I keep Hitler under a glass on my desk. He uses ESP to tell me things, like his secret history following the war.
Not many people know about the Nazi’s experiments in teleportation. I wouldn’t know about them either if Hitler hadn’t told me. Seems they wanted to create a more efficient way to move troops from point A to point B. When it looked like the shit was about to hit the fan, Hitler had his mind teleported into the body of one of Goebels' genetically engineered super roaches.
I found him under my grandfather’s refrigerator while I was cleaning out his house. He looked like just another roach at first, so I was going to step on him. But then I saw the red swastika on his shell. Hitler took advantage of my confusion and made telepathic contact.
We’ve been hanging ever since.
Oh, I know, he was a loon when he was a human being, but he’s spent the past sixty years or so as a fucking cockroach and it’s mellowed him out a bit. He doesn’t rant about the jews or homosexuals. He’s kinda got some perspective on humanity after living off their waste.
“All people are equally worthless,” he barks in my brain while I stroke his shell with my finger. Of course, he’s preaching to the choir with me. I’ve known for a long time that people are a disgusting blight. That’s why I’ve spent the last six years taking out as many of them as I can.
Don’t confuse what I do with those weirdoes driven by loneliness or sexual compulsion. I’m not pathological. I’m an environmentalist. I’m just doing my part to rid Mother Earth of a foul pestilence on her skin.
Hitler understands, but he thinks my methods aren’t efficient enough.
Sooner or later, you’ll get caught, he says.
“You need help.”
So, we’re building us an army. A new Reich.
We had our first rally last weekend. We held it at the Burnland Dump. You should have seen them all, standing in formation while Hitler told them how they were the rightful rulers of the earth and that they were genetically superior to humans. Their antennas clicked and I could swear they were agreeing with him. Of course, I don’t speak roach, so maybe not.
After the parade, I drove Hitler home. He was sitting on a newspaper in the passenger seat. Slim Whitman was on the radio.
“So where do I fit in?” I asked, “You know, once we make our move against humanity.”
“Oh, I don’t consider you to be human.” Hitler said. “You’re more like a roach, trapped in a man’s body.”
Man, that Hitler. He sure knows how to make a guy feel like a million bucks.