Nazis Literally Ruin Everything

NazisOnce the original Nazis were defeated in World War II, Americans did their best to forget they ever existed by exiling Nazis to the realm of literary and comic book villains for the likes of Indiana Jones and Captain America to best again and again. Sure, there may have been the occasional Nazi who rebelled against the system, such as the Operation Valkyrie conspirators, but they are notable precisely because of their rarity.

I’m certain a sizable percentage of Nazis escaping the smoking rubble that was once Germany, Allied victor’s justice, and the heavy-handed denazification process landed in the United States and introduced Home Owners Associations.

I keep a tastefully small collection of Nazi paraphernalia on display in my den for no better reason than I enjoy watching people squirm when they notice it.

Nazis were wicked enough in their time that mention of the name makes people’s skin crawl, and merely gazing on their relics causes weakness in the knees and a pronounced stammer. The title of Nazi has become the ultimate racial epithet against whites; on par with nigger towards blacks. Most of us honkies believe the Nazi sobriquet to be untrue and not applicable to us. Thus, the lack of a visceral reaction when it is hurled at us.

Interestingly, there doesn’t seem to be many black folk throwing around the Caucasian N-word. That heavy lifting comes mostly from Lefties and Millennials, who are generally dumb enough to think it humorous to startle a pit bull or kick a bear in the nuts.

Please, believe me when I say, “Those are both terrible ideas.”

The Nazi shadow is a thick, inky cloak that has forever ruined an untold number of perfectly reasonable and acceptable objects, ideas, and practices. There are just a few:


God help any elementary schoolkid whose parents are societally tone-deaf enough to name the child Adolph. Those named Helga, Ingrid, Henrik, or Manfred don’t fare much better. A quick review of the Berlin phone book reveals a conspicuous dearth of the family names Eichmann, Goebbels, Mengele, Himmler, and Hitler.


The Pledge of Allegiance used to look a wee bit different than the current hand-over-heart position most of us grew up with. For the fifty years prior to the Second Great European War, our grandparents, who fought real Nazis, began school every morning pledging allegiance to the Republic with the Bellamy salute, a gesture that gives today’s Liberals a case of the vapors.

Boy Scouts

No, wait. The Nazis only disbanded Scouting. The gays ruined it.

Summer camp

My parents were too cheap to send my brother and I off the summer camp. We were left to our own devices, where we accumulated scars and hearing impairments. However, I have it on good authority from friends whose parents wanted them to enjoy their summers that there didn’t seem to be a lot of Jewish kids at summer camp.

Hugo Boss suits

German luxury fashion house Hugo Boss emerged from bankruptcy in 1931 to land a contract for the all black SS uniforms. By the end of the war, Herr Boss provided most all of the Wehrmacht and Waffen-SS uniforms. Hugo Boss made the Nazis look fabulous.

Had there been even a smattering of Armani suits among the Alt-right crowd at Charlottesville, they could have gotten away with their torch-lite march without hearing a peep out of anyone. Now, because of Hitler and Crew, anti-Semitic, ethno-nationalists don’t feel the need to get their shit together enough to dress respectably when showing up for a cobblestone melee.

Toothbrush mustache

Popularized in the United States by Charlie Chaplin and Oliver Hardy, the straight-trimmed, indexed off the edge of the nostrils patch of upper lip hair will forever be associated with Nazis, third-world dictators, and artists who want to create a public stir. The fact that so few people know the proper term for it serves as proof that Adolph Hitler will own the toothbrush mustache from beyond the grave for a very long time.

Fashy haircuts

The name for this category of men’s hairstyle has emerged recently with the growing exposure of Alt-righters, but it’s been around for a long time. It’s a high-and-tight left long on the top; think Brad Pitt’s character in Fury. It’s arguably the most attractive, utilitarian, and low-maintenance haircut for men. That’s what has made it popular. The problem is that the haircut’s popularity goes back to, at least, Hitler Youth in Nazi propaganda films.

According to Leftist logic, even an irrelevant and superficial similarity between a person on their List of People You’re Supposed to Hate and Nazis makes that person a Nazi. Thanks for fucking up my haircut, Hitler.


Anytime one of my daughters has a new boyfriend, I make certain our introduction includes butchering an animal, so I can gauge their reaction. Throwing up on his shoes does not earn the young fella the Cunha Seal of Approval. Jumping in and helping sets him down the right path to my eventual demand for a bearskin, a shark tooth, and a snow-cone from Antarctica in exchange for her hand in marriage.

In the same vein as butchering, I lay little traps around the house; a Totenkopf on the mantle, a photo of lynching on a side table, a Confederate battle flag hanging in the office. Even if the young suitor has been forewarned (Which is likely, as this point in my child rearing tenure), a career spent being lied to has left me a fair evaluator of the genuine and false.

An investigator of any stripe should have a minimum of three children before being allowed to work a case on his own.

Throwing around the term Nazi for those with whom you disagree is going after flies with a hammer. It’s ineffective and mars the furniture. It shows a lack of nuance (something I’ve always heard liberals extol) and shallowness of thought.

If there really were Nazis everywhere, hospitals and morgues would be packed to capacity with Antifa protesters because the great enemy of Fascism was Communism. Antifa, Leftists, Progressives, etc. being allowed to speak their minds and escape public gatherings with their lives is proof positive there are no Nazis hiding behind the trees.


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Nazis! Nazis Everywhere!

President of my Home Owners Association

I hate Home Owners Associations with a white hot passion that is only exceeded by my revulsion at going off the Gold Standard.  And Mexican pastries.  God, those things are horrid.

I have lived under the totalitarian thumb of several HOAs over the years.  I would say “not by choice,” but I know there is always a choice.  Perhaps, I should say I lived under them due to exigent circumstances.  Since 2010, my family has moved four times.  All were job related, on short notice, and more than a comfortable day’s drive away.  Combine that with five kids still living at home and a husband on the other side of the world (Ok, the other side of the country for one of them), and my wife wasn’t always able to be as picky as I would have been.

The point is these HOAs are another layer of people telling me what I can and can’t do.  Look, if I want to put up a privacy fence, the only other person who should have anything to say about that is the landlord.  And since I’m not the type to ask permission before doing something, I sure as Hell am not going to ask the soccer mom down the street who happens to be the HOA President whether I have permission.

I’ve seen her brats play soccer, and she should really spend more time coaching them how to properly block a penalty kick than she spends driving slowly past my house eyeballing the height of the front lawn and giving me the Stink Eye, while puckering her freshly nip/tuck-ed cream pie catcher in a disapproving head shake.  I like a soft, plush lawn, God dammit.  It needs to be tall so it properly tickles between my toes when I run across it barefoot.  Cutting it like it’s the 12th green at Pebble Beach turns my luxurious grass into a fucking carpet.

I apologize.  I’m Portuguese, and we are a passionate people when it comes to our lawns.  And the Rococo-style furniture in the living room we only allow ourselves to use when we have company.

Somewhere in the Tampa, Florida area of Dunedin, a 12-year-old boy named T.J. Guerrero set up a lemonade stand in his neighborhood.  While I might quibble with his business plan in regards to volume of sales and choice of location, at least the kid has something going on to save up a little cash for the things a twelve year old desires; an iPod, snacks, his cell phone bill, dinners with his mother.

Hold on.  He’s footing the bill for his own cell phone?  Good for Mamí!  Me gusta mujeres que no le dan todo a sus niños.  I’m going out on a limb thinking Sra. Guerrero in Tampa speaks Spanish.

So, anyway, little T.J. is working his side hustle when his neighbor, Doug Wilkey (Clearly a crotchety old white dude), calls the fuzz on this little Beaner kid (I don’t know that T.J. is Mexican, so I’ll use the less specific umbrella term “Beaner”) saying the lemonade stand is “an illegal business that causes excessive traffic, noise, trash, illegal parking, and other problems that have reduced his (Mr. Wilkey’s) property values.”

You gotta be shittin’ me.   The neighbors were letting this kid put signs on their lawn and use their driveways as overflow parking.  Is this kid’s lemonade stand doing such gangbusters business that even with overflow spaces people are still double-parking and blocking fire lanes to get some of his lemony libations?  There is a noise problem, too?  Is he making so much cash that he has a marketing budget that includes hiring a Mariachi band?

I take back what I wrote earlier about disagreeing with his business plan.  Unless T.J. is mixing in crack cocaine with the sugar to get people hooked on his lemonade, I only wish I could have a rinky-dink business like his that caused all these problems.  Please, God, let these be the sorts of problems I have in life.

From what I gather in the article, Doug Wilkey is a grouch.  Possibly a grouch with an ax to grind.  The article didn’t say any such thing.  I formed this opinion from reading the facts of his actions.  He should be ashamed of himself for resorting to the authorities to settle disputes with his neighbors.  I hope his friends and neighbors castigate, chastise, rebuke, reproach, and shun him for doing such a shit-heel thing.  I also nominate him for the Oblivia Award, since he clearly has no idea how men deal with things or how boys learn to be men.  Hint: The lemonade and homemade cookie hustle will teach T.J. about being a man.  That and some Jack London.

I wonder if he is on the board of his HOA.  He strikes me as the type that would go around checking for undocumented fences or lawns that violate height regulations.  In a way, I kind of wish we were in the same HOA, so he could have un hombre de verda to pick on.  Did I mention I hate bullies?  I also hate Nazis because they were bullies.  Crap.  When did I become the swarthy Captain America?

If anyone desires to heap some more score on this Tampa Bay Grinch, feel free to reblog me, put this on Facebook, Twitter, etc., etc.  This is solely opinion based on facts and therefore is not libelous, in case you were wondering.