Adolf Shrugged

Dar vaz und fly, I raisen de hand and splat; dats how I comin up vit de salute.
Dar vaz und fly, I raisen de hand and splat;
dats how I comin up vit de salute.
“Psst, Adolph, over here.”

“Who are you?” Adolph said.

“The fly on the wall,” the fly said.

“What do you want?” Adolph said.

“What are you doing?” the fly said.

“Writing a book,” Adolph said.

“What is the title?” the fly said.

“Don’t know yet?” Adolph said.

“Could you use some help?” the fly said.

“What do you have in mind?” Adolph said.

“Tell me a little about your book,” the fly said.

“It’s sort of a blueprint for world conquest,” Adolph said.

“Sounds interesting,” the fly said.

“Thanks, do you have any suggestions?” Adolph said.

“How about Atlas Shrugged?” the fly said.

“What!” Adolph said. “It makes no sense.”

“Okay, smarty pants, you’re in jail. I can fly about freely,” the fly said. “Now you tell me what you have in mind?”

“Mien Kampf,” Adolph said.

“Do you think that’s a good title?” the fly said.

“You got go a better one,” Adolph said.

“Gone With the Wind,” the fly said.

“You got to be kidding me,” Adolph said. “I’ll compromise, which isn’t my nature; how about Adolph Shrugged?”

“Now you’ve really gone off your rocker,” the fly said. “Nobody will read it. Atlas is a name, Adolph is not. Make a name for yourself first.”

“That’s it I’m sticking with Mien Kamph,” Adolph said.

“What ever,” the fly said. “Okay, give me you first sentence.”

“Today it seems to me providential that Fate should have chosen Braunau on the Inn as my birthplace,” Adolph said.

“That’s weak,” the fly said. “Never start a book out weak. Here’s something for you, ‘Call me Adolph.’ It’s short and to the point. It begs the reader to go on and find out more about Adolph.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Adolph said.

“And Mien Kamph and that screed you call writing does?” the fly said.

Smack! Adolph took decisive action. He observed the fly laying smashed and dead on the floor of his cell and shrugged.