German Man Denies Teaching Dog Nazi Salute

54-year-old Berlin man was arrested on charges of contributing to the delinquency of a house pet last week for allegedly teaching his dog the “Heil Hitler� salute, according to German authorities. Though he admits his sheepdog can do the salute, Hans Roland insists he must have learned the gesture from other dogs in the neighborhood.

“It’s not my fault the pound sold me a Nazi dog,� claimed Roland through an interpreter. “You never know what you’re going to get, a carpet pee-er or a radical skinhead or whatever.�

“Sieg Heil!� screamed Roland at the sheepdog, Adolf, after it began to lower its paw.

When this reporter pointed out that Roland’s denials were implausible, given that he was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Adolf Hitler on it at that very moment, Roland called such allegations “absurd� and pointed out that the dog doesn’t know it’s Hitler.

“The dog’s not very smart,� explained Roland. “He thinks is Charlie Chaplin.�

Under German law, Roland can be prosecuted for displaying symbols of an unconstitutional organization and faces up to three years in prison. The laws against public display of Nazi symbols are meant to prevent a recurrence of Nazism in Germany and date back to the end of WWII. They likely wouldn’t pass constitutional muster but for the lucky fact they’re in Germany, which through a convenient loophole is exempt from American laws. Roland also faces lesser charges of contributing to the delinquency of a canine, a charge usually reserved for pet owners who give their dogs beer.

“I don’t know where these rumors get started,� Roland lamented. “Someone says you buy cheap coffee, you’re roaming around the neighborhood in the nude at nighttime, your dog’s a Nazi…�

If Roland is convicted, the dog likely will be housed in the war criminals wing of a local animal shelter.

“It’s just a rotten shame that people are going to judge this dog based on what his owner taught him,� fretted Cindy Farmou of the local animal protection agency. “It makes me sick. This dog probably isn’t even a Nazi, but because his owner was deranged he’ll have to wear that title and a swastika neckerchief for the rest of his doggie life. It’s important to remember the dog is the victim here. He probably thinks ‘Heil Hitler’ means ‘I love bacon snacks’ or something.�

“Fuck that Nazi dog!� disagreed teenager Hammel Stoiber, owner of a Jewish cocker spaniel. “They may say he’s not like the rest, but they’re all the same. Have you seen the look in that dog’s eyes? I bet he’d just love to put my Maxie in a concentration kennel.�

Roland is currently free on bail, preparing for trial by shouting at passers-by and coaching his dog on witness stand etiquette. According to court documents, police also confiscated a ferret named Manson and a parrot named Osama bin Laden from the man’s apartment.

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As one of two conservatives in the commune office, the other being a complete asshole, I felt quite alone watching the election coverage back in November. It was like the 1994 election, only horribly inverted—Democrats, Democrats everywhere, and not a successful attack ad in sight. Piss on the current administration, I say. Not because I'm not a loyal Republican, but because I firmly believe if the president had kicked a little pay-off action to the voters again (we call it tax relief) he could have skated all his cronies back into office with ease. "Iraq-a-what?" millions of greedy undecideds would have said, dollar signs clicking comically in their eyes. I love it in cartoons when you can see dollar signs rolling in someone's eyes—it wish everybody was that honest in real life.

But no, goddammit, he put his faith in the conservative religious base once again, and trusted his purges of minority voters in key states would do what he needed. Well, that left a lot of your guys shit out of luck, Mr. President. We're all financially fucked now. And don't expect the healthy sense of fear and respect we've been getting from enemy nations, now that the cursed undecideds have lame-duckified both the president and congress. Old Glory (yes, you capitalize it, goddamn you) has become a welcome mat we can roll out to terrorists, dictators, fascists, welfare moms, pervert artists, and other enemies of the great republic.

I still remember watching it on the TV, knowing it was coming 'cause all the polls pointed to disaster. As usual, I was here in the commune office, conveniently located where I sleep and eat chicken wings. I remember having most of the year off, for whatever reason—I'm only the Office Manager, work stoppages aren't any of my business. All I know is we hadn't been publishing since April or something and a lot of the reporters had taken off for long vacations, which meant I could crank up the Creedence. It was better than hearing the news folks actually covering the elections proselytizing about "wake up calls" and "referendums on the war." It's not a war, idiots, it's an occupation—at least get that part right. A war is when both sides agree they're fighting, and we clearly haven't gotten on board that wagon yet.

Regardless of semantics, forgetting who voted for what and why, we all have to thank the Undecideds. Yeah, they get the capitalization treatment now, too, 'cause they're a group—the same group that keeps fucking things up for everybody. At last the Democrats and the Republicans can find common ground together, a mutual enemy. These la-dee-dahs and their lack of conviction. How could anyone over the age of 10 and under the age of 90 not know what the hell they stand for, and which political group makes the weak promises to give them just that? How could complete morons, who predictably somehow make it out to the polls on election days, not pick one big fat emotional issue and react with gusto on that? Going right into the congressional elections of 2006, just like 2004, 2002, 2000, and every election in-between, before, and to come, these numb-nutted weasels had every reason to believe they knew there was a big military presence in Iraq, there was a major SNAFU with the future of social security, and they either had a good job or no job whatsoever. Did these guys wake up bankrupt, old, concerned with immigration and terrified about the environment on Tuesday morning? You assholes had plenty of time to register with a party or at least warn either party of your voting intentions. But no, you had to leave it to the last minute to make a commitment toward the party you want to let you down for the next 2-6 years.

If we had known, maybe we could have kissed a little more Christian ass before that fatal Tuesday. Promised to make fireproof flags or give an abortion doctor a death penalty or something. Thanks for nothing, losers.

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Since the beginning of time, the seasons have intrigued, beguiled, and frostbitten man. With summer came the Sun, and with winter came the Sun's cold and evil brother, Stan. But why? Who among the Gods would allow Stan's icy reign over the nethermonths, shining his cold rays down on a helpless populace year after year? Is this the work of Bertle the Brown? Or Oscar the Finn? Who dropped the proverbial ball and kicked it so proverbially across the street? Ye Gods, why hast thou screwed us so?

As is the case with many questions, it turns out that the answer to this one is more scientific than one might expect. Disheartening as it may be to believe, mere fairy tailery alone can not account for the vast fluctuations in temperatures between the summer and winter months. Who, then do we blame for the profanity-inducing hot steering wheels of summertime or the millions of people falling down in hilarious ways during the winter?

For years, primitive peoples believed that the flat, disc-like earth rested in a giant celestial frying pan, and that in the summer months the flame was turned on, heating the earth. The Gods were then believed to wander away to check out a noise they thought they heard on the celestial roof, leaving the earth unattended in the frying pan. By late fall, the earth would get too hot and burst into flames, sending smoke billowing up through the heavens and setting off the celestial smoke detector, which beeped weakly thanks to the Gods being too damned lazy to check the celestial batteries in the thing more often than once or twice a millennia. Eventually, the Gods would hear the beeping and dash back into the house, screaming "Holy Shit!"

The Gods would flounder around the celestial kitchen for a little while, not sure quite what they were supposed to do, then in a panic they would hose off the earth with a gigantic fire extinguisher that they kept next to the celestial stove. Thankfully the Gods knew themselves to be shitty cooks and were prepared. Hencely, a soothing blanket of snow would cover the earth until the springtime, when the Gods would start the whole rigmarole over again. It's best to remember that in primitive times, the Gods were not revered for being exceptionally bright.

Thanks to satellite photography and advanced knowledge of physics, modern man and the occasional modern woman need no longer toil under the weight of such gross misinformation. Today we know that the seasons are actually the result of a power struggle between the two sons of the one true God, Muzamtecca Brown. Muzamtecca's twin sons, named Sun and Stan, were given the earth as a present on the event of their mutual fifth birthday. At first, they were overjoyed, and the earth was a paradise with sunshine and rivers of marmalade. But before long, the two brothers grew jealous of each other, and started fighting over the earth.

Sun, the warm and cheerful brother who was nevertheless a selfish little shit, would grab the earth away from Stan, hugging it close to his chest, causing the glorious summer months. Stan, the cold-hearted and rather slow brother, would notice a few months later that he was no longer holding the earth and would snatch it back from Sun, kicking him in the knee and causing the earth's bitter cold winters.

Back and forth they have gone through the years, repeating the same routine that has resulted in the predictable pattern of the seasons here on earth. The discovery of this celestial struggle by scientists has understandably caused a rift in the religious community, as many consider it heresy to suggest that Muzamtecca's two sons are total assholes. But the reasonable man cannot argue with science. Assholes, they are.

Over the years we on earth have developed a useful calendar based around the struggles between Sun and Stan, creating our years, months and days. Except for the Mayans, who couldn't get with the program and had their own bizarre calendar with cookies and birds on it just to piss off tourists and neighboring countries. Eventually the Mayans were killed off by a mob of irate tourists who were being overcharged for not checking out of their hotel rooms by cookie-bird-moon day. The Mayans called to their neighbors the Incas for help, but the Incas answered back that they wouldn't be able to send anyone until the day after radish-spoon-donkey day, and nobody knew when that was going to be.

So the next time you awake in February to find your car encased in ice like a Jello snack, blame not the cooking-challenged Gods or the fickle freezing point of water, instead reserve your one-finger salute for that pudgy little bastard in the sky. No, not Neil Armstrong. You know who I mean.

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