A confused Millennial discovers… Nazis aren't fictional

by Josh Gardner, who believes Britain still rode horses to work until 1979

ME and the Nazis go way back: the Wolfenstein games, the Nazi zombies in Call of Duty and Dead Snow, and of course as a point of comparison on the internet. 

Yes, I love the Nazis. We’ve had some good times together. I never once suspected they were real, historical and you know the worst thing? Majorly racist.

It all began in my history lesson, when Mr Holness said we’d be covering the rise of Nazism next week. I was down for that because I remember that period on social media, roughly 2012 to 2016, and it was awful.

Bit weird doing it in A-level, but I figured maybe we’d get to watch Sky Sharks, an incredible movie where the Nazi zombies fly sharks. In fact I suggested it, only to get slapped down. ‘We are going to be covering Nazi zombies?’ I asked.

‘To my knowledge, no Nazi has ever become a zombie,’ Mr Holness replied, ‘because zombies are non-existent and the Nazis, a political party that flourished in Germany between 1920 and 1945, are real. Really real. ‘

Well fuck me. I thought they were a metaphor, like the Devil. Something to call your opponent in Twitter arguments. I thought they had to be made up because no-one’s that evil.

Always shouting and wearing black leather uniforms, torturing people, inventing all the best weapons like flying saucers and mechs. And Hitler? Who’s convinced by him?

But they were real, they actually happened less than a century ago, and they killed six million Jews, which is terrible actually. And they were no better with the LGBTQ+ community. Plus they were ableist.

So all these brilliant characters I loved: Hitler, Red Skull, the clockwork guy from Hellboy – were racists and homophobes. I’m almost ashamed to mention Unteroffizier Renate Richter from Iron Sky because that involved a fair bit of wanking.

Well. I feel like someone just pissed on my childhood. I blame games developers for presenting a sugar-coated version of the Nazis.

I’ve started a Facebook page called ‘The Campaign for Real Nazism’, which I’m hoping will educate people that the Nazis were A) real, and B) not cool. Although my mum says I should change the name.

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Six nationalities I have no problem with at all, by Jeremy Clarkson

BROADCASTER, writer and misogynistic fantasist Jeremy Clarkson has travelled the world spreading ignorance, but which nationalities is he perfectly okay with? 

In my time as lead swinging dick on Top Gear, I had beef across the international date line. Crybaby Mexicans, touchy Argentinians, morbidly obese Americans and the Germans, who we beat in the war. But I’m no tubthumping xenophobe. I have absolutely no issue with any of these:

The Kiwis

New Zealand is a beautiful, verdant isle which reminds me of rural Oxfordshire, but with better weather. The people who live there are delightful, their accents are hilarious, they’re happy to be figures of fun. I love visiting their conservation parks, blasted out of my tree on Sauvignon Blance, swerving a hired Range Rover all over the roads.

The Jamaicans

English but black, the Jamaicans have a party spirit I can’t get enough of. The nightlife is so vibrant and alive it completely obscures, for me, the poverty and social problems which blight the nation itself outside of its gated resorts. They call me Jem Man over there, with a fondness that suggests, to me, that colonialism wasn’t so bad after all.

The Tuvaluans

A tiny island nation with the smallest road network in the world, my favourite? I know, makes you reconsider whether everything the media says about me, especially the bad stuff, is wrong. With only 8km of tarmac I airdrop in whatever supercar I like and drive blissfully traffic-free. Don’t hit anybody, though. There’s only 11,000 of them so they’ll notice.

The Canadians

I bestow the Canadians with this honour for putting up with their neighbours to the south. Any nation that can sit side by side with America for 200 years has my undying respect. Give me Montreal any day over Los Angeles with its podcasts, its wellness crazes, that woman I’ve been specifically forbidden by ITV’s legal team to mention.

The Vietnamese

The Vietnam War was the best war, wasn’t it? Televisually, not in terms of justice or results. Sadly I was too young and British to leap onto a Huey and zap Charlie Cong myself, so had to make do with driving a Ferrari, banging on about horsepower and offending cyclists. That was my Khe Sanh. Anyway, the people here are delightful and the food’s great.

The proud, indefatigable people of Micronesia

I’ve never bothered them and they’ve never bothered me. Therefore I’ve got no problem with them. Alright? Is that enough? Am I allowed back in the media fold until the next time?