Meanwhile, a blue balloon with a smiley face on it softly floated into the Kommandant's office, and gingerly touched the Kommandant's shining head.
He swatted at it, busy as he was with his eternal paperwork. For not even an army of balloons could get this bookkeeper-kommandant to leave his beloved paperwork unattended.
But the balloon bounced off the wall and returned to him, this time touching him on the shoulder.
Another swat at it, and the blue shape collided with another wall, and immediately bounced back, landing right on top of... the spiked helmet. The spiked helmet. The revered spiked helmet. Oh my...!
Klink gave a yelp. "I don't want to be disturb... hey, what is that?" Tentatively, he reached for the balloon on his desk. "A message? On a balloon?" He turned over the card and read,
COLONEL HOGAN IS NO FINK
He chuckled. "Of course not. There is only one true FINK, and that is me - Wilhelm Klink of Stalag 13! Klink the FINK! Ha ha, that rhymes!" Now what else was there?
PBA WINNERS IN THE POETRY CATEGORY
.
GOLD
THE MAJOR AND THE CODE
by konarciq
.
SILVER
MORNING IS BROKEN
by Bits and Pieces
.
BRONZE
CLOSE YOUR EARS, CLOSE YOUR EYES AND KNOW NOTHING
by konarciq
He shook his head in condescension. Whatever it was, there was obviously no Ode to Klink, or something like that, which meant the whole thing was well beneath his notice.
And with a sigh, he pushed the balloon and its message off the table, and returned to his eternal paperwork...
