October is coming

October is coming, and I'm not talking about the leaves falling from the trees. I'm not talking about Halloween, either. I'm not talking about gathering firewood or getting your oil tank filled.

I'm talking the real shit, sugar. Ok-fucking-tober-fest.


-- Peotr (Der normale Kerl)

P.S. When I'm in mein hosen, I'm 100% like the monster out of Alien. I'm just that frightening, and I seem to drool a lot. Also, when I'm front-bumping to a hot polka, it would take a squad of space marines and a nuclear weapon to take me down.

P.P.S. Or maybe Sigourney Weaver! (torch!)

P.P.P.S. Lederhosen, friends! Embroidered shirts, loferl knee-pad socks, boy shorts with 'stags' embossed on them, and suspiciously non-stretchy suspenders that have grab-bars on the front and back. That's the way we do beer and butt stuff in der Fatherland.

P.P.P.P.S. After you go to the real Oktoberfest in Munich you'll never hear Polka music the same way. Fucking rock-n-roll, baby.

P.P.P.P.P.S. If you go to Oktoberfest in Munich you have to go twice to really appreciate it. 'Cause the first time you go to Oktoberfest you'll hit your first beer tent and some 12-year-old kid is going to drink you under the table. That'll be before noon. At three o'clock you and your friends will leave to eat dinner and 'freshen up', with plans for coming back later in the evening, and then you wake up at 4 AM with Oktoberfuckme.

Everyone makes the same mistake on their first Oktoberfest, and everyone would like to remember what they did that day.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. And lets not forget the weiners! They call them 'brats', but I'm sure that's just some German slang for the SGL-questioning feelings you get when you're piled-out on beer and vodka, you're prancing to polka music on a huge picnic table with five dudes who are wearing Germanic schoolboy clothes and logging boots, and then some matronly blonde woman in a dirndl offers you an 8" steaming pale weisswurst.

But still, good times!

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. They tell you to eat something if you're planning to spend the day, but the brats they serve do nothing to slow the beer down. Good German beer hits you hard when you're polka-moshing under a circus tent.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Do not go to Oktoberfest in Mexico. Between the beer, the tequila, and polka played by a Mariachi band, you're liable to walk into the ocean.

Everyone has beer facts about Germany. But let me drop some knowledge: The (as advertised) #1 German cider brand has a cider which is... mixed with Cola. Say what? *turns hat on backwards* You read that correct, no cap.

Huzzah Zappo! Another lurker heard from, and I say again Huzzah!

My first week in Germany I was introduced to Apfelwein, and I thought it tasted awful. That was the joke for the evening - "Awfulwine". And like most things involving Americans who are uninitiated to German alcoholic beverages, it had its revenge at about 1 AM.

And like most things distinctly German, about a month later I was having a glass of cider and wondering why it wasn't served in America.


-- Peotr (The Normal Guy)


P.S. Good to see you!

P.P.S. Another German alcohol was Jagermeister. Oof! At the time (many years ago, my children, when the wildebeast still roamed the Serengeti) Jagermeister wasn't seen much in America. It was imported, but most states didn't stock it because until 1988 it was still used as a suspension for cough syrup.

Being drunk on Jagermeister still speaks to me. It says, "You're fucking drunk. But don't worry, it's all going to come up fine."

P.P.P.S. CNN's website has a headline that said, "Taylor Swift performed in these tights and they're 70% off!" And yeah, I clicked the link, I wasn't thinking I'd see anything naughty, but trying to figure out how Taylor Swift managed to finish a song with only a third of her tights on made me curious. But I was disappointed...

P.P.P.P.S. December 8th - a day that will live after the day of infamy! Go get your flu shots, everyone.