It was 1871, the conclusion of the Franco-Prussian War, and Otto von Bismarck sat on his bed,

exhausted from the afternoon. The Reich had just been proclaimed, and the hymn of Deutschland Uber

Alles still echoed into his pale beige chambers. He had been standing stock still throughout the

ceremony, but couldnt help feeling the sweat coalescing within his jackboots. As he unzipped the black

leather, his fetal aroma filled the air around him- and was amplified when he brought it to his nose. He

sniffed. This is what the Iron Chancellor, Lord of Germany and Europe smelled like. The musk of

sauerkraut and sweat filled his mind, reminding him of the illicit encounters he had with Wilhelm I. They

had toured Germanys most illustrious sausage factories- leading to an illustrious tour of Wilhelm I in

the meat packing room. Bismarck was the dominant one in their relationship, and they knew it. He

united Germany against Wilhelms rule, but even though Wilhelm was the king, Bismarck ruled Germany

uncontested. There was, however, the matter of Wilhelm II- the young and arrogant prince who had

been nursed in the lap of luxury. He too, would have to be bent-

Suddenly, Bismarck saw a large, golden, double-headed eagle stalk into his view, followed by a

prolonged sniffing into his boot. He froze. The Crown Prince, Wilhelm II, was smelling his boot. The

Crown Prince retreated with relish, Hot damn, niggah, you smell fine. Bismarck was taken aback- he

couldnt grasp the intricacies of the Crown Princes royal dialect, but he got the jist of it.

Listen hon, Wilhelm II leaned in close to Bismarck. Their moustaches touched. Wilhelms angular

moustache, like the fangs of Wotan, impaled Bismarcks soft, bushy handlebars. I own you- and I want

you to know that, Wilhelm whispered into his lips. Bismarck moved his tongue to crease Wilhelms lips-

to soften him into submission. A sharp pain lanced through Bismarck, surging down into his massive

kraut which now stood erect.

Wilhelm had bit his tongue- pinning him into a fixed position. Bismarck now felt his weight pressing

down on him, as Wilhelm skillfully rolled him onto his back. He had done this before. The Crown Prince

may be young, but he wasnt inexperienced.

With a rip, Bismarcks pants came off. They hung, split, off of his boots and stuck to the floor with a wet

flop. Sweat rolled off of Otto von Bismarcks buttocks, filling the room with the smell of dank ass.

Uhh, yeaaaah, I like some cushion when Im pushion, Wilhelm II uttered in the royal tone. It was in

such a sensual tone, yet dogged with the traces of regality. It was so vile, so stimulating, but so right.

Deutschland, the Crown Prince Wilhelm II said, Uber Alles

And he made the first pan-German Hot Dog- plunging himself into Bismarcks Balkans.