Why are they bothering me? They should leave me in peace. Nothing is so important that it can’t wait. They are shaking me by the shoulder. What is that about?

I am sitting playing cards with Eva. We sit together and drink tea. She has made snitzledoodlebocker. She always knows how to lift my mood. My darling Addie, she says. I am so happy. I raise my napkin to my eye. We are so in love. I reach down and pat Blondi. I must go soon, my darling. War calls. Marten is waiting to take me to the map room. Snappenze, says Eva. I vin again. 

They tell me that’s not safe here. Don’t be ridiculous, this is America, I say and turn over. I close my eyes and slip my hand under the pillow. Still there. I can feel it, cold and hard, like a dead man’s stiffy.

Keitel is in the map room and he is smiling. Why is he smiling? I look and see that the Russians and American have fallen into my trap. Ah ha, mein Gott, it is all going according to plan, I tell them. Heil Hydra, they reply.

You need to deal with this, it’s important. I stretch and let them help me to my feet. It’s some kind of disturbance. Screw that, there is always something going on. I reach under the pillow and take my best friend. The safety is on, so I slip it into the waistband of my shorts. Careful; I don’t want to blow my junk off. Where are we going? Somewhere safe. This is safe, I say and turn back. It’s just a precaution. A precaution from what? Go away, I tell them, and this time, they listen. Go to hell, I mutter, and off they go, back to where they came from.

Von Braun is here. He has a plan. He has built a rocket that will take us to the moon. It will land on our secret Nazi moon base and there we will regroup and gather our strength, raining hellfire and damnation on the Americans and the Russians, safe in the knowledge that they cannot reach us. What shall we eat when on the moon, I ask? Cheese, mein Fuhrer, cheese. Even the best of plans has its weaknesses.

Lying down, I can feel the pistol crushing into my belly. I take it and put it back under the pillar. She has not even stirred. She is snoring softly. How can she sleep through all that? In my dreams, I remember the last one. I remember her soft breasts and all the rest of it. Of course, she has all that now, but for some reason, I’m thinking of someone different. I roll over and set my back to her. I close my eyes and dream of screwing. Now I can’t tell who is in my dreams and it does not matter. As long as their legs are open. It’s an endless dream of fanny.

Von Braun has been working flat out on the secret weapon. The Hydra-gen bomben will be ready soon, he tells me. Hail Hydra. Kessler is smiling. Soon, soon, I will release my vampire hordes and they will rip the throats of every Russian from here to St Petersburg. Before he leaves, Von Braun shaves my testicles.

She is stirring now. And so I lazily let my hand creep over the invisible divide that cuts the bed in half. It is like a commando raid. If the bitch would do her part, then I could do mine. She rolls into the centre on to her back. Her eyes don’t even open. She does not look at me. What the hell am I paying you for, you whore?

Wake up, Addie, says Eva. I have been having that nightmare again. I am back at the Berlin Olympics watching the sprints. The black man is running at the lead of the pack. But surely he must fall back. His inferior black lungs cannot keep this up. On and on he goes, and his black penis is erect in his shorts. I cannot take my eyes off it. The black man wins and I see him reach inside and rearrange his stuff. Later, he wants me to shake his hand. But I know where it has been.

Now, I can hardly sleep. Muscle memory leads my hand and fingers where they should. I slide over, on top, dominant. She’s holding it now, and gently doing what she does. Slowly, it comes, and then it is over. The engagement is over. I won. I got it. She retreats and leaves me in possession. I lie in the dampness, and in the haze of the early hours, the scent of us pulls me back down to that other place. I made her; I can break her. She owes me everything. She owes me this and more. If she doesn’t like it, there are plenty more in the catalogue.

The telephone rings and I can hear someone sniggering down the phone. Who is this, I demand? But I know full well it is Stalin. He is laughing at me, mocking me. Laugh it up, you Georgian gangster. Once I have won this war, I will eradicate all dirty ethnic minorities. You are no better than a Jew. He keeps laughing, louder than ever. I know it’s you, I scream down the line and slam the receiver down. He rings again, but I do not answer.

I’m dreaming again, and this time, I am judging a beauty patent. I sit on a throne and all the most beautiful girls in the world parade for me. They come from all corners of the world: Miss Philippines, Miss Iceland, Miss Namibia, Miss Venezuela. One after the other, they come. I grab their tits and their pussies; they let me because I am a star. I have star quality. They are all very beautiful, even the black ones. I grab some black pussy to show everyone I’m not a racist. I love all races, except the Chinese. I grab some Chinese pussy, too. They may be devious little shits, but they know all about pussy.

Eva has brought me a glass of water. I am grateful to her. I try to lift it, but my arm is shaking. I have been giving too many salutes. I put my hand in my pocket and Eva lifts the glass to my lips. I must be careful not to drop any water on my nice tie. The water is very good. If my arm was not so tired, I could drink water all by myself. I am not weak or sick. I am a fine specimen. Ya vul, Addie, says Eva, you are like a mighty stallion. One of the generals takes my arm as I walk back to my room because my shoes are made of leather and are very slippery.

Now I’m asleep, thank goodness. Putin turns up; he’s bare-chested and riding a stag. The horns on that thing are massive. He’s pretty ripped. Remember what I told you, he tells me. And I think back to that day in Helsinki. It was the first time we kissed and the last. I love you, I said. The bitch thinks I am talking about her and says I love you too. Fuck her; she’s just my handler. I’m not doing this for her; I’m doing it for Vlad. He has the kindest eyes. They look straight into your soul. Americans have no soul. But then again, I’m not American; I’m German. Pure Aryan, just like blue-eyed, ripped Vlad. I’m not saying Germans are the master race, because it does not need to be said. Vlad is secretly German, ethnically German. He’s one of us, the master race.

The bunker is a bit smelly. There is no excuse for it. Himmler says it is because he has been eating too much sauerkraut. A good German eats sauerkraut every day, I tell him. It is not just Himmler that is dropping ze doodlefarten. Gott in Himmel, says Kessler. Who has popensnauzed. If you announced it, you pronounced it, I tell him. If I could open a window, then I would. But that would let sniper bullets in.

The bitch has gone to pee. How many fucking times a night does she need to do that? It’s like she has a bladder the size of a peanut, the size of her brain. I can hear her in there. Why the fuck is she taking so long. The light is coming out from under the door; how the hell I am I supposed to sleep. I know she’s playing Candy Crush in there. One of these days, I swear I’m going to throw her bloody phone down the john. When I shout, she says she’s just coming, that she’s at a tricky bit. I hear the sound of stools dropping. Gross, man. She comes through and she can tell I’m mad. She makes with the Elvira eyes, but screw her. You’re playing Candy Crush in the john, I say. No, she says, in toilet, make plop-plop. How come I can’t smell anything? I ask. You want sniff my ass, she says.

Hess brings me his secret weapon. I go and follow him into the secret weapon room. There is something like a rag doll with pins in it. It is the world’s biggest voodoo doll. It is an image of a tall man with thin spindly legs and big baggy eyes. Who is this meant to be, I ask. It is President Franklin D. Roosevelt, says Hess. With this, we control his every move. You do know he is dead, I say. See, remarks Hess, it has worked already.

I’m in some kind of place. There’s lots of sand and it’s very hot. All us guys are naked. We’re standing around me and Rudy and Mike and the rest. I look and see that my dick is the biggest. It’s the biggest dick ever. The rest of them have tiny, shrivelled dicks. I swing it bigly, then stand on my head. My dick is so big it falls down to my face and I can give myself a blowjob; it the best blowjob ever. No one knows more about blowjobs than me. I am the world expert at blowjobs. Better than the bitch, that’s for sure. I swallow. Someone has to swallow all my shit. It may as well be me.

Goebbels has come and is ranting on and on. He is so stupid. I will not take him with me to our secret base. He is showing me what he claims is the spear of destiny, the holy lance. It looks like an iron fence railing. It has the blood of Christ on it, he says. Goebbels is big on all that mumbo-jumbo claptrap. I try not to snigger, but I am thinking of that song that the Allies sing. No balls at all.

I can taste asparagus and glue, and then I realise that I am sitting on the john. In my hand, I have some pills. What the hell are they? They are white and round. Maybe I should grind them up? I rattle the tube and then I read Quinhydrocloromine or whatever. Yeah, I heard of that. The guys say these pills are great. I hear good things about it. What have I got to lose, I say; I take two and then another two and then another two. Screw this; I take them all. A lot is better than a little. That’s what the bitch always says. God, I hate her.

Eva has some gear. I call on Doctor Morell to administer it to us. He measures an amount and injects us, myself and Eva. But it is not enough; the sweet kiss of the dragon is barely a flutter. What is this, I ask. It seems it’s mostly chalk and talcum powder, cut with bleach powder. I have injected bleach into my veins. Still, what did I have to lose?

Suddenly, I’m thirsty. There’s some toilet cleaner at the side of the bowl, so I take a swig. You know, it’s not bad. I’ve tasted worse scotch. I’ve certainly sold worse scotch. But this is good; goes straight to my gigantic brain and cleans it. It’s the best rush ever; it’s like liquid sunshine. I feel so great. If I could, I would hook this stuff straight into my veins. I want to take this and pour it inside. I have a special kind of brain that is great at this stuff. When I was in high school, I dried a banana peel and smoked it. I was high for a week. I take another snifter.

In my dream, I have seen the future. The Reich will last a thousand years. Or maybe 50. I am not good with numbers. I will die young, like James Dean, and my legacy will live on. I can see my heir; he is an orange-faced buffoon. What have I been fighting for? Is this the future of fascism? I have failed; the master race is a laughing stock.

Fuck Biden, I tweet. He’s old and I hate him. He kills people and he’s thick. I press send and make a note to get the PR boys to tidy it up in the morning. Fuck Bush, I say. That dick keeps laughing at me. But I’ll have the last laugh. I am a way better president than he was.

Come into ze garden, Addie, says Eva. We walk out and smell the primulas. It is still early, but soon, the azaleas will be in full bloom. It is so peaceful. My darling, I have something to ask you, I tell Eva. I take the ring from my pocket and present it to her. Will you marry me and then carry out a mutual suicide pact for our honeymoon. I have two cyanide pills. One for you and one for me. Oh Addie, she says, you are so romantic.

Obama is a dick, I tweet. I hate him. When I got to the Oval Office, I had to have the place disinfected. It took weeks to get rid of the smell of fried chicken. I burned all the sheets in the White House. There was no way I was sleeping in them after his dirty black ass had been in them. Jared wanted to cut eyeholes and run around with them over his head. He’s always doing things like that. He’s such a joker. He’s obsessed with Harry Potter and stuff like that, always saying I need to see the grand wizard, who it turns out is good people.

The smell of bacon permeates the bunker. Goebbels has been cooking. How disgusting. I go into the kitchen and shout at him. Nein, nein, nein, no meat. He looks at me with those sad puppy dog eyes. But I do not weaken; I throw the bacon to Blondi, who eats it in one gulp. I am treated worse than a dog, Goebbels complains.

I like fried chicken; I go back to bed and dream of the Colonel and his secret mix of eleven herbs and spices. I know what they are, by the way. No one knows more about spice that I do. No one knows more about fried chicken than I do. It took me weeks to get the smell of it out of the White House. Obama does not even play golf.

My one regret and single joy is that I have brought no children into this sad world. But Marten has a plan. He has made a million mini-mes and will travel to Brazil in a one-man U-boat. There, he will implant the mini-mes into good Aryan wombs and raise an army of comedy-moustached, one-testicled, drug-addicted dwarves with shaking hands. That army will take over the world.

***

For all installments of “Dreams of the Red Skull,” click here.

Dreams of the Red Skull