When you approach a snowman, or snowwoman, with fire, or passion, they don’t warm up – they simply melt, and disappear.* *

So I’ve found it with Germans. When they feel warmth, or passion, they don’t defrost, but rather panic from the unknown, and the fear of disappearing.

I still haven’t found a local who remotely embodies the subtle, vulnerable warmth of, say, Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas. Were they all internally cleansed in the wars? Or has all emotion been intimidated away, just in case the murderous strains resurface? I genuinely don’t know…

Isn’t that racist?

No! Since who’s to say that fire is better than ice?

Nietzsche claimed the opposite, but I’m on another level of complexity and nuance, and, thus, would never do the same.  

So anyway, one night I decided to fuck some ice, and my cock got stuck, literally, frozen to the cunt… So I used some of my warmth to defrost it, and it actually worked for a few secs, but the shock of heat triggered a chain reaction that quickly melted her to a puddle, which was soon brought to a boil, singeing my cock before I could fully pull out, and scarring me forever. (There I was in Berlin, with my cock in a boiling puddle of former German pussy…)

I can no longer see Germanic pussy, or any ice for that matter, without throbbing groinal flashbacks.

Pray for me,*** my brothers and sisters, that I quickly get a ticket the fuck outta here!

*Written while living in Berlin in 38.
**The same is true with bringing fire to a mannequin.
***Your prayers worked, and I thank you all dearly for them! I managed to escape, relatively intact, although forever scarred…