It’s an age-old question—if you had a time machine, would you go back in time and kill baby Hitler? To me, it was always a no brainer. You get to stop Hitler AND kill a baby guilt-free? Sign me up! So once I completed my time machine and fired up the flux capacitor, that was the first thing I did. Unfortunately, it turns out that tampering with the fabric of reality is a lot more complicated than I thought.
I opened a wormhole, arrived naked (like in The Terminator) in 1889 Austria, and smashed that little fucker’s head in with a shovel without thinking twice. Not gonna lie, it was satisfying as hell, but now that I’ve had time to process what I’ve done, I see the true consequences of my actions. With no baby Hitler, and by extension, no grown-up Hitler, everybody’s saying that Trump is the next Don Rickles, the insult-master-turned-dictator who apparently rose to power in Hitler’s place.
Don Rickles, the beloved insult comic, quickly took over the world with his abrasive yet well-received sense of humor; he was loud, rude, and often made unprompted jokes about “The Blacks” that would even make Anthony Jeselnik blush. And don’t even get me started on his bit on “the gays” in public restrooms. Little did we know that his sharp tongue would eventually go on to influence national policy irreparably.
What started as a series of fat jokes quickly spiraled into long-winded rants about “building a wall” that was warmly received with a standing ovation at the annual U.N. Roast. Next thing you know, cattle cars started whipping across the continental U.S. for the “grand extermination” that we all thought was an elaborate bit at first. It didn’t take long for every American to find themselves standing in mile-long lines with bread vouchers while their youngest child was dying of the Rickets, which have been renamed “the Rickles.”
Instead of enthralling the masses with a quick Sieg Heil, now all Trump needs is a hot mic, a rimshot, and a casual admission of anti-semitism for the people in the back. Rickles ran so Trump could sprint. My god, what have I done?
We all laughed with Don Rickles when he was just another guy trying to be edgy on national television. On the living Hitler timeline, Rickles was bold and brash, but that was part of his charm. We all knew it was part of his shtick, so we let him get away with it. Without the fuhrer in the mix, however, I now know that we shouldn’t have. For my grave miscalculation, Donald Trump is now being referred to as “The Next Mr. Warm” by his cohorts with an affectionate sense of irony despite his countless crimes against humanity.
Say what you will about how big and bad Hitler was, he still couldn’t get away with insulting Sinatra.
The ‘ole Trump/Hitler comparison had legs when we still had it in our back pocket, but it’s no longer an option since I bashed in the baby fuhrer’s ribcage and buried him in a shallow, unmarked grave.
Without Hitler, our perception of evil has been forever altered. Turns out, if you eliminate one edgelord with a shitty comb-over, history will just replace him with another who’s primed for world domination so long as his audience is too afraid to stop laughing.