A Brief Visit with Lord Fibbington
Ah, Jensen! How good of you to stop by. What? Only here for a moment? Pressing business? Dash it all man, sit down a moment! There, in the armchair. Surely you have five minutes! I was just thinking about that time in Madagascar and the fellow who wouldn’t cut the nails of his left hand. Useless to him that hand was, but there you go. He was inflexible on that point. Well, well, Jensen. All a bustle, eh? Little schnapps to unwind a bit? No? Well, at any rate stop looking at your watch.
I hear on the wireless that Germany still insists on being heard. Damned cheek if you ask me. After the dust-up we had with that Hitler fellow you’d think they’d prefer to be quiet, what? Since when has the Hun been about peace, eh? Let me tell you, I had some business with Hitler back in the twenties. Oh, yes, after the beer hall putsch of his. M6 planted me in the prison where they kept him, dressed me up in Alpine shorts so I’d look the part. I had a real thing for languages back then. Picked up German in 2 weeks, then they planted me there. Dickie Longstaffe in Research Division called me Agent Fritzy. Ha! Insolent devil, but Dickie was all right. So anyway, I saw my opportunity to chat up Hitler while he was exercising in the yard and heard more than my share of that nonsense he loved to spout on about. A right loonie he was, what? So I got an earful of him for about week straight and then I conceived an idea of how to discredit him.
“Dolph, old man,” I told him. “You’ve really got to spell this wonderful philosophy of yours out for the world. No use hiding your light under a bushel, eh?”
“Prison rather limits my speaking engagements, Fritz,” he said.
“Well, look,” I said, “why don’t you write it all down and put it in a proper book. I know a chap in the publishing business. We can spread the word that way.” Because, you see, I figured his ideas were so daft that once the country could see them all in print, he’d be done.
I could see Hitler liked the idea. He was quiet for a day, then he comes to me and says, “Fritz, I think I’ll do it. And I’ve got a title for the book: ‘Do It My Way If You Know What’s Good.’”
“Well, Dolph, that’s a start. But would that title really win over people?”
“Fritz, I’ve struggled for a full day and that’s the best.”
“How about calling it ‘My Struggle’ then?”
What’s that, Jensen? That’s right, I mean to tell you that’s how Mein Kempf came about. How should I have known the blasted book would wind up more helping him than anything? Now where are you going? See here, what’s the rush?
Blast.
I hear on the wireless that Germany still insists on being heard. Damned cheek if you ask me. After the dust-up we had with that Hitler fellow you’d think they’d prefer to be quiet, what? Since when has the Hun been about peace, eh? Let me tell you, I had some business with Hitler back in the twenties. Oh, yes, after the beer hall putsch of his. M6 planted me in the prison where they kept him, dressed me up in Alpine shorts so I’d look the part. I had a real thing for languages back then. Picked up German in 2 weeks, then they planted me there. Dickie Longstaffe in Research Division called me Agent Fritzy. Ha! Insolent devil, but Dickie was all right. So anyway, I saw my opportunity to chat up Hitler while he was exercising in the yard and heard more than my share of that nonsense he loved to spout on about. A right loonie he was, what? So I got an earful of him for about week straight and then I conceived an idea of how to discredit him.
“Dolph, old man,” I told him. “You’ve really got to spell this wonderful philosophy of yours out for the world. No use hiding your light under a bushel, eh?”
“Prison rather limits my speaking engagements, Fritz,” he said.
“Well, look,” I said, “why don’t you write it all down and put it in a proper book. I know a chap in the publishing business. We can spread the word that way.” Because, you see, I figured his ideas were so daft that once the country could see them all in print, he’d be done.
I could see Hitler liked the idea. He was quiet for a day, then he comes to me and says, “Fritz, I think I’ll do it. And I’ve got a title for the book: ‘Do It My Way If You Know What’s Good.’”
“Well, Dolph, that’s a start. But would that title really win over people?”
“Fritz, I’ve struggled for a full day and that’s the best.”
“How about calling it ‘My Struggle’ then?”
What’s that, Jensen? That’s right, I mean to tell you that’s how Mein Kempf came about. How should I have known the blasted book would wind up more helping him than anything? Now where are you going? See here, what’s the rush?
Blast.
posted by mr. schprock at 10:00 AM
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