Be sure to click the links in this one, kiddies. I hid a few Easter eggs – or hypertextual stocking stuffers, if you like – into my latest coup d’totalitarianism at Aryan Skynet.
Competition is fierce in the struggle – the eternal kampf – to seize the iron laurels of New Hitler status. Muammar Gaddafi, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Vladimir Putin, Bashar al-Assad – each has in turn thrust his arm at the sky and hailed the noontide of his destiny.
“Screw Michael Jackson. I’m Hitler as fuck.”
What about the big hair decade, you ask? Much as Billy Idol or – good God – even David Lee Roth would have relished being crowned New Fuhrer for the nineteen-eighties, these Wotanic dreams were to be gloomily dashed against the crags.
This was, after all, the decade that would see Scarface explode into a pop-cultural prophecy; Miami Vice was on the air, the Beach Boys were playing their sax-drenched paean to romantic getaways in the Caribbean, and so it was inevitable that Hitler reincarnated for the…
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