There’s always at least one Hitler in every city, sometimes even two or three. Believe it. What I do is order phonebooks from like different cities.

And I look up Hitler.

I remember the first time I called him . . .

“Hi,” I said, “uh, is this Hitler?”

“Yes.” He had no trace of an Austrian accent. It was a resonant but not manic voice, not a “1,000-year Reich” voice.

“So, uh, is this like the Hitler?”

“This is Gerald P. Hitler, if that’s what you mean.”

Oh, I thought, so now it’s “Gerald P.”—no more the Führer, eh? Then again—he had lost the war.

“So, Mr. Hitler,” I said, “how are you?”

“Who is this? Do I know you?”

“No, but everybody knows you. You’re like famous.”

“Excuse me?” The guy was really in denial.

I said, “Yeah, I mean people still write and talk about you, dude. I mean mister Hitler.”

“Excuse me?” This was when he started to go on repeat.

“Uh, seig heil, bro,” I said.

Then I heard the dial-tone. But I have his voice on tape. I got one of those phones with like the tape-machine in it? I bought it at Sharper Image. It’s cool.

My friend, Larry? He says anybody stupid enough to have the name of Hitler deserves a crank-call. I’m not sure if that’s right, but it sure is fun. Except for this one time when I called pretending to be a member of the American Nazi Party. That’s not too cool. But, like, I wanted to draw him out – you know?

“Güten tag, meine Führer,” I said, “I am Herr Röhr of the American Nazi Party. I’m, like, calling to get my orders, sir. I mean meine Führer.”

“Your orders?”

“Yep, we have the panzers standing by.”

“Good.” His voice was like ice. It gave me the creeps.

“Uh, are you, like, ready for the blitzkrieg?”

“I was born ready.” Now he was really freaking me out.

“Well, meine Führer. I guess you just need to give the word.”

And he didn’t back down. He said, “Kill `em all.”

I hung up.

This last time I called? I got a girl’s voice and she played along laughing sweetly. Pretty soon we were talking about all kinds of stuff—not 3rd Reich related—stuff like school (it’s a drag), books (we both like Catcher in the Rye), and how we were both gonna make it big someday, somehow—in a good way I mean. It was a real-type conversation, you know?

So, now I’m dating Hitler. She’s hot. When we get married her last name will be Stalin. Don’t laugh. I’m not related.

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Joseph Kim is over-sensitive, over-zealous and over-the-top. He’s also just a human trying to survive a ridiculous world. A bay area native, he is currently a grad student and hopes one day to maybe find the cure to Evil. Or failing that, just find a nice deserted island somewhere to live. He also admits that when he sits down to write he feels like chemist in a room full of volatile ingredients — “You never know what’s gonna happen. It might be good or could just well blow up in your face.” Despite numerous burns to his physiognomy, Mr. Kim continues to go to the “lab” and has so far avoided setting off a thermonuclear detonation.

Tags: I.III, joseph kim