Sit down, Joseph! Mary-Anne, you listen to your mother! And get your hands off that goddamned video machine, Walter! Grandpa wants to tell you grandkids a story. You like stories, don’t you? I promise you it’s a good one. The best one I know, in fact.

So plant your little butts down here at Grandpa Blazkowicz’s feet and let me tell you about the time that I ate thirty-two Psilocybin Mushrooms and Killed an Entire Castle Full of Wizard Alien Monster Nazis.

What’s psilocybin, you ask? Perhaps that’s a better question for your father, Joseph. Just know that – back in the day- the government used to give soldiers whatever it took to get the job done. Whatever it took to give the man the cajones to go lone wolf into enemy territory and pit himself against the most awful abominations mankind has ever witnessed…

…patchwork beasts who crawled on their hands, making the most awful noises… corpses that pulled themselves out of the ground and rattled their bones at you… undead Saxon warrior-princes…

What’s wrong, Mary-Anne? Why are you crying?

No, no. This has nothing to do with the time I smoked opium and killed Mecha-Hitler. I’m not allowed to tell that story anymore. Your mother’s rule, not mine. Besides, aren’t you proud that Grandpa Blazkowicz mowed down the most evil man of the twentieth-century with a rail gun?

No, no. This story has a happy ending, I promise you. I’m alive, aren’t I? Sure, there are bound to be some scary moments along the way, but that’s bound to happen when you’re locked inside a medieval castle with a couple Nazi wizards who are summoning demons from the fiery pits of hell to usher in National Occult Socialism.

Fine, Mary-Anne. Run off to your mother. Tell her that Grandpa Blazkowicz is talking crazy again.  I don’t care. You sound just like the goddamn military tribunal. I know I’m telling the truth! You believe me, don’t you Walter?

Of course you do. Have I shown you my old flamethrower? It’s somewhere in Grandpa’s closet. We can look for it after I’m finished with my story.

Where was I? Oh, right. So I’ve just swallowed thirty times the suggested dose of psilocybin mushrooms and been captured by an elite force of Himmler’s Ubersoldats. All I’ve got is my trusty blade and my wits. As these fifteen foot tall cyborg/monsters escort me into the castle dungeon, I see an army of Nazi’s on this side and an army of glowing blue skeletons on this side. And they’re all saluting the goddamn Nazi flag.

That’s when I threw up all over myself. Which probably saved my life.

Where are you going, Joseph? I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet! Grandpa Blazkowitz blows up an entire wing of the castle with a gun that shoots a small nuclear rocket!

What do you mean, you want to watch TV? What the hell is How I Met Your Mother?

I’ll tell you How I Met Your Grandmother! That’s a story! It was 1943… or 1944… and I was on given an experimental drug called LSD. The CIA had just discovered it and wanted to test it out on ol’ BJ Blaskowitz.

I was tasked with… what did they task me with? Right. Killing Deathshead. Or Wilhelm Strasse, if you’re taking notes. Now, the last time anyone had seen him was a few years previous… when he had taken off into space in a custom-build Nazi rocketship…
I’m not done, Joseph! You disrespectful little brat! Don’t walk away from me!

Is this the way you treat a war hero? Is this the way you treat a man who has killed more Nazi’s and Demons and Nazi-Demons and Space-Nazis and Demon-Space-Nazis than anyone who has ever lived, ever?

Hmm?!

Oh, now. Walter! Stop melting your face like that! It makes Grandpa Blazjowitz sad. Come on now, take my hand. We’ll go take a gander at the flame thrower. Maybe, if you’re a good little Loper, I’ll let you burn down Daddy’s garage with it.