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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I've always believed that a sense of play is paramount to the health of any long-term relationship. And though some times I may have doubted it, Dan, now I finally understand that you feel exactly the same way.

I have to admit you had me going for a while there, when you "broke up" with me, quit your job and moved to Tacoma. Things got a little weird when you didn't leave a forwarding address and I started to wonder if we were doing okay. But then I remembered how you loved to play-act when we were together, going home from the bar with other girls and conveniently "forgetting" to tell me that you'd changed the all the locks to the apartment. I have to admit; you sure knew how to keep a girl coming back for more! But your little "hard to get" routine didn't fool me then and I wasn't about to let it fool me when I was put to the big test. Before you could say "disappeared in the middle of the night" I was in a Seattle-area private investigator's office, proving just what I was willing to do for your love.

Of course, I wasn't naive enough to think that would be enough: after all, most any girl with a road atlas, a lock picking kit and a flexible career path could track you down in Tacoma and surprise you in your new apartment at three in the morning.

But only the true of heart would endure the endless trips to the police station and rounds of legal maneuvering necessary to prove their conviction over the next several months.

You knew I'd come through for you, Dan, and I did. No amount of door slamming, table-lamp swinging or screaming "Back to hell with you, bitch!" could shake from my mind the love I still saw in your eyes. Lesser girls probably would have given up after being shoved off the fire escape, but then of course they wouldn't have been worthy of your love.

A restraining order can send a lot of messages, but if you really wanted me to stay away, I know you would have made sure it was for more than a mere 100 meters. That's practically a Valentine's card, an invitation to buy some high-powered binoculars and peer into your bedroom window from the parking lot of the Taco Bell down the street. You know these little lovers' games drive me wild, you tease!

After all, if you really meant what you said about the end of Fatal Attraction, why would you go to the trouble of installing those electronic sensors in my bed to monitor my masturbations? Or what about the wafer-thin cameras hidden inside the patterns in my wallpaper? That just doesn't make sense.

Everybody thought I'd for sure throw in the towel when you married Darlene, or at least when Alicia and Barnaby were born. But they just don't understand us, Dan. I'm in this for the long haul. My love only goes stronger with every additional test, and with every night spent sleeping on your rooftop, peering down through the skylight until my breath fogs the glass.

Say what you like to the papers, Dan. I know you love me.

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Emil's Note: You won't believe your luck and mine, Rok readers! Did you know that, after the initial Sept. 11 attacks on American soil, nerves-of-steel columnist Rok Finger wrote his thoughts about the event for commune publication? For some reason known only to the Red almighty, it never ran. Maybe too controversial for its "barely coherent handwriting" and with uncommon levels of coffee staining, but it's been a decade, the standards have changed, even drastically lowered, and I'm willing to run what Señor Bagel did not. So here to celebrate the ten-year anniversary of the commune's Oct. 1st return to regular publishing, enjoy this nose nugget from a time gone by…

Good people, there are no words to describe what I am feeling today. Though "fuckdammit" and "cuntballs" are pretty close.

Here it is, Wednesday morning, and I have endured, with the rest of America, watching those glorious towers fall yesterday in New York City. Some bad shit also happened in the nation's capital, but I was getting a sandwich when they covered that. To hit the World Trade Center, all of those casualties, all that property damage done, it's the greatest tragedy of our lifetimes, or it would be, if all those people who were around during Pearl Harbor would hurry up and die off. Myself excluded, of course.

We must not rush to conclusions on this. No matter the anger that we all feel, it's more important than ever to remember the tenets of our judicial system. I trust as soon as the president comes out of hiding he will remind us that it's not enough to assume who did it, to round up every suspect and throw them away in prison for the rest of their lives without giving themselves a chance to prove their innocence at trials. No matter how it might seem, we need to investigate this great tragedy, find those responsible, wherever they are. Even if we already know who did it.

That's right: Mall developers. It was bound to happen, all of that beautiful expensive real estate taken up by those shining silver towers jutting up from the ground like twin robot erections, not a Sbarro or Spencer's Gifts among them. The best designers in the world couldn't make escalators that go up that high, and we knew it the whole time, we knew we were asking for foreign mall developers to come and give us the business. I keep hearing that the casualties might have been worse in the afternoon, after all the teenagers had gotten out of school, but I still wish it had been earlier in the morning, when only the old people were walking the towers.

Nor should we go out into the streets of our own country, like a mob, and take out our frustrations on people just because they're part of the same group. I've known many mall developers in this country, and no matter how scummy they are, some of them are good people. Why, here in Flatbush we have one of the world's most beautiful malls, not built as a beacon of commerce but as a town center, complete with a garden and library. True, the garden is mostly made up of Chinese food and goes by the name Mandarin Garden, and the library charges preposterous prices for every book you check out, but this is the town center of the 21st century. Mall developers have brought us that, good mall developers, not the monsters who knocked down our big buildings.

Some people have been quick to ask that the military involve themselves in this conflict, but I ask, what could the military do? The damage has been done here. The injuries we've suffered as a nation doesn't give us the right to go stomping around the rest of the world, throwing out weight around, exacting vengeance like a pissed-off Mel Gibson—not unless we get Mel Gibson himself to do it. Man, that guy's star will never fade. No, I say the military has no place in this. We must ask our brother nations and sister nation (I'm winking slyly at you, France) to join us in ending mall developer terrorism, forming a coalition of peace to arrest mall developer terrorists and dismantle their organizations. It's the wisest and most constitutional course of action, but I don't have to tell our president about doing the right moral thing. I look to you, Mr. President!

One final thought: Let this horrible scar in our modern history be a reminder, not a wasted opportunity. This closeness we all feel today should not be lost or forgotten. When I first got news of the tragedy, I saw a hot dog vendor hugging a Rocky Horror Picture Show fan—that's right, mortal enemies locked in an embrace, right out in the open. Just this morning I looked out my window and saw a child savaging my lawn with a flaming roll of toilet paper and I didn't have the heart to interrupt his fun. Things are getting back to normal, however slowly, but we will never be the same, and if we are all quick to remember we're more alike than unalike, we can be better from this.

As for the responsible party (cough, cough, mall developers, cough), don't worry. They will be brought to justice, even if it takes us another ten years. But not one single year longer than that, do you hear me? Not one.

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