Interlude: A Poem...

I'm interrupting POSTCARD WEEK for a submission from a reader.

Last D-Day, I received the following in an email:

A Poem (Or Song, I Suppose) About Punching Hitler In The Face

"He was something I couldn't stand
So I simply pulled back my hand
Oh, it was my saving grace
When I punched Hitler in the face.

It angered me, I reeled my fist back
I shot forward and leaped to attack
Kept goin' on about the superior race
So I punched Hitler in the face.

I jumped on him, all ready to strike
Because of his talk about the Third Reich
I didn't have no sword or mace
So I settled for punching Hitler in the fa-ce.

And if you said I could do it again
I'd come at him with even more men."

(...I-I wrote it myself. I hope...it still counts. Or at least brightens your day a little bit. Or makes you laugh at my PHAIL.)

Not at all! All forms of Hitler abuse are an EPIC WIN here at HGP. I just wish I had been more timely in my response! My only excuse: I am a lazy, procrastinating weasel.

Thanks to Anna Göransdottir for the submission! Here's your HGP Fun Bucks!

Remember that you can submit here by sending any original art, writing, or whatever to HitlerPuncher AT gmail DOT com.

"I'm a Shock Trooper In a Stupor..."

Here's a little bit of verse from Silent Majority about my favorite Ramone meeting my least favorite anything:

It was in the year of '79
Dee Dee Ramone lay on his leathered back
Saturday smack addled shine
No whiskey did he lack

He stepped on board a vision
And followed with some gin
And ended up in Germany
Near the border of Berlin

He watched the marching army
Baffled at their clothes
Thought that he'd gone barmy
Seeing the Nazi pose

He walked the streets for hours
Then stopped at the Reichstag doors
The guards were simply cowards
Ran at the set of his jaw

He put on his jet black shades
Motorcycle boots on polished floor
A one man commando raid
Looking good for sure

Dee Dee sneered at the day
A moustached creep screamed
"Sieg heil! Actung! Danke schon! Away"
As on the fireplace he leaned

Easily caught and quickly taught
A lesson or two in place
Hitler brought up short
Dee Dee pulled out his razor bass

Yes, he caught the little turd
Punched Adolf after the chase
Singing 53rd & 3rd
As he banged the bass in his bloody face

The Ramone hit him for ages
Kicked his jackbooted arse
As Hitler had his impotent rages
As the sunshine turned to dark

Blood's never looked so pretty
As when it came from Hitler's shin
Dee Dee awoke in New York City
Many miles from Berlin

Gabba Gabba Heil?

Goethe Gives Hitler A Talking To

A Bagatelle

Hitler, his eyes to the east. Hitler, his hand on the west. Hitler, reading Goethe. Hitler, his eyes to the east, reading Goethe, his hand on the west, falls asleep in his great red chair, Hitler, he, reading Goethe. Hitler sleeps, he doesn’t dream. A common mistake to attribute mad vision to dreaming. Every madman sleeps like a—Goethe, page creeps up on itself. Hitler sleeping, book in lap. The page creeps. The page creeps up and forms a five-fingered knot. Uh oh for snoozing Hitler. Pow!, right in the kisser. He wakes up, hollers.

He had forgotten Napoleon all along!

Thanks to Gene Mayes for this fantastic tale of Hitler Fist-magnetry.