[Translated from German]
Hans was drinking a piña colada. It lingered on his mustache, until he licked it off slowly. He was daydreaming to take attention away from the gnawing blister on his lip. He had been smoking a joint earlier and as he inhaled, he sucked in too hard, and the heat just did its thing.
He was frolicking through a field of daisies, kicking up the yellow flowers in his hobnailed boots. He was the living embodiment of glee, surrounded only by fellow members of the Aryan Master Race. This was his happy place.
His dream was cut short by the entrance of his peer, Otto. They raised their arms to Heil Hitler. It looked like they tried to high five and missed. Realizing how embarrassing that must have looked, they both shrugged their shoulders.
Otto plopped down on the beanbag chair. It sizzled as he settled in. “I could sure go for a cold one.”
Hans slurred, “Desire is unfulfilled without purpose.”
Otto flipped off Hans, “If I had a nickel every time someone told me that, I’d have a nickel.”
Hans smiled, and promptly finished his drink, “Sick burn.”