André blinked his eyes open. A cold wind whipped across his face. Just last night, he'd fallen asleep in his bed in Brussels—now he was lying in a grassy field, still wearing the same clothes he'd lazily crashed in (because who needs pajamas when you can just *not* change?).
*Did someone leave the window open again?* he thought groggily—until he realized there was no window. Or walls. Or ceiling.
Panicked, he scrambled to his feet.
*Where the hell am I?*
From a nearby bush, voices erupted. André crept closer, then froze in disbelief.
Two men in WWII-era German uniforms. One was taking aim at a sheep, screaming:
**"Achtung! Non-Aryan livestock detected! Open fire!"**
*BANG. BANG. BANG.*
The sheep kept chewing grass, utterly unbothered.
**"Damn it, missed again!"** The soldier frantically reloaded.
**"The General ordered us to only shoot at moving targets!"** his partner barked, buried under stacks of paperwork.
**"But it's chewing! That's movement!"**
**"No, that's digestion! See subsection 47!"**
They dove into their documents, scribbling furiously.
André's brain short-circuited.
*1940. But… something's off.*
### **Nazi Germany: Paperwork Over People**
Inside the Reich Chancellery, Hitler was screaming loud enough to crack the walls:
**"WHERE ARE THE REPORTS?! I ALLOCATED THE ENTIRE BUDGET TO PAPERWORK! I WANT 500 PAGES ON EVERY JEW! HOW THEY BREATHE! HOW THEY SCREAM! EVERY DETAIL DOCUMENTED!"**
A trembling clerk whispered, **"Mein Führer… we're running out of paper—"**
**"THEN WRITE ON THE WALLS! ON EACH OTHER'S SKIN! I DEMAND TRANSPARENCY!"**
Meanwhile, in the Wehrmacht:
**"Orders: burn that village over there."**
**"What if there are civilians?"**
**"Uh…"** The officer flipped through binders. **"Ah! Here! First, verify racial purity via Form 27-B, submit in triplicate, await approval, *then* execute. Standard procedure."**
The soldiers groaned.
**"More waiting…"**
### **Soviet Union: Paint It Red**
André somehow crossed the frontlines (if dodging weeping bureaucrats counted as "somehow"). A twitchy Red Army soldier jumped out, screaming:
**"Halt! Spy?!"**
**"No, I just—"**
**"Silence! Interrogation first! Then Gulag! Then firing squad! Then *another* interrogation—just in case!"**
Meanwhile, at HQ:
**"Comrades! The Generalissimo declared: 'Democracy is good!' How do we implement this?"**
Silence. Then—
**"PAINT EVERYTHING RED."**
Within hours, an entire regiment was dunking tanks, rifles, and—yes—even a very confused cow into vats of crimson dye.
**"Now we're *truly* the Red Army!"** they reported proudly.
### **USA: Capitalism Gone Wild**
In the Oval Office, the President (who'd replaced all portraits of past leaders with his own face) pontificated:
**"How to win the war? Simple—bomb them with *money*."**
**"Sir… that's not a weapon."**
**"EVERYTHING'S a weapon if you drop it from high enough!"**
Meanwhile, the Joint Chiefs debated:
**"Should we attack?"**
**"No, we should *discuss* attacking."**
**"But the enemy's advancing!"**
**"All in favor?"**
The eventual order: **"Attack, but only if you feel like it."** Troops fired a few celebratory shots skyward, then went back to napping.
### **Epilogue: André's Descent Into Madness**
Realizing everyone was clinically insane, André tried blending in:
**"I'm from the future!"** he told the Nazis.
**"Future? File a report!"**
**"I'm a KGB spy!"** he told the Soviets.
**"Spy?! QUICK, PAINT HIM!"**
**"I'm a capitalist!"** he told the Americans.
**"Capitalist?! APPROVE HIS LOAN!"**
Collapsing against a tree, André whispered:
**"I'm gonna die here."**
Then—an idea.
**"Unless… I sell them bureaucracy manuals?"**
And thus began his rise as **the war's premier merchant of madness**.
*(Author does not own Nazi Germany, the USSR, or the USA. Please don't sue.)*