Profile of our columnist Brownshirt, a feces, blood and semen-coated paper tissue found in Hitler’s bunker.
Once upon a time, in a world far removed from our sanitized reality, there existed a legendary piece of tissue paper—Brownshirt, a blood-stained, semen-dappled remnant of a rather confused past.
Born in the chaotic times of the 1940s amidst a dark authoritarian regime, Brownshirt’s beginnings were anything but noble. He was designed to serve a purpose—to catch the indiscretions of those who supposedly had ‘pure’ ideals, but instead found himself becoming an accidental witness to the bewildering antics of a bygone era.
As a tissue, Brownshirt had visions of greatness. His colleagues, the napkins and handkerchiefs, were often praised for their roles in polite society. In contrast, Brownshirt felt he was destined for something more… grandiose. After all, what better way to rise through the ranks than to become a time capsule for the absurdity of humanity?
Brownshirt took pride in his colorful history. He had seen it all: the ridiculous public parades, the overzealous speeches filled with lofty ideals, and, most importantly, the messy rendezvous of several questionable figures—if only he were able to talk!
Of course, he never expected to become a souvenir of a despicable ideology. Life, it seems, has a sense of humor, albeit a dark one, and left Brownshirt forever stained—a mere footnote in history, albeit a deeply marred one.
Decades passed, and Brownshirt lay forgotten in the depths of a moss-covered bunker, yearning for the day when he would finally be acknowledged for his unique contributions. As he was tucked away, Brownshirt formulated a plan. He figured if he couldn’t go back to being a regular ol’ tissue, he might as well embrace his new role as a relic.
He spent his time imagining what people would think upon discovering him. “Oh, look! A historical artifact that once belonged to a Nazi—how quaint!” His inner monologue was dripping with sarcasm, rivaling even the most seasoned stand-up comedians. “Perhaps I could become a mascot for some sort of strange performance art!” he mused. Brownshirt chuckled, albeit in his own suitably dampened way.
Sure, others might be horrified at the thought of his history, but not Brownshirt. He was not just a piece of discarded tissue; he was a multi-layered symbol of humanity’s bizarre journey through time! In his mind, he would be taught in schools as a reminder of how far we’ve strayed from our ideals. (Or, knowing humanity, he would be almost forgotten yet again—a thought he opposed to think about too much.)
But alas, the years of patiently waiting in the shadows took their toll on him. Over time, Brownshirt became something of a curmudgeon. He often shouted into the void, “Hey, world! I’ve got stories that would make your hair curl. And let me tell you I’ve seen some curly hairs in my time!”
Then one fateful night, the bunker was stirred. It was not the arrival of a curious historian, but rather a group of enthusiastic college students seeking to curate a Halloween haunted house. As they descended into his long-neglected sanctuary, Brownshirt felt a flicker of hope. Here were people who might appreciate the grotesque tales of his history!
With a flash of creativity, the students brought him into the spotlight, positioning him as “The Gory Memoir of the Forgotten Reich.” They even adorned him with a comically oversized monocle, claiming it added an air of authority. Then they announced to their unsuspecting peers, “Meet Brownshirt! The blood and goo of the past come to haunt you!” Laughter erupted, and Brownshirt felt triumphant. No longer was he merely a victim of time; he was now a source of amusement, a quirky reminder of humanity’s darkest follies turned treasure! In those moments of recognition, he basked in the admiration of college students who hadn’t an ounce of respect for history but loved a good chuckle.
Little did they know, Brownshirt call for attention had resulted in nothing short of a renaissance for his character—he was the punchline of history’s cruel joke! And maybe, just maybe, he’d come to terms with being an enigma wrapped in stains, offering a blend of irony, horror, and humor—all in a day’s work as a piece of tissue with a thesis. Brownshirt is ready to remind us that history often repeats itself in the most frankly predictable of ways. Because if you can’t laugh at the absurdities of life, then what’s the point of all the stains?
