Pretty Hitlers

How does anyone get themselves into this kind of predicament? On the run from what has to be the most impossibly small, but constantly angry, demographic in the world: Crossdressing Nazis. I mean, sure, they're not a hard group to piss off. But how do you find an actual group of them centralized in one location and then happen to make the exact wrong remark that would send this hairless herd of dress-clad warriors into a foaming-at-the-mouth rampage?
This night started in a club, me and stage cracking wise with my usual bad jokes. I have no illusions about the career I've chosen. I'm bad at it. It's usually just me onstage for half an hour suffering the insufferable silence of the audience as they cringe at my poor delivery and worse content.
The night ended up with me running as fast as I can down the dimly lit streets of San Fransisco, looking for an alley to duck into or building or anything to get away from these psychopaths behind me, screaming obscenities. And all because I made one little joke, not even a good one I might add, about a gay Nazi strangling a puppy in the Hitler Youth.
Man, they did not like that. A whole table of transvestite fascists (apparently they were having a Pretty Hitlers Convention. Where else but San Fransisco?) suddenly went from simply grunting at my horrible jokes with the rest of the audience to fuming with rage at the thought that their select and incredibly rare demographic would stoop so low as to strangle a puppy.
Appalled. That's what they said, they were appalled. The Hitlers in Drag were appalled. Who saw that coming.
And now, all I can hear over the pounding of my heart and the beat of my shoes against the unforgiving cement (and my inner monologue trying to make sense of the situation) was the growling coming from behind me: faux-German accents screeched across the empty night.
Ve vould nevah harm da sveet, innocent puppies!
Yah! Zey are ze Master Race's Best Friend!
I've got a run in my stockings! You MozerFuckah!
Yah! MozerFuckah!
I can't believe this would happen to anyone, let alone me.

I ducked into a building with an open door and a light on hoping they would pass by. Panting hard, I looked around to make sure I hadn't walked inadvertently into Nazi rally, or UFO Awareness meeting (I had offended those guys last week with a sly poke at Congress using UFO's so that people like Larry Craig can have sex with men and not have to worry about getting caught), or anything that would only exacerbate my current situation.
To my surprise and delight, I saw that I was surrounded by children, all sitting on the floor, playing games, and eating crackers. Apparently, this was one of those day care places where adults took their kids to get away for an evening. It was cheaper than hiring a babysitter and the kids would have someone their age to play with. To my knowledge, I had not yet offended this far more popular demographic.
I felt secure, because I figured if the Pretty Hitlers wouldn't dare strangle a puppy, they certainly wouldn't attempt to do anything that might traumatize children. I sat down amongst the children and asked if I could have a cracker, and with the first bite, horror set in again.
Matza.
Sweet God... They were Jewish. I looked around again and wondered how I could be so stupid: the game they were playing was Spin the Dreidel, they all wore Yalmulkes, there was even a sign on the back wall that said, “TorahTots!” A woman came into the room bearing a tray and calling, “Whoooo waaaaants Latke!”
The kids were overwhelmed with joy.
I had to escape, there was every chance the Nazi Nancy's wouldn't mind killing all these Future Jews of America just to get me also. Two birds, you know. I looked over at the open door where I was dismayed to find a healthy looking skinhead in a warm Gingham gown glaring at me and laughing. He slammed the door and I heard a loud thud as he propped something against it. That's when a Molotov Cocktail sailed through the window and crashed on the floor in an explosion of flame and glass (I couldn't help but wonder where those guys would hide that huge bottle. I decided it was best not to think about it too much, I mean... there's only so many possibilities). Luckily, all the kids were over by the Latke lady, so nobody was hurt. But it did get everyone on their feet.
How does anyone get themselves into this kind of predicament?
I ran over by the kids and yelled, “We've got to find a way out! There's gay Nazis out there who want us all dead!” The response was a tirade of Yiddish:
Faygola!
Oy! Gavalt!
You're Meshuggina!
Oy-Vey!
They've got some Chutzpah!
They were talking like Mel Brooks's dead grandfather. But there was no time to lose, the flames were spreading, and all the doors were blocked. There was a window low enough that we could get out nearby, so I grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be a 6 year-old boy, and hurled him at the glass. He soared with a perfect spiral, like a missile, yalmulke first through the window, shattering it and allowing us all to escape through it and out the alley.

The next day the papers covered it, naming an anonymous hero who had saved them all from the fire then vanished into the night like “a sort of nervous Batman.” A kid was quoted as saying, “He was a mensch.”
I folded up the newspaper, pulled out a pencil and paper, and started trying to think of something funny that has to do with militant computer programmers and their dates not being very receptive to Javascript.