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Hitler and Mr. Dusseldwarf *final

 In light of the author's shoddy research, you should know that if you want the facts on Hitler, this story is not as accurate as films like Downfall or The Last 10 Days. Apparently, the ugly creep did come up short as an aspiring artist, which is covered in the movie Max. If you prefer your nightmare fuel in written form, you can study the micropenis menace in bios like Adolf Hitler: The Definitive Biography, by John Toland. Read it before bedtime and let your subconscious process mankind’s failure to learn from this guy’s atrocities. In defense of the author, though: Good luck laughing at those 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 dookie hits the revolving thing on the ceiling.

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 lousy Fight Club DVD as a coaster for a pint of ice cream as a way to bring the whole cosmic mess together. (Yes, youngsters, Netflix used to deliver DVDs in the mail–and I am the same age as a pterodactyl.)

I’m on the mend though. In less than a month, the wires will get clipped. My tongue will be uncaged. My top and bottom teeth will unclench. 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."

Circle of life.

But before that exchange between a Subway worker and I takes place, I have some living to do, living that I'm not allowed 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 against my attacker, because we haven't been able to round up enough 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 good ventriloquist's jaw should appear idle while his puppet has the floor. This illusion is sacred to the poor bastards. With my top and bottom teeth confined within a millimeter of each other, a stable 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 butt and babble stupidly before doing a little research.

I turned to Wikipedia for fast and sometimes valid information on the subject. 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! And leave us alone."

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 sad minstrel hacks.

Scrolling farther down the page, I learned about all the most notable puppeteers. Wikipedia could not recall the names of many of them but offered vague descriptions such as "Batman's most obscure villain" and "What’s-his-name on Comedy Central with the punchable face." The last name on the list, interestingly enough, was Dictator/ History's Greatest Monster/ Ventriloquist Adolf Hitler.

Hitler's ill-fated venture into ventriloquism is documented here, with Wikipedia used as a source, but certainly not to the extent that would get me flagged for plagiarism. (Wink!)

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

A typical routine went like this:

“What is the deal with Gypsies? I suspect one poured laxatives on my schnitzel!” 

This was Mr. D’s cue to pull a lax bottle from his pocket and slyly show it to the crowd. 

“Calm down, Adolf, it wasn’t a Gypsy.”

Big laughs. 

Mr. Düsseldwarf had a knack 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 rage and hatred was forgotten by the audience when the duo did this bit. Before Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf hit the scene, people just assumed that a farting dummy was but a wondrous pipedream. Several decades later, skeptics, naysayers and debunkers remain baffled by the farting dummy trick.

With every public appearance, Hitler & Mr. D gained popularity. They’d come close to going off the rails, which made their act exciting. But they were sustained by the counterbalance they gave each other. Hitler had always felt contempt for those he deemed impure, but Mr. Dusseldwarf had a calming effect on his psyche. The Nazi's descent into super-villainy did not occur until the date of the pair'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 champs Shecky Steinmetz & Spunky Hebrewster, a ventriloquist combo whom Hitler despised.

Steinmetz & Hebrewster took the stage before Hitler & Mr. Düsseldwarf. 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)”. This was the duo's ode to sandwiches that parodied the Jewish hymn "Adon Olom." The crowd 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 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. D went onstage next with jangled nerves. People were still buzzing about Steinmetz & Hebrewster. Feeling upstaged, Mr. Düsseldwarf lost his composure. He botched setups and punchlines the two had practiced and performed countless times. The pair’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 butt 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 books was the first casualty of the blaze. Steinmetz charged the stage, his panicked jabber drowned out by the furious, 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 predominantly Jewish group scolded Mr. Düsseldwarf for pointing his butt off-kilter and causing the destruction of one of Germany's most beloved comedy clubs. The dummy said nothing. He was almost catatonic, which allowed Hitler to spew forth the sort of hateful 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!" He was devastated to realize that he and Mr. Düsseldwarf were sure to be blacklisted in the ventriloquism scene.

Mr. Düsseldwarf broke his silence one block short of the train station. He did so with convulsive violence that made the puppeteer stop in his tracks. His bitter condemnation of Steinmetz & Hebrewster and indeed Jews everywhere was so crass that it could only be documented by the History Channel's "Too Shocking for History" series. Hitler cracked a smile for the first time in hours, knowing he had at last converted a powerful ally.

Hitler turned his ferocious energy to politics. Mr. Düsseldwarf went into seclusion, inside a dusty bedroom closet. The dummy was not idle, however; he seethed, contemplated, 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. Really, the main reason life was such a miserable struggle for him was because he wasn't getting any sunlight in 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. He pitched to his puppeteer ideas like "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 raging in darkness until April 30th of 1945. The bombs crashed through the roof above his closet and for a brief moment he saw the sunlight. Then he was ashes. 

Q: What does it all mean?

A: I’m not the biggest fan of the guy who broke my jaw, but do you know who's even worse than he is? Hitler. I’m not gonna share a hobby with a Hell Hall-of-Famer like him. His mustache and haircut were stupid too. To hell with ventriloquism. During this time in which I somewhat resemble a puppet owned by Jaws from the Bond movies, the only temp hobby I'm into is scaring little children.