“Das nein zeitgeist scheiße-porn!” Hitler shouted to the Panzer-Comanders.
“Schadenfreude!” the Panzer-Commanders shouted back. They goose-stepped out of Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest and got into their Swastikars to drive back to base.
They parked in even rows at the edge of camp, and simultaneously hopped out of their Swastikars and walked uniformly into camp. It was precisely six AM. Their tankmen funneled out of the tents and onto the parade ground.
The tankmen stared at the Panzer-Commanders. The Panzer-Commanders stared at the tankmen. There was a long pause.
At long last, the Panzer-Commanders shouted, “Blitzkreig!”
“Heil Ja!” responded the tankmen. They did that thing with their arms that people don’t do anymore because it’s offensive.
The tankmen ran into their tents and retrieved kegs of Hofbrauhaus. They rolled the kegs along the parade ground and brought them inside their tanks.
Tankman Hans climbed into his tank next to Gunther. Gunther, of course, was the gunner.
“Prost!” Hans said to Gunther. They imbibed heartily. It was a good war.
The tanks formed a column and began chugging forward.
In a freak accident, H.G. Wells appeared on the scene, doing research for his 1895 novel, The Time Machine. He saw the column of Panzer tanks.
“By jove!” H.G. Wells ejaculated, “What a horde of poxy wankstains!”
He counted the tanks in horror.
“Godsblood!” he shouted, “Let’s not them inherit the earth!”
He fiddled with the settings on his time machine and teleported everyone to modern-day Los Angeles.
The tankmen were a bit confused.
“Toodle-ooo!” H.G. Wells called out, before disappearing into that era of the future where he was done with all that book-writing nonsense and could comfortably enjoy his royalty checks in Monte Carlo.
The tankmen looked to the Panzer Commanders for orders. The Panzer Commanders stared aghast at all of the uplight semaphores and handheld ENIGMA machines.
“Fuckin-ay!” A passing film critic said. “Another one of these time-travel stories? Go back to your own fuckin’ era!”
... To be continued