Elves Against Hitler -- Part One
A Moat is as Good as a Dolt to a Blind Goat

By Steve Gerber
(Circa 1971)

In the year 1439, Sir Avery Smudgepot buried a primitive nuclear warhead under his castle on the eastern coast of France. Sir Avery felt the world was not yet ready for his invention.

In 1539, Sir Millard Smudgepot buried a primitive jet propulsion unit under the same castle for the same reason.

In 1639, Sir Dresden Smudgepot buried a primitive but workable laser in the same location.

In 1739, Sir Beaufort Smudgepot buried a container of liquid nitrogen fuel.

In 1839, Sir Frabsley Smudgepot added to the underground arsenal with a sub-transistorized optical guidance system, capable of zeroing in on the tiniest hole on the moon's pockmarked surface.

In 1939, Sir Joe Smudgepot died, and the castle, with its secret cache of buried armaments, was put up for sale. For Joe was the last of the Smudgepots. The castle brought a mere $187 price, for it was large, not at all well-heated, a little musty, and dreadfully expensive to maintain.

The buyer was one Ms. Miriam Dolt of Unguentina, New Mexico, U.S.A. Ms. Dolt had been a teacher of English literature for forty years, and her lifelong dream was to retire in peaceful solitude in an English castle in France that she could call her own.

When she heard that the Smudgepot castle was for sale, she leaped at the opportunity. Fortunately, an evergreen bush outside her classroom window broke her fall. She left Unguentina, flew to New York, and there booked passage on a ship to London. From London, she came by automobile and boat—in that order—to Paris. Ooh la la. And there, she hitched the rest of the way to the eastern French coast, pausing only here and there for repast and respite and, once, in a deserted meadow to perform unnatural acts on an ailing goat.

The only thing that troubled Miriam now was that funny little man in Germany. That Herr Hitler. Word had come that Adolf had invaded Poland, and Miriam was understandably worried that, should the Nazis decide to take France, her castle would be occupied by them. Miriam hated war, and despite her one moral lapse with that goat, she was still a good American, even if she was living in France. She knew what she must do to save both America and her castle. She had to seduce Hitler!

Now, what has all this to do with the weapons buried under the castle?

Well, for centuries, ever since Sir Avery buried the warhead, ten tiny elves, unaware of its destructive potential, had been using it as a dildo.

The other devices puzzled them equally. But it took them 500 years to become curious enough to inspect them. Elves, you see, live almost forever, and 500 years was not very long to them at all.

At last intrigued by the other strange objects, the elves began taking them apart and reassembling them in newer, stranger ways. It took only a fortnight before they had concocted a machine that had all the properties of a dildo, a jet propulsion unit, a laser beam, and a guidance system, propelled by liquid nitrogen. It was, in short, the Ultimate Atomic Phallus, capable of intercourse with the moon. But that was not all. Oh no, friends. You see, elves are also very intelligent. So not only was their missile capable of intercourse with the moon...it could also perform a nuclear ejaculation and impregnate the moon.

Yes, friends, for earlier in 1939, Sir Joe Smudgepot had buried a jar of his own precious seed under the castle. Little did he know it would one day shoot the moon.

So much for our deus ex machina. Now, back to Miriam, upstairs in the castle. It was nine a.m., Miriam's regular breakfast hour. She sat in the castle kitchen eating a bowl of Wheat Guts and reading from A Manual for the Seduction of Fascists by Professor Rabis Q. Fabotnik. She slipped her swollen feet out of her wedgies and kicked the shoes to the other side of the room.

"Ouch!" cried a little voice. "Watch where you sling those goddamn shoes, willya?"

Miriam, startled, stood up and looked around the room. Near the base of her stove stood a tiny little man dressed in green tights. "Who are you?" she asked.

"My name is Yopp. I'm one of the elves who live in the crawlspace under this castle."

"Well! This is a surprise! I'm Miriam Dolt. I own this castle now."

"Yeah, we know. Joe died."

"My goodness. What do you elves do in the crawlspace?"

The elf then proceeded to tell Miriam about the everyday elf's life: Wake up. Have breakfast. Play zorkin (sort of a cross between shuffleboard and cribbage). Have lunch. Play derwald (similar to "chicken," but using large beetles instead of cars). Eat dinner. Play with Avery's atomic warhead. Go to sleep. He carefully avoided mentioning the U.A.P., as the elves now called it.

NEXT: A modern epic of elves at war! Can the little people from the crawlspace stop the march of fascism? Can Miriam seduce Adolf? And to what fearful use will the U.A.P. be put? Is there really a "Part Two" to this story? For the titillating and disturbing answers, check this site regularly!


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Text Copyright © 2001 Steve Gerber. All rights reserved.