Hitler died decades ago. Yet for a brief instant he was poised to sit, fully clad in Nazi get up, in the heart of Berlin yet again. Fate would deem the the second go around a far shorter ordeal for the German people than the all too unforgettable first.
Der Furher is head of state no longer. As if it hadn’t been long enough. First the headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow lore (wasn’t he supposed to be a Hessian soldier?), and now the headless Hitler. Doubt we’ll get any dreary fantasies composed about old Adolph, however.
Only moments after the opening of the exhibit in a Berlin museum that portrayed a wax likeness of Herr Hitler himself, posed in his bunker under the Reich Chancellory in the waning days of the Third Reich, a German man waltzed up and decapitated him. Can you blame the guy? Not that a country shouldn’t be able to acknowledge even the darkest moments in its history, but staring in the cold, blue eyes of perhaps the most diabolical military and political despot ever, a swift beating seems rightly in order.
If I had to guess, I would say that Hitler has to rank in the upper echelon of notorious evil doers who citizens of countless countries spanning nearly eight decades would love to find in a dark alley and beat the living crap out of.
Maybe he’ll get a statue, or a monument, or a wax likeness in the Rhineland someday, but I doubt any of us will be around to see it!
