophically satisfied.
Then he called his mother to come pick him up, but he stressed the necessity of remaining
an orphan. "There's no need to disillusion these nice people now," he explained.
His mother came, but she was unimpressed by his story. "Are you all right, my darling?"
Fresh from a fortnight in the Hamptons, he responded, "I'm fine, mom. I feel like a Superman."