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was probably the German people, the Volk, which surprised me most of all. I really did everything humanly possible to destroy the foundations for a future existence on this soil, this soil which the enemy had desecrated.
We all know, of course, what to make of our newspapers. The deaf man writes down what the blind man has told him, the village idiot edits it, and their colleagues in the other press houses copy it.
newspaper by the name of Bild seemed to be highly popular – particularly with older people. I assumed this was because the lettering was so extraordinarily large that those with poor vision would still be able to digest the news. An excellent idea, I was
iv The reader must be shown some sympathy if, at this or any other point, he is flabbergasted by the speed with which I adapted to my new circumstances. How can the poor reader, who during the years, nay decades, of my absence has been drowning in the Marxist broth of history from the soup kettle of democracy, be capable of peering over the edge of his own bowl?
The bag must have served as packaging for that cretinous newspaper that I had spotted under the park bench. This proved that, deep down, the newspaper seller was a sensible man – he had kept the serviceable bag, but thrown away its infantile contents.
the fact that wherever one looked the same shops appeared. To begin with I thought we were driving around in circles until I realised that Herr Starbuck owned dozens of coffee houses.
“Why would I?” I said. “I fashioned the cornerstone of my ideology a very long time ago. It enables me apply my knowledge to every single aspect of world affairs and draw the correct conclusions. Do you really think you can learn how to be a Führer in your universities?”
Bormann, who always organised feature films for me so that I could enjoy a little evening relaxation after a hard day’s warmongering.
No, besides the Swiss, the Swede displays the worst facets of the Teuton, but – and let us never lose sight of the fact – this is all down to climate.
The current state of Germany painted a highly distressing picture. Running the country was a chunky woman with all the confidence and charisma of a weeping willow.
But as their support was insufficient to form a workable government, the Eastern lady chose another group made up of clueless and directionless youths, which employed as their mascot an utterly useless foreign minister.
The sole ray of light in this entire democratic shambles was a splendid party which went by the name of the “Greens”.
One found it astonishing that of all people it was a Hitler figure who had identified exactly what Gagmez was serving up every week: a mass of clichés about foreigners.
A Portuguese, a Greek and a Spaniard go into a brothel. Who pays? Germany.
But then imagine that someone like Göring comes along, or that matron chancellor. Who would want to watch either of those two whales attempt the sprint hurdles? It would not be a pretty sight.
What happened has happened. Mistakes are not there to be regretted; they exist so that they are not repeated.
Künast laughed and said that the N.S.D.A.P. was, for the time being at least, dozing or in hibernation. Until it awoke, she continued, I ought to consider whether the Green Party couldn’t offer a home to me, the man who had risked life and limb in opposition to right-wing violence.
The apprentice roared with boyish laughter. Then he said I was hilarious and suggested that as the N.S.D.A.P. was currently at rest in the graveyard of history, maybe the F.D.P. could become my new political home.
