Carl vs. The Nazis Ch. 12 Logic

"Carl vs. The Nazis Ch. 11 Adolf Returns" 
Reasoning with Nazis

Thomas’s room was a natural cave that was discovered by residents of the boys camp when they were building their tunnels. The explosion that opened it to the bunker also closed off the entrance. The floor was smooth and covered with an oriental carpet. He had three upholstered chairs, a bed, a dresser, and a night stand with a lantern and a copy of “Mein Kampf.” A metal wardrobe with a Nazi Youth poster tacked on the side stood across from the bed. There was a small desk with official-looking yellowed Nazi papers.
Stalactites covered the ceiling. The edges of the cave tapered off. On one side, stalactites dripped water into a deep pool with a crystal bottom. The stream flowed along the side of the room before disappearing into a narrow crack. The room echoed with the music of the dripping, tinkling water.
One day, I was listening to Damon and Hoggleton talk with Thomas about why they should rule the world. Thomas, still, of course, pretending to be Hitler, tried to reason with them.
“We Aryans are the brightest and strongest,” Damon boasted.
“Of course,” said Thomas.
“Look at our accomplishments in music: We have Bach, Mozart, Brahms, and all of the most beautiful, intricate music in the world.”
“There’s a lot of good German music,” said Thomas. “But I thought you preferred country-western.”
“That’s not the point,” said Hoggleton. “The point is that when we try, we can make better music than anyone. And in mechanics we perfected engines, developed the rockets that were later used by NASA to fly into space, and built Volkswagen Beetles. In philosophy, we have Shopenhauer, Nietzche, Hegel, and Luther.”
Thomas cleared his throat and glared at his guests. “Are you forgetting anyone?” They turned red.
“And you of course! Heil, Hitler!” We stood up and saluted smartly. He returned the salute with Hitler’s trademark slightly effeminate twist of the wrist.
“I’m curious,” Thomas said. “Since we are all great thinkers and builders, what have you done, Herr Hoggleton?”
“I am very proud of my literary and mechanical achievements! I am a published writer.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Hoggleton continued proudly. “I published an article on the Internet about how to build a pipe bomb, with animated graphics, sound, and everything. Of course, being police chief, I had to use a different name.”
“Of course.”
“Germanic peoples, especially in America, dominate the culinary world as well,” Hoggleton continued. “What do the Italians eat? Spaghetti! Big deal! Yeah, they call it by a bunch of different names, ziti or angle hair. But it’s the same stuff. And don’t even talk to me about the French. They give you some little bits of food, so small they get lost on the plate, and tell you it’s wonderful. Of course it tastes great, because you’re starving!
“The sausage, the most succulent and richly satisfying food, was perfected by Germans in the United States as the frankfurter. Oh, for a bun cradling that rich, mild flesh! The pure, light pink color, all that lovely beef and pork wrapped in a tender casing! Once, in Chicago, I had one smothered in small pickles, hot peppers and tomato slices, with a hint of brown mustard. The Italians and the French will never, no matter how many things come up with, produce one decent hot dog!” He looked away dreamily, tenderly, imagining the wiener before him.
Thomas again turned red and shook his fist, glaring at Hoggleton once more. “What sort of disgusting beast are you? Would you eat your fellow creatures? Have you no love or compassion?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, I forgot you were a vegetarian.”
Damon tried to find a more agreeable subject. “Think of what the Aryan Vikings did for civilization,” Damon suggested. “They conquered all of Europe. They burned monasteries and convents. They killed people and ate children. But they were the natural leaders. They gave the world democratic practices and torte law. We are the natural leaders, but we must weed the garden in order to plant. We destroy that we may build.”
“Torte law? What’s that?” asked Hoggleton.
“The right to sue someone,” replied Damon. “The Germanic people invented it. If you chopped off someone’s arm or leg when you shouldn’t have, you had to pay for it. Just like when you break something in a gift shop.”
“Gentlemen, I’ve had a lot of time to think about these ideas over the last sixty or seventy years in my cave,” Thomas said. “If we are born to rule and dominate, how come we aren’t doing it already? I mean, if we are superior, wouldn’t we just keep winning elections and ruling the world without having to conquer, oppress and kill? Are people so perverted they would not want us to be in charge? What stops us?”
“Treachery!” responded Hoggleton. “Other inferior people, especially the Jews, are undermining our efforts, tricking and back stabbing us. These other races are clever.”
“More clever than we?” asked Thomas.
“Sometimes,” said Hoggleton.
“But, if we are the master race, mind you, I’m just playing the Devil’s advocate here, how can they be more clever that we? I mean, isn’t saying that other races trick us just another way of saying other people are more intelligent or resourceful?”
“No!” shouted Damon. “It’s because we have ethics. We won’t stoop to their evil tricks. We have a knightly sense of good, and that we must never surrender or we won’t be worthy of our destiny.”
“Was sending people to concentration camps and gas chambers ethical or chivalrous?”
“They started it,” Damon said, sullenly.
“Anyway, we’re better looking than other people,” said Hoggleton, gesturing toward the Nazi Youth poster: A young man and woman with clear blue eyes smiled confidently. Their hair was bright blond, their skin smooth, the boy was muscular and square jawed, the girl curvy and full-figured. “Did you know that Germans were so beautiful, that when Romans first saw them they thought they were angels?”
I looked over at Hoggleton: His tiny bit of jaw was hidden by his chubby chin, his nose bulbous, eyes yellow, and his hairline receding on two fronts. Hardly a man women dream about, I thought.
“And the perfect beauty of our race is being destroyed by intermarriage with people of inferior and less attractive races,” Hoggleton continued.
“I, of course, agree with keeping the purity of our race,” said Thomas, slowly stirring his tea. “But again, here I am puzzled.” He paused and rubbed his hand across the top of his head, as if he were running his fingers through his missing hair. “What horrible deception are our enemies practicing if people of our own race are finding other peoples more attractive? I mean, if the German peoples are marrying members of other races does not that mean they find those people better looking? If we are the smartest and look like angels, why, in a free country, would anyone want marry anyone else?”
Hoggleton and Damon, both bachelors without prospects, sulked. I refilled their teacups. Then Damon stood and offered hope.
“It may be bad taste that attracts people to marry non-Aryans. But I don’t know. There may be those among other races who are, sometimes, smarter, more athletic, and, yes, . . . even better looking. But those are freaks of nature.”
“But even if, and I’m just saying ‘if,’ Aryans are not the best people in the world, our plan would still work. We can get rid of anyone who is better than us. Anyone who seems, to anyone else, to be smarter, harder working, more attractive, more charming, or with better personal hygiene, must be eliminated. Then, by process of elimination, we will indeed be the best people in the world and the master race!”
“Yes,” agreed Hoggleton. “Mein Furher, you have truly shown us the way! We must have no half-way measures! You have made us pure, and now we must cleanse the world with blood! We shall start immediately!”
The two stood tall together and saluted, “Heil, Hitler!” Thomas looked at me, his eyes betraying the slightest hint of fear. His plan to reason with these men had backfired, and we were out of time.

"Carl vs. the Nazis Ch. 13 To Arms"