It was sharp and stylish, with an eye for clean lines and the tantalizing hint of sadomasochistic brutality, and possibly fisting.

Humlaut LeBlanc Fashion Icon of Fabulous...

There is an American movie film of the Seventies I saw as a child that touched me so deeply, I weeped and rubbed my childhood nipples as my Mother boiled radishes in the kitchen. One of the movie's many lessons is that dying of disease can make one absolutely beautiful: I love you, big romantic American cancer!  Entranced, I took to heart its biggest lesson, and adapted it as my own: "Fashion means never having to say you're sorry..."

So what is so wrong with the 'Nazi Hair'? It was sharp and stylish, with an eye for clean lines and the tantalizing hint of sadomasochistic brutality, and possibly fisting. My first sexual experience was with a magnificent blonde man with Nazi hair: it was at the Tiergarten Schönbrunn in Vienna, and what more could a ten-year-old boy hope for in a day than to see lions, elephants and be fucked in the ass behind the monkey cage by a handsome blonde Austrian with a stutter and nicotine-stained fingers...?

I remember the summer when I could -- finally! -- grow my very first Hitler moustache: SO many older men in the Vienna subways wanted me to suck their cock! Then, in August, some Frenchmen down by the Danube held me down and forcibly shaved me before fucking me in the ass and singing "The Internationale": it was exquisite! The Passion! I felt like Joan of Arc AND Jean Seberg...!

Hating Nazi Hair is the New Fascism, I am afraid. You can take away my scissors, but you can never take away my memory of Hans and the Zoo, and how perfect his fingernails were clipped as he tickled my pale prepubescent testicles....

I am Humlaut LeBlanc, and I Believe in Fabulous…

I am Laslo.

https://althouse.blogspot.com/2017/03/what-would-it-take-for-samantha-bee-to.html