1. I’d get laid, eat a steak, and maybe explore my painful childhood through some professional help.
2. If, failing those methods of simmering down, I’d consider which of my mannerisms might be prone to parody, and I’d curtail those. Just in case things go badly.
3. If, failing those measures of self-improvement and failing to prevent becoming the butt of decades worth of jokes, I’d simply quit while I was ahead and hope that future generations would overlook the whole “evil, genocidal” thing.
4. Failing to even notice that now would be a good time to say “Cash me out, boys, I’m calling it a good night!”, I would definitely sue for peace before “Oops, no more Germans in Prussia for the rest of eternity… my bad.”
5. If I’d whizzed past all the signposts on my inevitable path to a sad bunker, I’d notice that moment as my last chance to grasp at a modicum of human decency, and I’d pen a contrite little note, owning up to all the aforementioned mistakes.