Distinguished BALTA Brethren:It is now understood that one can be sent to Nuremberg to face ultimate judgment as a result of allegations of having committed grave grammatical or spelling errors. So be it. In defense however, it should be pointed out that in order to carry out the important requirement of being historically accurate, it was necessary to accurately recollect that now incorrect, antiquated spelling and orthography as exactly employed by the [EXPLETIVE DELETED] Hannan of Old. I, myself, would never, in this day and age, dare write or utter such words in a format that corresponds to a grammatically correct current usage.

You see, many of us were taught that old phrase “Hey, Fuck the Goddamned Army!” by none other than the [EXPLETIVE DELETED] Hannan of Old. Indeed, it was in 1968-69 that Fucking Hannan was my roommate in the B Company Barracks at Bad Aibling Kaserne. Prior to his barging in I had always been a model soldier. I never smoked dope. I never wet my bed. And I always said my prayers and did what my grandmother had told me to do, “Now be a good boy, Johnny. Run along now and be a good boy.” Understand that [] Hannan with his antique cars, hats, golf clubs, and spelling rules moved into my barracks-room, my wonderful home-away-from-home, and changed fucking everything in my till then perfect little life.

Please understand, the changes that [] Hannan brought were not limited to just our room. His arrival greatly disrupted the entire B Branch Barracks. Our orderly, efficient, day-to-day life disappeared when [] Hannan began carrying on with his outrageous rants and treasonous activities. One evening, in a fit of madness, he tore the drinking fountain from the wall next to the latrine. On another occasion he tap-danced upon the stone-floored hallway. He was wearing only a pair of little-Dutch-boy wooden shoes while shouting, “Buff my ass Charlie Miller! Charlie Tuna come and buff my ass!” Furthermore, [] Hannan once broke the door-handle mechanism loose from our bedroom door so that the door could no longer be properly shut and latched. When ordered by the first sergeant to reattach the handle, he, the [] Hannan, nailed the mechanism onto the middle of the frickin’ door goddammit!

Thereupon, several of us in the barracks conspired to have the [EXPLETIVE DELETED] Hannan driven from our dwelling, banished from our barracks, on account of his relentlessly disruptive, disrespectful, unmilitary-like behavior. First, I tried bed-wetting, but to no avail. I also pretended to celebrate certain odd and obscure holidays, but also to no avail. In fact, these strategies backfired because [] Hannan only drew closer, thinking, no doubt, that he had discovered a kindred spirit. Finally, we conspired to burn him out. A can of Wolf Brand Tamales and a can of Old El Paso Chili Beans were placed upon a plugged-in and outlawed hot plate in Phucking Hannan’s (and my) room! Some of us insured that he would remain at the “Last Chance” until late in the afternoon. Then, upon returning to the room in the barracks, the fucking hannan opened the door and charged into an eye-watering cloud of smoke in the darkened room. He was also met by the specter of two, glowing-red, tin cans sitting upon a similarly glowing-in-the-dark hot plate. Poor bad Mike was told that the smoke and glowing tin cans filled with glowing ashes were part of a ceremony in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the completion of the first transcontinental railroad and the associated ritualistic driving of the Golden Spike on May 10, 1869 near Promontory Point, Utah.

This final effort seemed to have had the desired effect, for on the next day, the treasonous Hannan formally requested that he be transferred to Bad Aibling Post Firehouse 451. His request was granted and he soon found himself dwelling with Cranny the Pig Fucker, the snarling Hoben Bear, sehr grosses Hog, and other Firehouse members.

This ends a summation of my first defense. The rest is misspelled history.

– Bitchin Shaman Freiherr von Hund-Mutt


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