Klara Polz Hitler (left) and Will (right)

When word got out, everyone started calling Will “Hitler’s Mom.” After a few months of us asking him how the weather was in Germany and how his son’s art classes were going, Hitler’s Mom had had enough. Much like his son, Hitler’s Mom decided to formulate a revenge plot against the world by poisoning a whole bunch of us.

On a crisp spring night, some brothers and I returned from the bars to the fraternity house, drunk and hungry as all hell. We stumbled through the front door to discover Hitler’s Mom waiting for us, huge grin on his face, several bowls of mystery meat laid out on the living room table. Here’s the thing. We were hammered. So we didn’t question how strange it was that he had taken the time to prepare a meal for us. Nor did we question the origin of the brown slop. We all just assumed it was a traditional German dish. Besides, Intoxicated Alex had eaten pizza I dropped on the floor of a Domino’s. I wasn’t going to draw the line here.

We downed Hitler’s Mom’s homecooked meal — I even had seconds — and slid into our drunken slumbers. We didn’t realize we had been duped until morning when we shuffled downstairs and saw the cans of dog food, strategically placed by the empty bowls while we’d slept. Sneaky bastard.

In all fairness, Will has always been a good sport about being called Hitler’s Mom and even sampled the dog food before feeding it to us (he maintains it tasted like shitty oysters and I concur). So yeah, I’ve eaten dog food. And I didn’t even get paid for it.

PS: not sure why dog food needs a taste tester in the first place. My dog eats goose poop off the sidewalk like it’s a fucking delicacy. You’d think if anything they would have actual dogs taste test it because that’s the target market. Think about it, IAMS. I don’t know what sort of wages dogs charge but I guarantee it’s less than $169,000.

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