A Birthday Story for the Laird, From Mack Brain

"You call that a god-damn birthday cake? I'll show you a god-damned birthday cake," I said, lighting a stick of TNT and shoving between all the little candles in the officer's dark chocolate Schwarzwälderkirschtorte, specially prepared by Wilma after she turned me over to the Gestapo. "Mein gott!," said Wolfgang, "you vill blow us all to hell!" I lit a Lucky from the burning dynamite match and took a drag. " that'll be a lot cozier for you fascist jokers than when Eisenhower crosses the Rhine." Suddenly, a plate of Pfeffernüße flew past my head, the Christmas cookies with their little swastikas twirling in the air! Wilma had tossed the cookies, eyes burning with fire and hatred. I picked one up and took a fat bite out of their twisted flag. The TNT hissed and spit sparks. "Happy Birthday, Liebchen," I said.