a twisted fate

Nearly everyone has that one asshole family member who drags down the family name with their ignorance, ineptitude, and generally being the worst your DNA has to offer. But while you might like to call your deadbeat anti-vaxxer cousin the “Hitler of shithead relatives,” you should know that there once was an actual Hitler of shithead relatives – and no, not that one, either. In a quirky twist of fate, the Universe saddled even that goose-stepping genocidal maniac with a slimy, opportunistic, clingy black sheep to ruin his Christmases: Adolf’s “loathsome nephew,” Willy Hitler.

William Patrick Hitler was born in Liverpool, Britishland to Bridget Dowling and Alois Hitler Jr., international scoundrel and half-brother of Adolf. In 1920, Bridget met Alois Jr., who was posing as a wealthy hotelier in Dublin (he was actually a waiter). The pair fell in love and eloped only months later. In 1911, Bridget gave birth to her only son, William, though his father preferred calling him Willy. It was a fun, happy household – until Alois ran out of money, abandoned his family, and faked his own death to blitzkrieg through the single ladies of Germany. Eventually, this led to him marrying again and getting thrown in prison for bigamy.

Left without his father, William and his mother struggled back in England. Any job opportunities he could find seemed to vanish into thin air the moment people found out his last name. But there was one place where being a Hitler was your ticket to success: Nazi Germany. So William said goodbye to his mother, left his conscience in his old bedroom, and went over to Uncle Adolf’s lair to mooch. Not wanting him to crash on the Eagle’s Nest couch, his bestest best uncle eventually got him a gig at the German national bank. That was only his day job, though. By the 1930s, Willy Hitler had found his true calling: professional name-dropper.

The True Adventures Of Bill Hitler, Hitler’s Idiot Nephew

By a twist of fate, you get locked in your bathroom and your family refuses to open the door for you. Three hours later, you start to realize that maybe they had a good reason to lock you in.

I love this part of the new official lol artbook, bc Gp is all like “If I’m not winning I’m gonna blow all this shit up", Mf looking at him like “Just try it, I’ll fucking shoot you”. Meanwhile Graves and Tf are all “Darlin’, I could really use some aces rn, I know u prob have like 8 on ur sleeve, u fucking cheater”