You see these bound feet, being teased and tormented, kraut? They belong to one of you. To a German. A hun. Wriggling and writhing and squirming and begging. And all because of what? A litle feather? Just inching ever so slightly above the skin, sliding over the interminably soft skin of his feet, inbetween his plump little toes? Spasming, unable to escape, in complete anguish. This should be the fate of every one of your race. Your kin, with its beautiful - yet useless Aryanness... this is the destiny of your people. This is what all German boys should go through. Their cute little piggies should be teased and tormented endlessly, for the satisfaction of their Anglo masters... Yes, look down at your poor feet the next time any thoughts, any temptations for your bad Teutonic behaviour springs into your head. Imagine them locked in stocks, wrapped in chains or bound in rope, at the mercy of sharp fingernails and feathers and brushes, laughing uncontrollably as the gleaming beady Anglo eyes drink up all your suffering. Remember what lays in store for you if you ever act out of line again.