camp inmates

Update: I’ve been informed that this post in its original form contains several conspicuous errors and misinterpretations of historical fact. Deepest apologies to those whose research I’ve mischaracterised - serves me right for posting off the top of my head. Watch this space for a revised and corrected (though hopefully no less absurd) version, once I’ve had the opportunity to pull my head out of my arse and properly follow up on the half-remembered sources that informed the original post.
'Straight up bullshit': inmates paid $1 to clear homeless camps they once lived in
In Portland, a supposed beacon of progressive politics, the practice of using prisoner work crews is painted as a win-win – but that’s not how some see it
By Thacher Schmid

In many places in the US, the fraught job of clearing out a homeless encampment is given to professionals. In San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York, for example, the job often falls to city employees in public works or sanitation departments, who might get paid upwards of $16 an hour.

But in Portland, which prides itself on being a paragon of progressive politics, inmates at the county jail get $1 a day – enough to buy a Butterfinger at the commissary – to do the work.

Some of the inmates sifting through or dismantling homeless dwellings were previously homeless themselves, making for a bizarre merry-go-round. The job can make it feel as if their worlds are colliding.

Jeff Nelson was homeless for 13 years and on an inmate work crew for six months. He remembers dealing with a well-tended tent in Portland’s Hollywood neighborhood – like one he might have lived in himself.

“You looked in there, and the bed was all made, and family pictures, and that was someone’s home,” he said. “And they made us take that down, and throw it in the fucking trash. And it’s like, what are you doing?”

He added: “It’s just straight up bullshit, but that’s the way the system rolls, and we have no choice [but] to roll with the system.”

(Continue Reading)

30 Day Psychonauts Challenge

Greetings, dear Psychonauts fans!

I am sure this kind of thing has been done before, but I wanted to try it out anyway.

Starting on Friday, May 5th, this official questionnaire will begin! If you don’t know how this works, basically starting from the 5th of May, you will be answering each question I post per day, and you just add #30daypsychonautschallenge as one of your taglines to your post so others could see it, including myself :) Simple as that.

Now, I will move on to the questions you will be answering, and then the rules right after!

1. Favorite character?

2. Least favorite character?

3. Favorite level?

4. Favorite music?

5. Favorite camper? (Discarding Lili and Raz.)

6. Favorite asylum inmate?

7. Favorite enemy?

8. What moment/s made you feel emotional?

9. What are the funniest moments? (This game is filled with them, so go crazy and add as much as you want! … Or in this case, go “psycho” *does Raz’s dorky laugh*

10. Favorite battle?

11. Best quotes (same rule applies for #9.)

12. OTP? (One True Pairing.)

13. Favorite power?

14. Favorite outfit?

15. Favorite friendship?

16. Favorite camp counsellor?

17. Beautiful moment?

18. Inspiring moment?

19. Scariest moment?

20. Do you own any merchandise of the game?

21. Your persona? (Person you strongly relate to)

22. Guilty pleasure character?

23. Favorite dog artist in Black Velvetopia?

24. Favorite animal wrestler?

25. Favorite memory vault?

26. Cutest moment?

27. What character would you play as besides Raz if you had the choice?

28. Most annoying enemy?

29. How did you get into Psychonauts?

30. What are the things you want to see most in Psychonauts 2?


1. If you can’t choose just ONE answer for certain questions, feel free to list more than one!

2. I would prefer it if you go into specific reasoning for your answers, especially for the ones involving characters. Doesn’t have to be an essay or anything! It could just be a sentence for all I care.

3. Let’s say you put Raz as your favorite character, and one of the reasons why is because you can apparently relate to him. I prefer it if you saved the relating details for #21.

4. Ex: If you put Dr. Loboto already as your favorite character, don’t put him again for favorite inmate, but instead your second choice. Same goes for campers.

5. When I say “favorite enemy” this isn’t referring to Oleander or Loboto, but rather the ones you face in people’s minds like the Censors, wrestlers, Den Mother, etc.

6. If you REALLY don’t have a second favorite for campers, inmates, or camp counsellors, then it’s perfectly ok to put a character you already put before from a previous answer.

7. This is a questionnaire for both Psychonauts AND Rhombus of Ruin combined.

8. Beautiful moment could be something like a touching scene or just visually impressive. Up to you.

9. I know this is corny, but… Have fun!

Why I Will Never Shut Up About The Holocaust And Anti-Semitism

Let me tell you a short story. The main reason my grandfather survived the Holocaust was because he was of working age, being 14 in 1939. Instead of spending most of his years in ghettoes and death camps, he was predominantly in labor camps. That meant that the Nazi commandants had at least some incentive to keep their prisoners alive, but only to a point. 

One day three prisoners escaped from the camp. To punish the inmates for the actions of their fellows, every single Jew was lined up in the courtyard. The commandant counted each Jew down the line, shooting every tenth Jew in the head. My grandfather was number nine.

Why do I talk about anti-semitism? Because I am number nine. I am the person who exists by the barest of margins. And if I ever let my guard down about the safety of Jews in the world, I will allow for the possibility that something like that will be done to me or to my children.

Do Jews talk about anti-semtism and the Holocaust too much? No. Anti-semites just don’t want us to talk about them. They know if we stop talking about it people will stop caring about it. If people stop caring about it, they won’t pay attention the next time someone comes for us.

So I’m sorry if it’s annoying. Or if you care about something else more. Or if you buy into anti-semitic myths and believe that Jews are somehow more privileged than the dominant ethnic group of any country other than Israel. 

I will never stop talking about anti-semitism and the Holocaust. I will say “Never Again” with my last dying breath.


LGBT History: Holocaust Pink Triangle 

During the Nazi period up to 100,000 gay men & women were persecuted & imprisoned for their sexuality under Paragraph 175 of the German Penal code. About 15,000 were sent to concentration camps where, forced to wear the pink triangle, as many as 60% lost their lives.Homosexuals were often given the most grueling work to do in the camps and many died though exhaustion as a result.

In spite of the harsh conditions in the camps, or even because of it, relationships were formed. Survivors talk of beneficial sexual and emotional bonds that existed between inmates and camp commandants, block leaders and even in some cases, SS guards. Guards and capos- the block leaders often took a male prisoner that they liked and kept them as ‘pets’. In the absence of women, who were forbidden entry to men’s blocks, it appeared that sexual drives were often stronger than sexual boundaries. Those ‘lucky’ enough to be chosen as pets would receive extra food rations in return for sexual favors and often avoided the hard labor forced onto the other prisoners. While the majority of these relationships were clearly driven by desperate times and survival tactics, others were driven by genuine affection in the face of unbelievable hardship.

Excerpt from the book Coming Out Under Fire The History of Gay Men and Women in World War Two: Some gay men felt especially compelled, as homosexuals, to join the fight against the Nazis. Few Americans knew until after the war that Nazis had sent tens of thousands of homosexuals to death camps, forcing them to wear pink triangles. But as early  as the mid-1930s some gay men read American newspaper reports about the Nazi anti-gay attacks, while during the war rumors of German atrocities against homosexuals circulated through the gay underground in the US. Midshipman Burt Miller heard about them from a man he had sex with one night before shipping overseas. Other gay men, recent refugees from the Nazi regime, knew what was going on firsthand.

Richard Plant was one of these refugees. He had reached New York City from Switzerland, knowing that many of his gay friends in Europe had already disappeared. Planet tried to enlist in the Army but couldn’t because although he was Jewish, he was German born and had to register as “enemy alien.”  However, he knew other gay refugees in New York City who had joined the US Army, hiding their homosexuality from the military examiners, hoping to do “everything they could” to fight Hitler.

Klaus Mann fled Germany for the US, where continued to write lectures against the Nazi regime, taking Richard Planet as his personal secretary. After trying unsuccessfully to enlist in the US Army, Mann was finally drafted took part in the invasion of Italy, and reentered Germany as as American combat soldier. Another of Plant’s gay refugee friends became a flamethrower in an infantry unit, while yet another served as “a parachutist who was dropped behind German lines with a false id as a spy” and “transported valuable information to American intelligence.”

These gay men made the US war against the Nazis into their own fight to save Hitler’s chosen victims from the death camps.

Mystery school and esoteric lore has long understood that the pineal gland connects the ‘physical’ with the 'spiritual’ realms and allows people to see beyond the space-time construct. Opening this 'third eye’ activates psychic gifts and what some describe as supernatural powers. The pineal gland is activated by light and controls the body’s biorhythms in concert with the hypothalamus gland which regulates hunger, thirst, sexual desire and the biological clock that dictates how fast we age. Look at the potential for mass control if you can externally suppress and manipulate the pineal and hypothalamus glands alone. You can make it much harder to perceive beyond the five senses, decide how quickly people age, how much they want sex, when they are hungry and thirsty and for how long. This is the key reason for putting sodium fluoride into water supplies and toothpaste. The pineal gland absorbs more fluoride than any other part of the body and becomes calcified by this highly-damaging toxin. Sodium fluoride is an appalling waste product of the aluminium industry and has been used in rat poison. It causes cancer, genetic damage, Alzheimer’s disease, disrupts the endocrine system and dumbs down the brain. It was added to drinking water in the Nazi concentration camps to make the inmates more acquiescent and docile… It calcifies the pineal gland and is terrible for human health - while doing nothing to stop tooth decay.
—  David Icke - Human Race Get Off Your Knees

IRAQ. Basra governorate. Near Umm Qasr. March 16, 2009. Detainees walk after prayer at Camp Bucca, a U.S. military detention centre. At its peak, the prison located 340 miles southeast of Baghdad held 26,000 detainees.

Camp Bucca has been described as playing an important role in shaping ISIS. The detention of large numbers of Jihadists and ex-Ba’athists during the Iraqi insurgency provided them with the opportunity to forge alliances and learn from each other, combining the ideological fervour of the former with the organisational skills of the latter. Former Camp Bucca detainees who went on to become leaders in the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant include Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the leader of Daesh; Abu Muslim al-Turkmani, al-Baghdadi’s deputy; Haji Bakr, who spearheaded ISIL’s expansion into Syria; Abu Abdulrahman al-Bilawi, the military leader responsible for planning the seizure of Mosul; and Abu Ayman al-Iraqi, another senior military leader. Abu Mohammad al-Julani, who founded the Syrian Al Qaeda affiliate al-Nusra Front, was also a Camp Bucca detainee.

Photograph: Yuri Kozyrev/Noor

Gisella Perl (1907-1988) was a Jewish gynecologist born in Romania (in an area then part of Hungary). From Wikipedia:

“She was deported along with her family to Auschwitz concentration camp, where she lost both her husband and only son as well as her extended family and parents. She was given the task of working as a doctor within the camp, helping the inmates through their disease and discomfort, which she had to do without the bare necessities: antiseptic, clean wipes, even running water. She is most famous, however, for saving the lives of hundreds of mothers by aborting their pregnancies, as pregnant mothers were often beaten and killed or used by Dr. Josef Mengele for vivisections

She survived the camp and eventually travelled to New York where she at first came under suspicion for having worked as an aid to the Nazis. Having being cleared of all charges she took up her former work as a gynecologist. She delivered 3000 babies and became an expert in infertility treatments. 

An Invitation by The Führer

Oberst Braunmüller closes the last knob of his gala uniform. It has become a little too tight by now, but the invitation by the Führer reached him all of a sudden, so the tailoring of a new one was out of discussion. He didn’t like this uniform very much anyway. Especially that the recommended socks could only be kept in place at his strong calves with the support of garters concerned him. He would feel much better in his ordinary fighting dress with the high shaft boots. He never had problems with slipping socks when wearing that one. At least the collar of the jacket was high-necked, so he could leave the starched shirt and a tie away.

What a change. Close to his sixtieth birthday he would probably get back the command of a fighting unit.

Finally he is able to close the top button of his jacket

“I seriously have to update my measures at the tailor,” he thinks.

Although he is used to get his short, wide neck compressed by a collar.

It is now nearly six months, since he was released from the penalty camp. Only very rarely he rushes up from a dream at night, drenched in sweat.

These dreams, that always start with the door of his cell torn open and he is called out. In the beginning the dreams were so incredibly realistic, that he woke up with an erection and two times he even ejaculated. It was caused by the dream, that he was called to the front during the morning appeal to be hanged. He dreamed to hang at his neck and while half asleep he felt, that without any help, sperm was oozing out. His cock was rock hard than and he could rub another one out. His nightshirt was smutched because he fell asleep while finishing. While thinking about that night he feels his penis getting bigger and rubbing at the fabric of his pants. In his brain he goes back in time. The last time he slept with a woman was some weeks before his imprisonment. He liked that little Russian girl. Sad to say that she was Jewish and he had to shoot her before leaving.

“The last time I wanked was three months ago. But did I really finish or                               fell asleep in between? I was really drunk that evening.”

He shrugs his shoulders, has a look into the mirror, closes the belt and pets his belly.

“You should be proud of yourself, if you have wet dreams at the age of sixty,” he grins at his fat opponent in the mirror.

“I think, I will go out and have some fun after the formal part. Polish girls are en-vogue at the moment.”

He opens the door and enters the waiting car with the driver of the SS. On the short trip to the headquarters he thinks about the invitation. The army leadership could not ignore his successes in those many battles. Probably the Führer had put his foot down. His actual position within the army administration was simply nothing for him, especially as he was now a member of the air force. Tanks were his passion. He was made to send men into battles. To command and guide them, even if the task was hopeless and they would surely all be killed.

The car stops at the main entrance of the headquarters. He takes the few steps, and hurries through the corridors. SS guards open the door in front of the large hall. He steps in, bangs his heels, and raises his right arm.

“Heil Hitler! Oberst Braunmüller as commanded!”

The high-rank officers who are already present turn around and look somewhat amused at the Colonel, who is standing, rather small and round, in front of them, thrusting out his belly. One of the officers steps in front.

“Thank you, Oberst. Would you please join us? Perhaps a glass of         Cognac?”

The Colonel grins happily.

“I would prefer a beer, but I never say no to a well aged Cognac.”

The fat Colonel greets his old comrades, and claps his heels when he gathers a higher rank.

It is a relaxed atmosphere in which the throaty laughter of the Colonel is heard again and again. Suddenly one of the large doors opens and one of the SS men roars:


They all turn in the direction of the call, stand upright and stretch the right arm upwards. The Führer enters the hall and greets casually. The attendants again take a relaxed attitude and step together, so that the stout colonel stands two or three steps in front of them. The Führer goes directly to Braunmüller. When Hitler is still a few steps away, the colonel bangs his heels, presses his hands to his sides and stands at attention. The other officers smirk at the sight of the small, round Braunmüller, who is stretching his belly to the approaching Führer.

“Oberst Braunmüller?”

“Yes, my Führer!”

The colonel stretches a little more, as the Führer stands directly in front of him.

“I really appreciate that you could manage to join this little celebration.”

“The honour is on my side, my Führer.”

“It was a little difficult to contact you within the last weeks. But it looks, as if you recovered well.”

While talking to the fat colonel his right hand slides over the colonel’s protruding belly and pets on it with his flat hand. The colonel shrugs and smiles embarrassed.

“I was always a little bit stronger than others, my Führer,” he says excusing himself.

“Hmm. The meals in the camp did not change very much at that, it  seems.”

The Führer looks to the others and raises his voice.

“And the international Jewish fake news will of course pretend, that         criminals and vermin of the German people would starve in our  camps.”

The officers laugh loudly, and they all talk cheerfully. Even the Colonel laughs that his belly wobbles up and down. At the same time Hitler, who has seized the colonel’s left arm, willingly turns him around until he stands head-on to the other officers. The colonel also has to make a step forward so that he is now placed between the officers and the off set standing Hitler. The Führer waits some time until everything has calmed down a bit.

“HIMMLER!!” he shouts out, all of a sudden.

The Leader of the SS steps to the front and salutes shortly.

“Himmler, please have a look at Oberst Braunmüller. If you remember     your lections of race specifics, how would you describe him?”

Himmler has a short look on the fat colonel and answers calmly and smiling:

“Definitely Aryan, although of a typical pyknic type; sturdy, strong, protruding belly, with an affection to fat accumulation.”

The colonel smiles embarrassed. He is visibly nervous, standing in front of the other officers, while Hitler and Himmler talk about his shape.

“Himmler, I would not see a tendency to fat accumulation at Oberst          Braunmüller. He is just fat. Round and fat. Isn’t he?”

“You are absolutely right, my Führer.”

“And should any one, who was a guest in one of your camps be round and fat?”

“Of course not. I will give an order to halve the daily nutrition.”

“Well. Step aside.”

He turns to the Colonel, but keeps off set behind him so that the he                                           cannot see him easily.

“Himmler. Reichsführer SS. But I have to give him advice from time to time. What would you say? Did I describe you well?”

The Colonel wants to turn to Hitler, but is ordered to stand in position.

“Please talk to the front.”

The fat one turns back, smiles embarrassed to the officers in front of him.

“My Führer, your description was absolutely correct,” he says clearly.

“Go on.”

“I am round and fat,” he says much more silent.

“Oberst, we are not at a finishing school for virgins.

The fat colonel gets the feeling, that his collar would compress his neck. The corners of his mouth tremble. He clears his throat, stretches his body and says loud and clearly:

“Gentleman, please have a look at me. I am round and fat!”

Hitler pets his shoulder.

“It wasn’t that worse to speak out a truth that is undeniable, was it? But let’s talk about your experiences. You were captured by partisans?”

The fat colonel relaxes and smiles. Joyfully he tries to tell what happened. At the same time, he tries to turn to Hitler, but Hitler hints him to talk to the front.

“Yes my Führer. It was a perfidious ambush, which I was lured in. And you can’t imagine how these animals live. I always had to fear for my life. But I was luckily rescued after a few days. The partisans were all shot. That was a remarkable action. Precisely and fast. ”

“After that you were a few weeks in a camp, weren’t you?”

“There were still a few things to be cleared up. Even insubstantial things          may be important. It could have been that I had noticed something. ”

“There are some bad things told about these camps. Are inmates really  tortured in there? ”

The fat colonel hesitates. The memory of how he had been dragged over the rack and his naked butt was thrashed flashes up. He clears his throat briefly and then speaks firmly.

“My Führer, no one is touched with velvet gloves in the war. But in Germany everything happens according to standards and regulations. ”

The Führer pets the fat man on the shoulder.

“Right, Braunmüller. Have there been any executions? ”

“Yes, my Führer. Two criminals were sentenced to death for their deeds          and hanged on the parade ground. ”

“What had they done?”

“Sabotage and propagation of propaganda material. Ugly guys. ”

“The executions run without incidents?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. The men were lead on the platform, the sentence was reported once again, then they got the noose around their  neck, the door opened and bang! ”

The Colonel underlines the process with gestures.

“Fast and clean. Shortly and painlessly or as I always say: flap open,      monkey dead. ”

He laughs loudly and fat. But after a few seconds he realizes that no one else is laughing, and so he falls silent quickly and clears his throat. Should he tell him that the execution was not clean and fast? That one of the condemned had long fidgeted when he hung at the rope? His thoughts are stuck in the scene, and like back in the camp, when they had to watch the torture to the end, he can feel his cock become hard and press against the fabric of his pants.

“Oberst Braunmüller.”

He flinches and is back in reality.

“Excuse me, my Führer.”

“I asked you if you would describe the executions as fair.”

The colonel bangs his heels.

“Of course, my Führer. Sabotage and propaganda are sentenced with the death penalty. And whoever is caught hangs. As simple as that.”

“Braunmüller, what do you really think of the punishment of the officers who had committed the assassination on me?”

The fat man turns around in horror and looks directly at Hitler.

“My Führer, I have nothing to do with this scum. I’m glad this pack is no longer alive. ”

“I’m thinking more of how they were executed.”

The Colonel looks a bit helpless.

“Oh. Is it possible that you didn’t get notice of that?. I had ordered to hang them with wire noses and to strangle them. They have been struggling for a couple of minutes until they are suffocated. Do you think that was appropriate?”

The fat man swallows briefly, but then quickly takes hold.

“Yes, my Führer. This pack has earned it; no question. If I would have to decide, they would have been publicly burned. Without mercy. The nation must be protected from such subjects. ”

While the Colonel speaks, an SS man hands a file to Hitler, which he passes over to the fat Colonel.

“Oberst Braunmüller, These are the minutes of your interrogation.  Would you please read the result aloud? On the last page.”

The colonel hesitantly takes the file and opens it. He overflows the first, bold lines.

“Please read.”

“Result of the interrogation…”

The Führer interrupts.

“Please talk to the front and stand in attention, Oberst. And read loud.”

The colonel turns to the officers. He had a glimpse on the first lines of the report that make him smile invisibly. He bangs his heels and stands in attention. As he raises the file to read it, he has to bend backwards a little bit and protrudes his belly.

“Result of the interrogation of Oberst Horst Braunmüller, carried out at SS-camp IX. After an intense, several-day interrogation, treason of secrets by Oberst Horst Braunmüller can be excluded. “

The Colonel drops the file and grins wide at his opponents.

"Please read the last section.”

The colonel takes the file back up and begins to read loudly and distinctly.

“Based on his behavior during the examination, Oberst Braunmüller could be proved as a coward and opportunist, who will betray anything and everyone, if he has the chance to serve his own salvation, as soon  as the use of intensive methods of interrogation are announced. We judge Oberst Braunmüller as a vermin within the German people and recommend finalizing his stay in the Wehrmacht. ”

As he reads, his voice becomes quieter and his hands start to tremble. Suddenly there is sweat on his forehead. If an officer is accused of cowardice, he was expected to shoot himself. He has just read his death sentence. Slowly he turns to Hitler, who stretched out his hand to the file and then snatches it out of his hands. The fat colonel reaches into his pocket, draws a handkerchief, and wipes his brow.

“Please, my Führer. Let me explain. ”

The Führer puts his hands, keeping the file, on his back. He has a short look at the ceiling and then looks the fat colonel directly in the face.

“Oberst,” he begins quietly.

"You are a coward and an opportunist. Subjects like you have place in my Wehrmacht and do not have the right to wear this uniform. So please take it off.”

The colonel swallows dryly.

“My Führer, please let me explain.”

Out of nowhere, Hitler is shouting that even the other officers are frightened. His voice becomes shrill.

“Cowards and vermin have no right to explain anything! They defile this  uniform and the honour of Germany. So take it off, if you still have a spark of honour in your body, you stuffed pig! ”

During his attack, two SS men have joined the Colonel’s side. The fat man looks anxiously to the right and left, and then starts to open the buckle of his belt. After a few attempts, it finally pops open and one of the men catches it before it falls to the ground. The Colonel looks at the leader imploringly, while he tries to open the jacket with trembling fingers. The leader nods once and the SS men pawn the colonel and turn him around. Without hesitation they grab his jacket and rip it up at the front, so that the buttons fall to the ground with clicking noises. They turn the fat man around again and tear down his jacket.

The fat man stands in his under shirt in front of his Führer. The wide suspenders frame his mighty paunch, which spans the shirt and keep the waistband of the pants in the middle of his belly. Embarrassed, he fumbles at his pants. He hopes that at the last moment, the leader will let grace flow. But then he realizes how the suspenders are stripped of his shoulders and his pants are pulled down. He just manages to hold his slipping shorts. His shoes are pulled from his feet together with his pants. Within seconds the fat colonel stands in underwear, socks, and garters in front of his Führer. He blushes, looks down and slumps. The Führer looks to the other officers and speaks loudly.

“Look at this fat pig who’s been trying to find shelter in the Wehrmacht. No attitude, no decency, no dignity, no honour. ”

Then he looks at the colonel.

“Look to the front and take a stance, Braunmüller. You’re still a soldier in my army,” he yells at him.

Slowly and collapsed, the Colonel turns around. One of the SS men steps behind him and barks at him:


The Colonel twitches reflexively, pressing his hands to his thighs, taking his heels together and straightening the body. Suddenly, he realized that he was standing in underwear, socks and garters in front of the army leadership and the top leadership of the state. Tears come into his eyes and he hardly can avoid starting to cry. A General steps in front of him.

“Oberst Braunmüller, because of proven cowardice and the not refuted  tendency to treason, you are disgraced from the Wehrmacht of the Führer. You hereby lose your rank as Oberst, as well as all privileges and claims. Did you understand that?”

The fat man nods easily.

The general takes a second folder and opens it.

“Mister Horst Braunmüller, the Volksgerichtshof has identified you as a pest and demanded your removal from the German people. The sentence will be executed today. ”

He turns to the SS men.

“Arrest Mister Braunmüller.”

The SS men grab the fat man at his arms. Once again he tries to address the Führer.

“Please, my Führer. I always was a loyal soldier. ”

But the Führer turns away and the fat Colonel is led out of the hall. The Führer turns to the officers.

“Gentlemen, we should have a drink.”

The fat man stumbles between the two SS men, who hold his arms with a firm grip and so force him to walk upright and expose him to the glances of the men and women hurrying back and forth on the floors. He recognizes their discordant grin, hears their slight mocking remarks, and notes of course that they stop to look at the “little fat man”. The shame to present himself to strangers in underwear and socks, oppresses the fear of his upcoming execution.

The way is not very long. He is brought just to the third door, but it seems to be endlessly long, and so he is almost relieved when the door is closed behind him. There are some other SS men in the room, who immediately grab him and lead him to a table in the middle. Anxiously, he looks around. The memory of his ass being bashed shoots into his head and his stomach cramps in fear of the pain.

“No beating,” he begs softly.  "Please no beating.“

Almost at the same time two SS men pull the shirt over his head and his shorts down to his ankles. He reflexes in the hips, trying to cover his genitals with his left hand. But he is already seized at the arms and pushed backwards onto the table. Two men grab his legs at knee level, lift them up, and push them as far as possible at the upper body of the fat man, so that the thighs frame his belly. Then they grab his ankles and hold him firmly in this position. He did not have to offer his genitals and his anus without protection even in the camp. The naked Oberst lies helpless on the table and can see his feet; his short, thick feet, the socks and the garters. He had already completely forgotten that he was wearing them, but the embarrassment of this sight hits him all the harder. From the corner of his eye, he sees one of the SS men putting on a rubber apron and then placing himself at the table so that he can face the genitals and the anus of the fat man. The Oberst raises his head, but can not look over his mighty paunch. As he drops his head again, he can feel his penis and the testicles being gripped powerfully and pulled downwards. The fear of being castrated now flashes into his stomach and he begins to tremble. Panic catches him and he starts to whimper.

"Do not cut them off. Please do not cut them off. ”

The SS man kneads the genitals a little, until the small, knobby penis slightly erects. Then he pushes the belly fat back with his flat left hand, so that the colonel’s short penis protrudes slightly further and his foreskin slips back. With his right hand he takes a prepared rubber tube. Delightedly he notes that abundant secretion is already oozing out of the glans and hangs down as a thick thread. He wets the tip of the tube with it, leads it to the humid glans of the fat man and starts to insert it slowly into the urethra. The colonel bites his lips. Never had something like that been done to him. It is humiliating and embarrassing. The fat man twists his head a few times and starts to moan quietly. Not in pain. Surprisingly, it is somehow pleasant and he notes, that his penis slowly erects. Then the tube pushes against his prostate. He grunts and moans as the hose slips through it, slowly and intermittently. In his state of anxiety and nervousness now mixes the pleasant feeling of sexual excitement and he blows with inflated jaws. Sweat forms on his forehead and he throws his head a few times.

“It’s coming! It’s coming! "He hears himself groan.

The SS men laugh. The preparer smacks him on the belly.

"No false hopes, fatso. We are not that quick on the trigger. ”

He pushes the tube a little further and observes how suddenly it turns yellowish. He quickly puts the other end of the tube into a glass beaker to collect the urine. The fat colonel breathes deeply in and out, as he notes that his bladder drains. For years he had not been able to urinate so easily and painlessly. He closes his eyes and breathes relaxed.

“Finally peeing again,” he thinks.

He smiles at the pleasant feeling as his bladder simply and painlessly empties and forgets for a moment where he is and what happens to him. This relaxing feeling ends when he realizes how the tube is slowly withdrawn. A little pain in the bladder and again this strange but not unpleasant feeling of the sliding tube within the prostate and the urethra that excites him and completely stiffens his penis without additional support. The shame to present his excitement mingles with a certain relief that he is still able to do so. And as the tube slips out of the glans, he can feel his cock hard and painful bounce under his belly a couple of times.

He easily opens the closed eyes and looks at the pants of one of the SS men who hold him. The man is visibly aroused. The fat colonel can’t turn his gaze. He must look at it and like a flash he has the image in his mind that this young guy and his comrades ram their hard, huge cocks one by one into his old, fat ass. He would not be able to defend himself now, just as he was now lying there with his legs stirred up.

“Just do it, so that it’s over,” he thinks.

“The execution will start in twenty minutes. So hurry up. ”

The voice tears him out of his dreams and the fear returns to him. What was he thinking? He is not gay. Not one of these deviant freaks. Homosexuality is sentenced with the death penalty. He is, after all, an officer of the Wehrmacht.

An officer prepared for his execution.

The tears stream into his eyes.

The SS man, who prepared him, takes some grease on a finger and applies it at the anus. The fat colonel shrugs in reflex. Then the SS man takes a three-inch-long object and presses it against the sphincter.

“Hold him!”

The SS men reinforce their grip once more. The Colonel expects to be raped now. Expects the piercing pain of a large, hard cock intruding his gut. He shortly holds his breath and then barks:

“What are you waiting for? Do it! I want to cope with it!”

The preparer grins and pushes the object slowly, but in one movement completely into the gut of the fat man, until only the wider base with a valve looks out. The fat man groans briefly as his sphincter is gently stretched and quickly breathes calmly and evenly again. He has expected a piercing pain and now gets a strange, stimulating feeling that spreads from its anus up to the stomach. But then he realizes how the object expands within him and slips further into the gut. The preparer starts to pump it up slowly to close and seal the intestine. The colonel begins to groan furiously and reflexively as his gut is stretched. But there are only a few pumping bumps until it is securely closed and there is also no real pain which the fat man suffers from. It is more the unexpected feeling that radiates into the testicles and makes him wince and moan. The men loosen the grip and the fat colonel stretches out on the table, breathing heavily.

The preparer puts his hand on his stomach.

“Ready, fatso. Now there will be no mess at all. ”

The men help him up, make him stand and with every movement the colonel feels the plug move in his gut and occasionally press against the prostate.

“Next they dress me with the white suit,” he thinks.

The “white suit” is awarded to every soldier when executed. It’s not really a suit but just jacket and pants. He had always made sure that the soldiers, who he had sentenced to be shot as a deserter at the front, had previously exchanged their uniforms with the white suit, so that it was obvious that they did not fall, but were executed. But instead of giving him the clothes, they attach a chain to his wrists. The chain runs behind his back and has a length that allows his hands to hang down at the side. They grab him by the shoulders and turn him around. He still wants to say that they may have to help him to get dressed, but he is already pushed towards a steel door. The awareness flashes into his brain.

“They will execute me naked!”

At the thought that the other officers will laugh at him and mock him, when he stands naked and fat in front of them, he blushes in shame. They’re going to make jokes about his fat belly, about his breasts and his little cock. They always did that. Since he joined the Wehrmacht he was taunted. And now it will be exactly the same again. They will laugh about his fat belly and the little cock.

And about the garters.

During the few steps the fat man tries to cover his genitals with his left hand, pulling the right hand with the chain on his back. Once again he tries to speak to one of the SS men in a trembling voice.

“Please, at least give me back my pants.”

But the man does not react.

“Then please remove the garters.”

The SS man turns slightly and looks questioningly at the fat man.

“Please,” the fat man implores.

He lifts his left leg a bit and stretches it forward.

“The garters. Isn’t being nude shameful enough? ”

A bell sounds. The SS man grins at him. Then they stand in attention and take the fat colonel between them.

An SS man approaches the Führer and whispers to him. He nods briefly and then says aloud:

“Gentlemen, would you please follow me?”

A door opens and the officers enter the small, dimly lit room. Spotlights illuminate a pole in the middle of the room on a small platform. There are no chairs, so the officers stand in front of the pole.

“It’s starting,” says one of the SS men and opens the door.

The fat man looks at the floodlit post, and the officers, to whom he belonged a short time before, in front of it. Next to the pole stands the executor in black SS-uniform and high-shafted boots. The colonel also recognizes the long apron, as prescribed for executions by shooting or decapitation. The SS men push him and he walks towards the crowd. At each step, he feels the plug in his gut. The pressure mixes with the fear in his stomach to a feeling that almost paralyzes him. Just because the SS men push him forward, he takes the next step. He looks at the officers’ grinning faces as he approaches them, and the disgrace of his appearance becomes conscious again. He must go naked to his execution and present his old, fat body. He clearly recognizes how they always point to his belly and describe its width with gestures. Or bend over briefly, and show with thumb and index how short his cock is.

        “He’s really fatter than before.”  

                 "So this is a front pig. With a weight ready to be slaughtered. “

                         "Naked, his paunch is even bigger than in the uniform.”

        “ How did the fat sow manage to enter a tank? ”

Every remark hits him like a punch in the stomach. He looks to the floor and sinks down with every step. Finally, the SS men get him up at the arms, compel him to stand upright and show himself to the audience. The caused pain in his shoulders makes him tighten his body and the clenching buttocks push the plug deep into his gut and press it against the prostate. He moans softly and closes his eyes. But the moaning is not based on pain; it is more this unknown, exciting feeling in his abdomen. The officers form a gap through which he is led to the low pedestal on which the pole is mounted. He has to take the small step up and the executor receives him, while the SS men step aside.

The executioner turns him over to the officers. He is experienced and is happy to hang a strong man with a short, strong neck. In the war years, his clients have become thinner and more powerless. Actually, they were already dead when they were brought to him. But this one was finally something for an experienced executioner. He puts a thumb-thick chain around the neck of the Colonel and pulls it tightly, so that he twitches briefly. Actually, it is not much worse than the too tight collar of his uniform. But the Colonel all of a sudden realizes what will happen to him.

        “I will hang!”

“Hang like a civilian criminal scumbag.”


Friedrich “Fritz” Honka was a German serial killer who killed at least four sex workers between 1971 and 1975. He picked up most of his victims in Hamburg’s red-light district, at a pub close to the infamous Reeperbahn called “Zum goldenen Handschuh” (‘the golden glove’). The women were lured to his flat, where he would later kill them in his small attic room.

Fritz Honka was born in Leipzig as the third of ten children to Fritz Honka Sr., a carpenter, and Elsa Honka who worked as a cleaning lady. His father was arrested and deported to a concentration camp due to his involvement in the KPD. As a consequence, the boy spent his childhood in a children’s home for children of concentration camp inmates, and later in an orphanage. He grew up to be a very unconfident, cross-eyed man with speech impediments, low self-esteem and a bad alcohol habit. At five foot five, Fritz Honka was extremely sensitive about his height. He liked his women shorter, and he also liked them toothless, to alleviate his fears of mutilation during oral sex.

Honka’s first victim was Gertraud Bräuer, a 42-year old hairdresser and part-time prostitute. According to Honka, he killed her because she didn’t want to have sex with him. He strangled Gertraud, dismembered her and hid the body parts at several places around Hamburg. Four years later, Honka started killing again. His next three victims were also sex workers, and they were all strangled as well, but Honka didn’t bother much to dispose of the bodies no more and kept them inside his flat - Which would eventually lead to his arrest.

On July 15 1975, firemen discovered the mummified remains after a fire broke out in the apartment complex. They were later identified as those of Anna Beuschel, Frieda Roblick and Ruth Schult.

Honka was tried for murder in one case and manslaughter in three cases, due to diminished responsibility. He was sentenced to 15 years imprisonment and accommodation in a psychiatric hospital. In 1993, Honka was released from prison and spent his last years in a nursing home, under the name of “Peter Jensen”.


The Liberation of Buchenwald.

On 11th April 1945, American forces liberated the prison camp at Buchenwald, Germany. 

It was estimated that nearly 57,000 prisoners (mostly Jews) perished in Buchenwald during its eight-year existence as a Nazi concentration camp.

  •  Free Inmates of the concentration camp Buchenwald near Weimar, Germany, march to receive treatment at an American hospital after the camp is liberated by General Patton’s 3rd U.S. Army troops, in April 1945.
  •  Survivors gaze at photographer Margaret Bourke-White and rescuers from the United States Third Army during the liberation of Buchenwald, April 1945.