I've gotten a lot of questions from you laymen about my membership in a certain Nazi organization back in the day. We could get into a deep discussion of the socio-political climate of the time, but that just makes it seem like I have no spine. I do have a spine, and anyone who doubts that will be excommunicated. You must also realize that a Mauser rifle was being held against that spine.
Despite the friendly, boy-scout name, the Hitler Youth was not a Sunday picnic. There was a lot of drudgery, marching, barking back orders, dry, flavorless food, exhaustion, mental breakdowns, and stepping on puppies. Actually, that sounds like every Sunday picnic I've ever been on. But I digress.
The puppies, keep in mind, were made to represent the capitalist and communist ideologies of the day. The act was gruesome, but I can't help but enjoy the thrill of power and command, and the ability to crush those weaker than me. Perhaps that's why it was such an idyllic time, to be alive in Germany in the 30s. The camaraderie of singing songs promising greatness, the exhileration of seeing a new flag among the world powers, and the feeling that the world was our oyster; those feelings and emotions are why that era is looked upon with such fondness, by me at least.
Perhaps that makes it fitting that I am now in command of the Catholic empire. What we lack in military might we make up for in the legions of Angels and Saints, and don't forget that rapture thing. If things get sticky down here, I can always hit that big red button and start the final judgement.