Chapter 1: The Führer Takes a Trip to Moscow

'Addie,' said a smooth voice, 'wake up, it's wake up time.'

'Go away,' said Adolf Hitler. 'I'm trying to SLEEP you FUCKING BITCH! I HATE you!'

Eva Brahn, Adolf's wife, was very upset; her orbs sparkled with the fluids of her youth.

'Fine, be like that.'

30 minutes later, Hitler FINALLY got out of bed, yawning in annoyance. 'Where's my tomato soup, woman?'

'Why are you so mean to me >:'0'

Hitler did not reply. Internally, he was suppressing his feelings towards himself and to others, because he felt ashamed of the secrets within his pulsing heart. He lashed out at his wife (and the Jews) because he wanted to pretend that he was just one of them. One of those big strong men who could be happy with a veryyyy young woman. But inside, he knew the truth. He didn't hate women but he couldn't love them. He needed something more, something harder...

So then Adolf murdered Eva, faked his own death and got the train to Moscow to see his friend Igglepiggle who was living there for some reason. He decided to take a brief stop at the Three Monkeys (his favourite gay club in the city) simply to ease his anxiety. But then everything changed...He saw a tall man with strong muscular arms and a better mustache than his own. He felt jealous, but oddly aroused. He felt his little pickle prickle at the sight of the mysterious man.

'Uhhhhh....I'm so sorry to disturb you, kind sir...My name is Adolf Hitler. Would I have the honour of taking you out to dinner, perchance?' stammered Adolf blushing a deep red.

The man looked at him with piercing yellow (yet definitely Aryan) eyes.

Hitler stammered on nervously. 'You see I am the leader of a nearby nation, you might've heard of it perhaps? If not that's perfectly understandable my sweetheart. But I can give you all the riches of the Third Reich, which isn't a lot you see because I spent it all on meth. But that's not the point my sexy...muscular...alluring...friend-'

'Listen,' whispered the mysterious man in a thick.. hard... Russian accent. 'You are a beautiful man, the most beautiful even...but this isn't going to work...'

Adolf's eyes filled with tears. He felt his hopes and dreams crumbling around him like the Twin Towers on September 11th.

'Wait...'

The Russian looked sadly at Adolf, before slowly, as if it was the hardest thing he had ever done (because it was), turning away.

'Don't leave me this way! At least tell me your name?' cried Hitler.

The Russian turned back to face him once more. With a start, Hitler realised he too was crying. He felt a sudden urge to hungrily lick the water from his face like a dog cleaning himself after walkies. He managed to suppress the urge...just...

'My name,' said the seductive Russian, 'is Joseph...'