Fun Under the Swastika

National Socialist activism has its lighter moments, too! Here we will gradually add excerpts from Gerhard Lauck’s booklet "Fun Under the Swastika".

I was in St. Louis visiting local comrades. Walking down the street, my companion pointed out a newspaper stand run "by an old communist Jew".

Sure enough, coming closer I saw the communist party newspaper openly displayed. I asked him, "Are you a communist?" He replied, "I am an anti-fascist."

Well, I see you sell the communist newspaper. Do you also sell the National Socialist newspaper?" (Of course, he didn’t.)

I looked him in the eye, smiled, and said, "See you at the ovens!"

As my friend and I turned and walked away laughing, his "anti-fascist" screams could be heard for quite a while.

There was a knock on the door. When I opened it, I found two men in trench coats. They introduced themselves as FBI agents and presented their badges. Well, I had expected a FBI visit for some time…but not this particular morning.

When they started questioning me about a comrade, I simply claimed, "I kann kein Englisch." ("I don’t speak English.")

But it didn’t work. One replied: "Das macht nichts aus. Ich kann Deutsch." ("It doesn’t matter. I can speak German.")

In the following conversation I kind of gave the impression that my name was "Otto Schmierkäse" and I thought the man in question worked for the "Franz Eher Verlag" [the German publisher of Mein Kampf]. Naturally, I didn’t know the address of the man they were seeking.

As soon as they left, I put on a coat and departed for the nearest pay phone. They happened to drive around the block and saw me going. Nobody waved.

Now for the worst part. Two pretty young girls walking down the same sidewalk smiled at me. My pulse quickened at the thought of making their acquaintance. Unfortunately, I felt duty bound to get to that pay phone (several blocks away) as fast as possible. So the girls got away. Damn!

When I returned, the neighbor boy smiled, raised his arm in a salute, and greeted me with a loud Heil Hitler!

Gee, I wonder how he found out?

A friend told me he was rather annoyed when the FBU started questioning family, friends, neighbors and employers about his politics.

So he put on his full Stormtrooper uniform, walked into the agent’s office, put his feet on the fellow’s desk, and said, "I hear you’re asking about me, (deleted). What do you want to know?"

Comrades had long ago learned it wasn’t wise to park their vehicles in front of party headquarters overnight. But not all outsiders knew this. And the opposition apparently underestimated our intelligence.

One night the all too common cry echoed through the headquarters: "Fire!"

Actually, the fire was outside the building. Thirty-foot flames were billowing up from a van parked immediately in front of our headquarters.

However, it was NOT our vehicle! The reds had presumed it belonged to us and torched it.

We enjoyed the visual spectacle while simultaneously feeling sorry for the real owner. Of course, the humor in the situation was not lost on us. Someone quipped: "Marsh-mellows, anyone?"

A friend of mine, Gunnar, was taking a stroll along the Kiel harbor. A communist approached him and tried to sell him a communist newspaper.

He didn’t like being interrupted during his walk - least of all by a red. So he simply throw the commie – newspapers and all –into the harbor!

Onlookers applauded…and he continued his stroll.

The northernmost province in Western Germany is Schleswig-Holstein, whose inhabitants are known for their nationalist and National Socialist leanings. A lot of Vikings settled there. And many of the Saxon/German invaders of England cam from there.

They’re a tough breed.

A friend of mine, Uwe, was in a brawl with communists. A red hit him over the head with a bottle (from behind). Uwe slowly turned around. He shook his head so the glass fragments flew out of his short hair. Then he grabbed the red and knocked him unconscious with a single blow.

Finishing that minor task, he resumed fighting the other reds.

You can’t keep a good man down…

My comrade Bob and I had long lamented that the FBI had never sent a beautiful female agent to seduce us for information. We would have gladly co-operated (leastwise for the first half).

One day our wish finally came true…almost.

An attractive young female FBI agent came to the door. Unfortunately, I wasn’t home!

Instead, my girlfriend answered the dor. By coincidence, she was wearing a khaki blouse with epaulets and khaki shorts. Her outfit looked like an NS women’s auxilliary uniform! Only the swastika armband was missing.

From that day on I insisted the FBI now had proof that SHE was the real mastermind behind the local Nazi movement, not me.

Besides, everybody knows the female is the deadlier of the species.

 

The duty officer at party headquarters answered the phone. The nigger on the other end had obviously dialed the wrong number. He thought he had his boss on the line and was apologizing for being late for work…again.

After he had finished, the duty officer said: "Do NOT come to work. You’re FIRED!" Then he slammed down the phone.

National Socialism is banned in Germany. So it’s not surprising that many comrades joined the right-wing "National Democratic Party" (NPD) during the 1960’s.

Publicly, they had to pretend to be loyal to democracy, especially if they officially represented the NPD on television etc..

One comrade’s compromise caused a bit of an uproar. You see, he had the habit of wearing a swastika stickpin on the reserve side of his lapel. Unfortunately, his lapel got accidentally tucked back, thereby exposing the swastika pin…while was giving a television interview for the legal, democratic NPD!

The media loved it. But the NPD forced him to resign his position.

This is one problem the NSDAP/AO doesn’t have.

I was in a Danish hotel with my English comrade, Mike. We were not wanted by the Danish police, but they nonetheless kept us under tight surveillance as a professional favor to their West German counterparts. Especially since the hotel was only a couple hundred yards from the West German border!

One cold, dark, rainy night Mike and I decided to have some fun.

We quietly left the hotel and started heading for a wooded area along the border. In no time the "shadows had flashlights". We managed to return to our hotel room unseen and, carefully watching through the windows of our unlit room, observed several Danish plainclothes men scurrying around in the rain looking for us.

"Mike," I commented, "if they would just send up a couple attractive lady agents, they could keep EXACT track of us without needing so many men."

Mike liked that idea, too. Unfortunately, these Danes were not quite THAT progressive.

I was in a holding cell for prisoners being transferred from one prison to another. The other prisoners were killing time by comparing notes on the various German prisons they had been in.

One particularly seedy looking fellow – apparently a "veteran" in this regard – astonished younger, less "well-traveled" inmates with his tales of a "co-ed" prison he had been in. It sounded like the type of institution a XXX-rated film could be based on.

Naturally, I felt cheated…

This Week's Anecdote

The lady reporter had a sexy voice. When I finally met her, I was pleased to see the rest of her wasn’t bad, either.

She had brought along a photographer. They had rented a separate room in the hotel, because they wanted to have a nice "Nazi" background for the photo session. After the interview, the three of us went to the "shooting" room.

When we opened the door, we found several beds pushed together in the middle of the room.

I turned to her and asked with a straight face: "Just what kind of pictures are we going to take here?"

…Many years later, a lady French photojournalist rented a hall for a "shoot" with me. The hotel manager actually asked her "what kind of pictures" were involved, explaining that a previous customer had used the hall for taking "naughty pictures". (I suppose I should have felt flattered.)

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