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Deaf, parallel-universe Adolf Hitler strode down Wilhelm Friedrickstrasse on his way to market.
"Mind you don't waste the change on cinnamon cakes, Dolfie," his mother had said as she handed him 2 billion marks for the errand (it was 1930). Her heart yearned to twist as she looked after her son from the front door: at 41, he was still her little boy. She went back inside to make his bed.
Deaf, parallel-universe Adolf Hitler stopped by Abey Schwartz's bakery.
"Well, here's my big customer!" Mr. Schwartz said. "What will it be today, my boy?"
DPUAH took up the little slateboard that dangled from his neck by a piece of twine. Then, haviog retrieved some chalk from his coat pocket, he started to draw a cinnamon cake.
"Could it be... a chocolate bobka," the kindly old man asked.
DPUAH shook his head and added further detail to his illustration.
"Oh, is it Linzer cookies you desire?"
DPUAH stamped his little foot and completed his rendering, holding it up proudly for the old man to see.
"Cunnuhmin caaaaake," DPUAH managed to say in his retarded-sounding voice.
"Ah! Cinnamon cake! Of course, of course!" Abey Schwartz cried, producing from behind the counter a white box tied up with a ribbon.
DPUAH paid for his treat and continued on his way to market. He untied the ribbon as he walked, opened the box and took out the still-warm cake. But no sooner had the moist, fragrant bread touched his lips than a terrible pain struck his ears.
It seemed to originate from above. Looking up, DPUAH descried something on a second story balcony: a blond child, with striking blue eyes, beating on a little toy drum. By all appearances, he must have been screaming too, for his mouth was agape. When their eyes met, the little boy stopped beating on his drum and opened his mouth still wider. DPUAH's ears rang in unbearable agony. He dropped the cake and grabbed his head. The uncanny child pointed his drumsticks accusingly.
DPUAH ran all the way home and locked himself in the bathroom. The incident had shaken him to his very soul. He had been having nightmares lately.
Date Written: August 10, 2004Comments:
Average Vote: 4.2
08/16/2004 anonymous: Let's get the day started right. Hi, Scoop. FU, Pony. Oss, how ya doing there, big guy? Matza, way to go last week. Keep it up.
08/16/2004 scoop (5): I found the whole part with the cake and the dropping really moving. I mean I could almost feel that warm cinnamon cake going in to my mouth, and then, to have it suddenly fall on the floor. What a waste. I mean, maybe if the cake had been room temperature, it wouldn't have been so heartbreaking. But warm...
08/16/2004 Mr. Pony (5): Haunting! Who could expect that we'd find such an untapped well in deaf parallel-universe Adolf Hitler?
08/16/2004 Will Disney (4): my heart, also, is yearning to twist. i dunno - 4?
08/16/2004 Dylan Danko (3): There were some good moments but on the whole I found this too annoyingly high concept.
08/16/2004 Ewan Snow: Not sure about this one. I thought he was going to be unable to communicate his order by means of drawing, and (having failed at art) would, you know, go all Nazi and stuff. Not sure I understand the point of the ending. What's the idea of the little drummer boy? And what was it DPUAH's mom wanted him to buy at market? She told him not to waste the change on cinnamon cakes, but not what to buy!
08/16/2004 anonymous: Snow: I was trying to make it obvious that the old kike was only pretending not to understand what DPUAH was drawing, like it was this little game they always played. As for the significance of the little drummer boy...
08/16/2004 TheBuyer (4):
08/16/2004 Benny Maniacs (5): Scoop: Was the cinnamon cake in your imagination made from soy products, so as not to agitate the lactose intolerant?
08/16/2004 Benny Maniacs: This is without a doubt The Lerpa's, as he is the only one who would have the gaul to spell "Fredrickstrasse".
08/16/2004 Ewan Snow: Author, I didn't find it obvious at all that he was only pretending not to understand the drawing. Are you saying that Hitler's art skills in this PU are, in fact, quite good? Also, I figured it was a Tin Drum reference, but I never read it, so I don't get it. I will withhold vote for now. However, be advised that I am in possession of a library card, and am willing to use it. If I go to my local branch, read The Tin Drum, return the book the book on time, come back to this short and do not give a hearty belly laugh, there'll be hell to pay. (Or should I just rent the movie?)
08/16/2004 Benny Maniacs: Excuse me, Friedrickstrasse.
08/16/2004 Dylan Danko: rent the fucking movie and get high, dude.
08/16/2004 Ewan Snow: Well, the premise is very OSS, but the short itself, I'm not so sure. OSS, is this yours? Now tell the truth!
08/16/2004 qualcomm (3): i didn't write this thing.
08/16/2004 anonymous: Snow: I don't think Hitler was so bad an artist that he couldn't draw a reasonable cinnamon cake. He was a reasonably competent, though boring and uninspired, painter by most accounts. The thing about it being a game is conveyed, perhaps imperfectly, by the familiar tone the Jew uses with DPUAH when he first walks in; it's clear they know each other. Also, the kindly kike already had a cinnamon cake boxed and ready to go, as if he were ready for this transaction. I am not OSS.
08/16/2004 Ewan Snow: This short is bad and you should be punished!
08/16/2004 anonymous: Brother, please don't lowball this short. I might get so upset, I couldn't even enjoy wine. And my performance as a reporter for Newsday, as well as this side gig I have as a Flash cartoonist for DrainPOOP.com, might suffer. Think of my prethous, newborn thon. Uhh, gimme a triple Jameson on the rocks. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go kiss my girlfriend in Boston. Asshole.
08/16/2004 Jon Matza: What about me, author? Off all the insensitive etc.
08/16/2004 Jon Matza: Or was I taken care of with the 'brother'?
08/16/2004 Jon Matza: Mitochondria; ATP-producing "powerhouse of the cell."
08/16/2004 The Finch: I think that Ewan Snow might be doing it again.
08/16/2004 Mr. Pony: Mistaking a drawing of a cinnamon cake for a drawing of a chocolate babka is a perfectly reasonable thing to do, especially if the drawing is on a chalkboard!
08/16/2004 Mr. Pony: "Backsplash poo in the toilet!"
08/16/2004 Ewan Snow (3): You're right again, Finch! This is mine.
08/16/2004 anonymous: sure, if your real name is Benny Maniacs.
08/16/2004 Jon Matza: Yeah, or if your pen name is Ewan Snow.
08/16/2004 John Slocum (3): Enjoyed, didn't like end, should have ended with "terrible pain struck his ears." Sloc has Spoke.
08/16/2004 scoop: This must be Matza or me because if you will all just take a moment and glance to your right you will notice that we are the only ones who have contributed anything to this site for the last frigging week! So on that note I will applaud either myself or brother Matza for that most excellent "From Author" comment timecoded 11:37:44 am.
08/16/2004 scoop: If you would all just glance up and to the right, that is. Up and to the right. Thank you.
08/16/2004 Mr. Pony: Scoop, in your Madden-addled state, you left out Slocum, who's short graced the home page just last friday! How could you?!?
08/16/2004 scoop: I've come to believe, quite strongly, quite, in recent weeks that Slocum is nothing more than a figment of all of our imaginations. A slosh of undigested wine festering like a puddle in our psyches. Soon, I beleive we will all come to relaize that Slocum does not in fact, exist at all.
08/16/2004 Mr. Pony: Great Scott!
08/16/2004 John Slocum: slish-slosh piddle puddle wiiiinnnnneeee piddle gurrrrgle gaggle ggggrre=g bbbrrrrrrrrpppp!
08/16/2004 Jon Matza: Silence, undigested wine puddle festering in my psychii!
08/16/2004 John Slocum: frgl
08/16/2004 Jon Matza: Aiiiggh!!
08/16/2004 Ferucio P. Chhretan (5):
08/17/2004 Ewan Snow: You are one tricky summer sausage...
02/17/2005 The Rid (5):