Was hitler a splinterkike

Should I actually contribute to this site or should I just make keyed hitlers bbc threads
 
Hitler often gooned to nazi catboy ASCII art via the Enigma machine, and his constant transmissions clogged up the U-boat network resulting in several wolfpack operations falling apart.
That's why Alan Turing was so eager to decode it, by the way
 
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It was late at night in the Berghof, Hitler’s personal retreat, and he was in a particularly irritable mood. The war was not going as planned, and he needed some peace and quiet. But as he walked down the hallway toward Himmler’s quarters, he noticed something… odd. The door was slightly ajar, and from within, he could hear strange, muffled giggles.

Curious—and somewhat concerned—Hitler pushed open the door. What he saw made him recoil in pure horror.

There, in the dim candlelight, sat Heinrich Himmler, cross-legged on his bed, cradling a massive, disturbingly detailed anime body pillow. It was emblazoned with the image of some wide-eyed, cat-eared girl in a frilly dress. But that wasn’t the worst part. The pillow was covered in… something. A sticky, crusty, and utterly unidentifiable substance that gave off a faint, sickly-sweet odor.

Himmler’s head jerked up, eyes wide with shock. “Mein Führer! I—I wasn’t expecting you!” He fumbled to shove the pillow under his blankets, but the damage was already done.

Hitler’s face twisted in disgust. “Himmler,” he said, his voice trembling with rage, “what in Götterdämmerung is that… thing? And why does it look like it’s been dragged through a swamp of Sünde und Schande?!”

Himmler gulped. “It’s… uh… an authentic Japanese cultural artifact! I have been studying the way of the samurai and—”

“Samurai?!” Hitler’s eye twitched. “You are supposed to be the Reichsführer-SS, the embodiment of Aryan discipline, and here you are, cuddling a filthy rag covered in—what is that?!”

Himmler looked away, sweating. “I… I do not wish to say.”

Hitler took a cautious step back. “I demand you burn it immediately! This is unbecoming of a high-ranking officer of the Reich! The Fatherland must never know of your… your degeneracy!”

Himmler clutched the pillow protectively. “B-but Mein Führer, she’s my waifu!”

“OUT!” Hitler bellowed. “Out of my sight! And if I ever hear the word ‘waifu’ again, I will personally ensure you are reassigned to the most miserable swamp in occupied Poland!”

As Hitler stormed out, Himmler looked down at his beloved, crusty body pillow and sighed.

“They just don’t understand…” he muttered, stroking the fabric. “One day, history will vindicate me.”
 
Killy said:
View attachment 1510View attachment 1512
It was late at night in the Berghof, Hitler’s personal retreat, and he was in a particularly irritable mood. The war was not going as planned, and he needed some peace and quiet. But as he walked down the hallway toward Himmler’s quarters, he noticed something… odd. The door was slightly ajar, and from within, he could hear strange, muffled giggles.

Curious—and somewhat concerned—Hitler pushed open the door. What he saw made him recoil in pure horror.

There, in the dim candlelight, sat Heinrich Himmler, cross-legged on his bed, cradling a massive, disturbingly detailed anime body pillow. It was emblazoned with the image of some wide-eyed, cat-eared girl in a frilly dress. But that wasn’t the worst part. The pillow was covered in… something. A sticky, crusty, and utterly unidentifiable substance that gave off a faint, sickly-sweet odor.

Himmler’s head jerked up, eyes wide with shock. “Mein Führer! I—I wasn’t expecting you!” He fumbled to shove the pillow under his blankets, but the damage was already done.

Hitler’s face twisted in disgust. “Himmler,” he said, his voice trembling with rage, “what in Götterdämmerung is that… thing? And why does it look like it’s been dragged through a swamp of Sünde und Schande?!”

Himmler gulped. “It’s… uh… an authentic Japanese cultural artifact! I have been studying the way of the samurai and—”

“Samurai?!” Hitler’s eye twitched. “You are supposed to be the Reichsführer-SS, the embodiment of Aryan discipline, and here you are, cuddling a filthy rag covered in—what is that?!”

Himmler looked away, sweating. “I… I do not wish to say.”

Hitler took a cautious step back. “I demand you burn it immediately! This is unbecoming of a high-ranking officer of the Reich! The Fatherland must never know of your… your degeneracy!”

Himmler clutched the pillow protectively. “B-but Mein Führer, she’s my waifu!”

“OUT!” Hitler bellowed. “Out of my sight! And if I ever hear the word ‘waifu’ again, I will personally ensure you are reassigned to the most miserable swamp in occupied Poland!”

As Hitler stormed out, Himmler looked down at his beloved, crusty body pillow and sighed.

“They just don’t understand…” he muttered, stroking the fabric. “One day, history will vindicate me.”
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Aryan behaviour
 
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