Hitler and Mr. Düsseldwarf

In light of the dubious nature of the author's research, you readers should know that if you want the facts on Hitler, this essay is not as sound as, say, the film Max or the Roald Dahl short story "Genesis and Catastrophe." In defense of the author, though: Good luck laughing at the Hitler-Facts.

The sympathy card business thrives on human misfortune. You know you're in trouble when someone goes out of their way to assure you that, "This rainbow of wishes is coming to you." I mean no disrespect to the sweet and caring Sue Reilly; it's just that we are mostly promised rainbows and such when the Drama-Shit hits the oscillating device with four propellers.

Death in the family, loss of job, broken jaw, all of these misfortunes are cause for sympathy cards. Getting sucked into a black hole of inane violence garnered me a gift certificate for ice cream and a month of free NetFlix, both of which were slipped inside a sympathy card. There are perks to having your jaw broken, and they are not to be wasted. Last night I used a copy of Fight Club that I ordered through NetFlix as a coaster for a pint of ice cream as a superstitious way of bringing the whole cosmic mess together. (By the way: It's one helluva coaster, that Fight Club DVD...)

In less than a month the braces that cage my tongue and keep my top and bottom teeth intimate will be snipped. I plan on racing to the nearest Subway, splurging on Italian BMTs, and since I'll have no more use for the sympathy cards, I'm going to offer them to the employees at Subway.

"What's this for?"

"I'm just sorry you have to work here, friend."

(Elton John made a jackpot assessment when he sang, "It's the circle of life...")

But before that exchange between a Subway employee and I takes place, I have some living to do, living that I'm not permitted to hibernate through. With that in mind, I'm open to suggestions people offer in an effort to improve the situation. The worst suggestion was Angry Mob Justice, because we haven't been able to round-up the appropriate number of torches and pitchforks for the project.

The most intriguing suggestion is that I learn the art of ventriloquism* while my jaw is wired shut. What better opportunity to learn a trade that is arguably less creepy than clowning? There is no better discipline for the jaw than having it wired shut. A respectable ventriloquist's** jaw should appear idle while his puppet has the floor. This illusion is considered sacred. With my top and bottom teeth confined within a millimeter of each other, a disciplined jaw comes natural to me.

When a bizarre opportunity like this presents itself, it deserves consideration...But only a fool would shove his hand up a dummy's ass and yammer stupidly before doing a little research first.

I turned to Wikipedia for fast and sometimes valid information on ventriloquism. Like ska music and Dungeons & Dragons, ventriloquism was founded by a young malcontent who spurned his parents' insistence to "Get a hobby" until being told, in exasperation, to "INVENT a damn hobby, then; just give us a moment's rest!"

Ventriloquism was invented by Vangelis "Van" Queasel. At the age of 27, he was stoned to death by the ancient Greeks under suspicion of being a mouthpiece for demons. But by that time, Ventrilo-mania had already spread across Europe, the hype carried by dozens of abject minstrel hacks.

Scrolling farther down the web-page, I learned about all the most notable ventriloquists. Wikipedia could not recall the names of many of them but offered vague descriptions such as "One of Batman's most obscure archenemies" and "The guy with the dragon puppet from the early-90s version of Match Game" The list was punctuated, interestingly enough, by Dictator/ History's Greatest Monster/ Ventriloquist Adolf Hitler.

Hitler's ill-fated venture into ventriloquism is documented here, with Wikipedia used as a primary source, but certainly not to the extent that would merit charges of plagiarism.***

In most ventriloquist acts, the puppeteer functions as the rational straight man while the puppet plays the part of the unpredictable loudmouth. The dynamic between Hitler and his dummy, Mr. Düsseldwarf, was the exact opposite, however. Hitler's IN-YOUR-FACE ethnic jabs once prompted a young Don Rickles to remark, "That ugly kraut has no God-damn decency!" But his furor was tempered by Mr. Düsseldwarf's cheerful and clever diplomacy. The dummy routinely assured the audience that his cranky cohort was only kidding when his Pollock jokes quickly led to a call for ethnic cleansing.

Mr. Düsseldwarf had an instinct for pacifying both his puppeteer and their audience--by suggesting the duo perform their trademark routine in which Hitler lit one of Mr. Düsseldwarf's farts. All of the puppeteer's scorn and misanthropy were forgotten by the audience when the pair delivered this gag. Before Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf hit the scene, people were under the assumption that a farting dummy was but a wondrous pipe-dream. Several decades later, ventriloquism skeptics and naysayers remain baffled by the trick.

With every public appearance, Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf boosted their popularity, sustained by the counter-balance they provided each other. Hitler had always felt contempt for those he deemed impure, but Mr. Dusseldwarf had a calm, diluting effect on his psyche. The Nazi's decent into super-villainy did not occur until the date of the duo's final appearance on June 8th, 1928. That was the night of the fire at the comedy club, a scorching night of destructive accidents in which Mr. Düsseldwarf had his bowels clenched by the cold fist of hatred.

Brisstalnacht's Comedy Club in Frankfurt was the site of Germany's premier talent show. Hitler and Mr. Düsseldwarf were the favorites to dethrone three-time defending champions Shecky Steinmetz & Spunky Hebrewster, a ventriloquist combo whom Hitler reviled.

Steinmetz & Hebrewster took the stage before Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf, and their performance was sensational. While Steinmetz wore a deep-sea-diving helmet overflowing with potato salad, his dummy sang a flawless three-minute rendition of "Add on Salami, Not Pork", the duo's ode to sandwiches that parodied the Jewish hymn "Adon Olom." **** The audience was stunned and enraptured as Steinmetz finally removed the helmet, splattering potato salad on the stage. He grinned triumphantly with slimy yellow bits stuck to his teeth. They bowed and, just before exiting the stage, notified the crowd of the book-signing that would take place after the talent show.

At the back-corner of the stage stood a wooden table that seemed parched in the stale heat of the crowded club. It supported dozens of copies of Steinmetz & Hebrewster's autobiography: Knock, Knock? Jews There! The cover featured a cartoon drawing of Steinmetz knocking on his dummy's forehead, both of them laughing uproariously.

Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf went on-stage next with jangly nerves. Some members of the audience were still buzzing about the deep-see-diving helmet trick, too preoccupied to acknowledge the current performers. Mr. Düsseldwarf, in particular, was rattled. He bungled set-ups and punchlines the two had practiced and performed countless times. The duo's confidence evaporated along with the wisps of heat that floated up the spot-lighted wall behind them. By the end of their set, Mr. Düsseldwarf was sweat-soaked and slouched like a dummy with a crooked trunk. As Hitler's unsteady hand lit the match for the big finish, the dummy stood up lackadaisically and pointed his ass at an irregular angle, aimed at the books on display at the back corner of the stage.

It is rumored that Hitler's eyes glimmered knowingly as he brought the match to his puppet's backside.

The display of autobiographies was the first casualty of the blaze. Steinmetz charged the stage, his panicked jabber drowned out by the ferocious, nasal scream of the puppet he carried. Their salvaging efforts were chased away when the blaze expanded with a great leap, swallowing the wooden stage and burping sharp crackling sounds. Bedlam ensued. Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf led the stampede out of the building. The blaze was unstoppable. Fireballs punched through the windows like deadly vigilantes. The smoldering roof folded and collapsed and made a noise like slowly booming thunder just as the fire-trucks arrived.

Across the street from the inferno, the mostly Jewish assemblage vilified Mr. Düsseldwarf for pointing his ass off-kilter and causing the destruction of one of Germany's most beloved comedy clubs. The dummy was reticent, almost catatonic, allowing Hitler to spew forth the sort of hateful, irredeemable rhetoric that would one day make him a star on the History Channel. His crimson face streaming with tears, Hitler then ran for the nearest train station, harassed by cries of "Book-Burners!" and the realization that he and Mr. Düsseldwarf would be forever blacklisted by the ventriloquism community.

Mr. Düsseldwarf broke his silence one block short of the train station, and he did so with convulsive uproar that made the puppeteer stop in his tracks. His bitter condemnation of Steinmetz & Hebrewster and indeed the entire Jewish population was so crass that it could only be documented by the History Channel's "Too Shocking for History" DVD series...which does not as yet exist. Hitler cracked a smile for the first time in hours, knowing he had at last converted a powerful ally.

While Hitler turned his ferocious energy toward politics, Mr. Düsseldwarf went into seclusion, inside a dusty bedroom closet. The dummy was not idle, however; he ruminated, seethed, and schemed. His unforgiving wooden finger pointed always toward past misfortunes that he believed to be the only reasons why the present was such a miserable struggle. In actuality, the primary reason life was such a miserable struggle for him was because he wasn't getting any sunlight inside that closet. Even when he traveled with Hitler, he demanded to be stored inside a suitcase that let in no light.

For almost two decades the dummy served as Hitler's top-secret advisor, lobbying to his puppeteer suggestions such as "Make that cross crooked, then maybe we'll put it on a flag" and "We'd be fools not to do business with Mr. Schindler." He remained a recluse and avoided sunlight until April 30th of 1945. And the sunlight he witnessed on that day lasted for but an instant--between the time the bombs crashed through the roof above the closet and the time they exploded. *****




Q: What does it all mean?

A: The goon who broke my jaw is not without his detractors, but do you know who's even worse than he is? Hitler. Sharing a hobby with an inductee into Hell's Hall-of-Fame would reduce me to a level two or three notches beneath said Goon...alongside of Hitler. To hell with ventriloquism. During this time in which I vaguely resemble a puppet owned by Jaws from the 007 movies, the only temporary hobby I'm interested in is scaring little children.


* Ventriloquism is not in fact an art form.
** No such thing as a respectable ventriloquist.
*** Wink, wink!
****Novelty song writers have always been obsessed with food for some reason.
***** Along with his main squeeze Eva Braun, Hitler was estranged from his dummy during their last days. The dictator left him behind during his hasty retreat to his underground bunker. Upon realizing his mistake, suicide seemed all the more appealing.