Nazi Poker

Nazi Poker

By Brandi Haugen


It was a very dunkel, stormy night,

the Eagle’s Nest was quite a sight.

The SS, dressed in leotards,

sat down to play some German cards.


Himmler had a pair of eights,

while Hess smirked at his perfect straight.

Hitler glared; his blood boiled.

He had seen Eva’s cards: her flush was royal.


He tossed his cards down in true disgust,

“Das ist scheisse!” he cried, “This game is a bust!”

Himmler laughed, spraying beer, a hilarious deluge.

He always thought Adolf to be quite a douche.


“Relax, mein freund,” he sucked on a cigar,

“Being juvenile in life will not get you far.”

Hitler exploded, “Himmler, take a hike!

You clearly don’t deserve to join the Third Reich.”


Himmler stood up, slammed down his beer stein,

“You know Adolf, you can be really unkind.”

Hess chuckled, amused, pulling up his lederhosen.

He wished he had a blanket; he was really quite frozen.


Eva sipped her drink, quenching her thirst,

“Adolf, call the cook. I’ve a craving for bratwurst.”

Hitler, incensed, smacked her face with a pretzel,

“Nein, du schlampe, I won’t even give you schnitzel.”


Hess, bored of cards, stretched out; let out a sigh.

He prayed that this time Adolf would not start to cry.

“Let’s do something else, perhaps a little Yahtzee?

I say, Adolf, can’t you properly entertain a Nazi?”


“I entertain very well, it’s totally my style.

Now get down on your knees, let me hear your ‘Sieg Heil!'”

Hess obeyed, looking forlornly demure.

He knelt upon the floor, “I’m sorry, mein Fuhrer.”


Hitler smiled; he scoffed quite curtly,

“Now get off my carpet, you’re making it dirty.

And next time, have respect, lest I put you in a full Nelson,

while Himmler strips your badge and drops you at Bergen-Belsen.”


“Whatever, Adolf, this party is the pits.

I’d rather go hang out with my friends in Auschwitz.

It would be way more fun, we’d party until dawn,

while you and these dumkopfs have ‘fun’ with Eva Braun.”


Hitler, enraged, yelled back; yelled it loud,

“Remove this fool, now! Ship him right to Dachau!”

Hess laughed loudly, enjoying this through and through,

“You hypocrite, get real. Your own grossvater was a Jew.”


Hitler reached for his gun; only blood could quench his thirst.

But Hess was quicker: he reached his gun first.

He aimed square and steady, right for the head,

and a millisecond later, Adolf was dead.


Nobody moved or sprung into action.

The amount that they cared, equaled less than a fraction.

“Scheisse, this sucks. I can’t be charged with homicide!

Put his gun up near his head; we can make this look like suicide.”


Eva got up lazily, moving Adolf’s hand,

while chewing rather thoughtfully on some tasty marzipan.

“You know, das ist gut. I always hated that moustache.

It made my skin itchy, and gave me a rash.”


“It’s probably for the best, we won’t win this war.

That’s why he’s been so grumpy; his pride is quite sore.”

Himmler raised his arm and shot Eva with his pistol.

“I always hated that bitch. She made my skin bristle.”


They laughed loud and proud, as only Nazis can.

“They were both sehr beknackt. I was never a fan.”

Hess raised his glass, heard resounding ‘Cheers!’

“Come on, meine freunde. Let’s go get more beers.”


The group stood for a moment, raised their cups to chug,

as Adolf and Eva bled out on the rug.

“Take what you want, expensive is best.

I think it’s time for us Nazis to leave the Eagle’s Nest.”


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