Ever since he'd learned of it, Olle had thought he had been the master of putting one's foot in one's mouth. So perfect was his mastery of the art that he almost always did it, even if unintentionally, whenever he met someone for the first time. Or the second. Or... well, every time, really. Few and far between were the times when he could by without saying something to embarrass himself, or which he'd come to regret. Usually both.
 Edge was making him wonder if he was truly the best. Apartheid was... cool...? Either he had no idea what it meant (which Olle doubted), or he was a racist and all about the Aryan race.
 In which case Olle was surely fine, except he was pretty sure Hitler started with the extermination of the mentally ill. Did he count as one? Olle supposed he did. Surely he did. Even if he didn't look all that mentally ill.
 Or felt mentally ill.
 But if he was a racist, then being a 'cool' guy in Edge's book was bad. Olle wanted to be anything but a cool guy in that case. He wanted to be... hot. No, that sounded wrong. Lukewarm? Could he be a lukewarm guy? Was that a thing?
 "I'm... I'm just checking but... you're not into that 'heil Hitler' stuff, right?" It slipped out before he thought about it, and Olle quickly covered his mouth, dropping the cards and shaking his head. "Er, I mean! I mean! Apartheid's all about segregation and white power and stuff, and um, well, wait... izzat e'en r'latto Hitler?" He started to talk faster as he went, slurring his words together towards the end.