Adolf Hitler was a real pig, secret report shows
February 18th 2009 21:32
TO the wartime world, he was a monster. In private, it seems, Adolf Hitler was a pig, according to secret notes that have surfaced.
The German dictator, of Austrian extraction, was raised with his innumerable siblings as his mother, confined to a concrete stall scarcely bigger than herself, felt the humanity of man more deeply by the day.
"He's not the messiah, he's just one of a number of delicious little creatures who have to be castrated with a pocket knife and have their tails docked with someone's bare hands," she confided as she lay there.
"Lucky for me that I can be inseminated with a turkey baster. My lover is a machine. Made in China, I'm led to believe. What has happened to doing things the old fashioned way? I remember when the farmer himself would see to it that my needs were met," she lamented.
The mother of a million and crossword enthusiast took time out from a busy schedule to show us around the luxurious concrete stall she calls home, and in the process accidentally rolled over her children, accidentally confining one to a wheelchair and causing another severe brain injuries.
"What's going to become of them, now?" she weeped. "Will they ever get a chance to be loaded into a truck like sardines and spend the night at a slaughterhouse before being hit on the head, bathed in boiling water and then have their throats cut?"
"Will their anuses ever be tasted by the mouth of man? Their lips ever know the lips of the well-to-do and the lowly, alike? Will their skin ever make beautiful music?" she cried.
"Only asking," she cowered, as a steel pipe was brandished.
"I don't smoke."
"One can't hurt."
"I think I need to lie down."
The German dictator, of Austrian extraction, was raised with his innumerable siblings as his mother, confined to a concrete stall scarcely bigger than herself, felt the humanity of man more deeply by the day.
"He's not the messiah, he's just one of a number of delicious little creatures who have to be castrated with a pocket knife and have their tails docked with someone's bare hands," she confided as she lay there.
"Lucky for me that I can be inseminated with a turkey baster. My lover is a machine. Made in China, I'm led to believe. What has happened to doing things the old fashioned way? I remember when the farmer himself would see to it that my needs were met," she lamented.
The mother of a million and crossword enthusiast took time out from a busy schedule to show us around the luxurious concrete stall she calls home, and in the process accidentally rolled over her children, accidentally confining one to a wheelchair and causing another severe brain injuries.
"What's going to become of them, now?" she weeped. "Will they ever get a chance to be loaded into a truck like sardines and spend the night at a slaughterhouse before being hit on the head, bathed in boiling water and then have their throats cut?"
"Will their anuses ever be tasted by the mouth of man? Their lips ever know the lips of the well-to-do and the lowly, alike? Will their skin ever make beautiful music?" she cried.
"Only asking," she cowered, as a steel pipe was brandished.
"I don't smoke."
"One can't hurt."
"I think I need to lie down."
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