Imagine Nazi Germany. It was full of Nazis, frankfurters and sauerkraut- though which was which I have no idea. Inside a certain bunker, a certain person was having his mustache trimmed. All of Germany loved this mustache, and most people, had they known it was being cut, would have gone into immediate mourning. It was too late though. It was already late afternoon.
"Mein Furheir," the barber began, "your mustache is well and truly trimmed."
"Excellent. Take ze remains and have zem framed."
"Heil Hitler," said the barber and was soon gone.
"Ya ya. Zat is gut," Hitler said to himself, looking into a life size mirror. "Gut." At that moment Lieutenant Colonel Dickshell arrived.
"Ah, gut to see you both," Hitler said. "How goes zat var?"
"Var you dungle shitzer. Bang bang, puff puff, ouch."
"Oh, the war."
"It's half time, but we seem to be winning."
"Vinning. Gut. And ze secret plan?"
"What secret plan?"
"Ze secret plan."
"I know nothing of a secret plan."
"Of course you know nothing. I am ze only one who knows. Zat is why it is ze secret plan."
"So how goes it?"
"Bollockenhisen! Ze secret plan."
"Oh that, mein Furher. It goes well. Very well. Excellent one might say."
A few days later the secret plan was no longer a secret. In fact everyone and his dog knew about it- though it was only the dogs who really understood what it all meant. When Hitler arrived at the testing site he called upon the head of the project- a french poodle wearing a pink ribbon- to explain how things were going. Things, it seemed, were going woof.
Soon the huge and probably heavy doors of a hanger opened up and out floated the Vandenblinken. It was the first of a new generation of Zeppelin balloons which were to begin dropping poisoned Yorkshire puddings on unsuspecting England. Well, England was not totally unsuspecting. In fact everyone knew about the whole thing, and were busy having a good laugh.
The Vandenblinken was remote controlled. If things went wrong and the Vandenblinken was destroyed, no lives would be lost.
"Ya. Gut, gut. With zat we vill vin ze var," Hitler said.
As the huge balloon, filled with hot air, rose skyward on its first test flight, a team of English commandos, disguised as a severe case of foot and mouth disease on a herd of nearby cows, prepared themselves for action.
"Are you ready lads?" the leader called. They discussed it for a moment, and the general consensus suggested that, no they were not all ready, and that they wanted more tea. General Consensus was later shot and then court marshalled for cowardice in action.
The Vandenblinken was now almost over head. The commandos were just about to do what ever it was they were just about to do, when a soldier said, "Sir, it looks like such a nice balloon, that Vandenblinken. Do we really have to destroy it? I mean, it looks harmless enough."
"Appearances can be deceiving," the leader said.
"But sir, if I help to destroy that lovely looking Vandenblinken, I will feel like a major shit head."
"I salute you, Major Shit Head," the leader said. "Now come on lads. Lift up your guns, take aim, and open fire." Instead of a barrage of shots, an empty silence ensued.
"Open fire!" the commander shouted. To this a quiet trembly voice said:
"Sir, we can't open fire."
"We forgot the matches."
"Oh no. We've really buggered this one then."
"Maybe not," another voice spoke up. It was Private Quarters.
"Private Quarters, do you have a plan?"
"Yes sir, I think I do. You see, I read a lot, and I remember once reading something about the word being mightier than the sword."
"So maybe its mightier than the gun too."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That we shout out, at the top of our voices, certain pertinent words and phrases. Like 'Bang! I got you! Your punctured!' Things like that."
"Let's give it a try then."
"Just one thing, sir. We musn't forget the punctuation. It's very important."
"Fine. Right lads. Raise your voices. Take aim. Shout!" So they shouted, and quite suddenly, after only a few moments, the Vandenblinken began to deflate. The hot air come bellowing out. It tumbled downward, spinning and twisting, not knowing what the hell had happened. The Vandenblinken crashed into the cow field, quite close to the commandos. It crashed into some brown stuff which looked like mud.
Meanwhile Hitler was having fits.
"Oh mien plan, mien plan. Ruined. Vat vent wrong?" Several of the poodles who were in charge of the research centre offered their commiserations, but it did no good.