Chapter 16: Lubricated Lebensraum

'Have you decided yet, sir?'

'Nein.' Hitler slammed the menu on the table, glaring at the waiter. 'I don't want it. I don't want any of this American crap! Bring me some real German food this instance...'

'Don't worry about him!' exclaimed Igglepiggle, glancing nervously around the restaurant where stunned onlookers were beginning to gaze, in fascination, towards the formerly-mustached man. 'He's off his meds again...'

'I understand,' the waiter grimaced awkwardly, 'I'll come back?'

'Nein,' said Da Real Heinrich-H, reaching across from the other side table, 'He'll eat later. Thanks anyway.'

'Mein Führer,' hissed Hermy G as the waiter retreated, glancing back hesitantly until he reached the next table, 'We're meant to be on the down-low, remember? There could be spies EVERYWHERE. You're going to get us all killed...'

'Don't care,' sulked Hitler moodily. How dare his friends drag him out to this stupid fucking diner for an 'important meeting'. Didn't they realise how heartbroken he was?

On Hitler's left, Igglepiggle sighed expressively. 'Come on, Adolf. This won't take long at all...'

'Why are we hear again?' perked up Jürg, who was perched coyly on Himmler's right, across from a glaring Göring, who was seated on Adolf's right, 'Heinie-Pie, when you said they'd have cheese, I though you meant real cheese. Not this American style rubbish...'

Göring gave a little yawn.

Adolf looked up from his eternal gloom to share a moment of solidarity with the young Swiss. He got it...

'In Bern, maaaan,' continued Jürg passionately, 'we have proper cheese. You walk into a Chäslädeli, and the air smells like heaven - rich, nutty Gruyère, spicy, aged Bergkäse, a fresh Mutschli that's SO SOFT it almost MELTS in your hands. You get to taste before you buy, the seller actually knows their cheese, and every bite has s'Herz drbi. That's cheese. That's LIFE. 

But here in Berlin? It's like someone melted down an eraser, added es bitzli cheese flavoring, and called it a day. Näi, das goht eifach nöd! Es schmöckt nach nüt! Where's the character? The depth? The stink that tells you, 'JA THIS IS THE STUFF!!!! Here, you open the packaging, and all you get is silence. Gar nüt!'

'Himmler, your new boyfriend's weird,' groaned Igglepiggle, 'can you and Göring make up please so we don't have to listen to him anymore? Honestly, this is why we must keep it within des Vaterland...'

Jürg gasped. 'You don't like Gruyère, Igglepiggle?' 

Suddenly, Göring stood up, ready to snap.

'You like it, Hermy G?' asked the Swiss, in confusion.

'Nobody knows or cares what you're yapping about,' remarked Göring, leaning menacingly over the table with a strange expression littering his taught face. 'You know Heinrich is just using you to try and piss me off?'

'Shut up Göring,' scowled Da Real Heinrich-H.

'Oh, but it's true, ja. Is it not? And you know else is true, whatever your stupid Swiss name is?'

Jürg's eyes began to water. 'W-what?'

'Us real Germans are embarrassed by your stupid language. Oh...and you'll address me as Hermann. Only my friends get to call me Hermy G...'

'You don't mean that!' cried Jürg, 'I never meant any harm to you. I'm so sorry if-'

'So sorry? SO SORRY? You think you can flounder in here, you little slag riddled with STDs?? Go back to where you came from you dirty cheese muncher a-and-'

Even the brooding Adolf glanced up in shock as Da Real Heinrich-H heaved himself to his feet, bread knife in hand...

'Guys, guys...' Igglepiggle effortless diffused the TENSE situation, 'look who's arrived!'

Emerging as if out of thin air, Joseph Goebbels wordlessly took the vacant seat beside Igglepiggle, taking a brief vibe check of the men around him. Both Göring and Igglepiggle were indistinguishable from when he had last seen them, the former toting his trademark smirk of cruel composure and the latter's face permeated with its usual wisdom. However, Himmler's large face seemed to be coloured with something new...maybe this had something to do with the young man beside him? Goebbels was so observant, you see...

'Mein Führer,' he addressed the final man, 'It's been a while! You look awful...'

'I am, JoJo. I am awful. A beautiful Russian man abandoned me and now I have nothing to live for!!!'

'He cheated on him,' explained Jürg helpfully, 'with...,' he gasped for dramatic effect, ' a woman...'

'No!' exclaimed Goebbels, almost falling from his chair in alarm.

Igglepiggle cleared his throat. 'Guys guys, remember why we're here? ...'

Himmler nodded excitedly. 'Yes. I do!'

Igglepiggle glared at him 'Goebbels. Tell them...'

'Oh ja,' replied the new-comer, 'I was just getting acquainted once more. You know...I thought you guys were all dead after...you know...'

Igglepiggle slapped him.

'Ja ja, I'm getting to it, Iggle! Ok...' he whimpered, fondling his sore...cheek... (reader's interpretation encouraged).

Goebbels whipped out MANY plane tickets. 'I'm going to Argentina! Are you guys in?'

Jürg gasped. 'Oh mi Gott! A holiday! I would love to come...'

'You weren't invited,' perked up Göring, 'Nazis only...'

'What's a Nazi?' asked Jürg.

'Well...if he's not coming, I'm not coming...' sulked Himmler.

Göring squirmed excitedly. 'Is that what happened last night?' 

'SHUT UP!'

'Guys guys!' screeched Igglepiggle, 'we're all coming, okayyyyy?'

'Nein,' said Hitler quietly. All five men spat out their food in shock at the Führer.

'I'm not leaving. My heart is blue like my testicle! How can I go to Argentina when my hopes and dreams are in Moscow, locked within a man who cares not how I break for him. How I mourn what never was...his manhood pressed within my dainty frame.  I have known struggle. I have known duty. Duty to the Vaterland. But I have never known the warmth of his breath against my PENIS, nor the weight of him caging me in, nor the brutal mercy of his Russian grip. And so I mourn - not for the war, for the purity of the blood, the soft whisper of the soil, but for a love that never was, for the press of his Slavic body against mine, for the taste of surrender I will never be allowed to savour. My hunger has become the war. And none of you will ever understand me again...'

And with that emotional speech, he got up and left. A singular, yet thick, tear dribbled down his leg, his hips swaying in cold melancholy...