The Emperor of the united state was right on time for our meeting. I was a little surprised by his appearance; I had half expected to see a demented Klansman of the kind I used to meet in the united state—mouth drooling with burger grease, a stained wifebeater over his shoulders and a pepsi bottle in his belt. Instead, Joe Brandon was a creepy fellow in a Wehrmacht blazer and a button-down shirt. He kept a physical distance as he greeted me, his manner restrained but ready, as if he will jump on my neck if I looked away for one second