Let’s just talk about me for two seconds, alright?

I remember seeing that movie Beerfest when I was a kid and thinking, man, what a stupid thing. Beer is beer is beer, I thought—and having some tremendous festival to celebrate it means I’d probably be puked on and someone would definitely spill some shit on my shoes.

Fast forward to now. Me, a strapping—well, a 23-year-old guy with an affinity for this mystery beverage and some time to kill in southern Germany. My Dad has made the trip before and spoke highly of his experience, but he is a much more outgoing, sociable person than I am. I had trepidations about being in a tent with thousands and thousands of other people, and the idea of forced camaraderie with strangers to the tune of Grease songs being played wasn’t necessarily my cup of tea. I am up for new things, however, and when the idea was posed that we make the trip down, I was excited for it. I beat my sickness just in time, and we headed out after a night of gratuitous pork consumption (see previous posts) to the park near the Goetheplatz. But not before exploring a bit of Munich by day, and shaving years off of my life by way of high fat, high cholesterol meals.

Look at this babbling brook. People in Munich go to the park and just hang out. What a novel concept.

It was babbling, and it was lovely.

Look at these impressive creatures. They’re wearing costumes. And the woman in the red vest is absolutely dwarfed by them. She commands no presence. I could guide these horses places and take over large chunks of land and people would like it because of the colors and the sounds.

I’ll tell you something—there is no such thing as a dishonorable job here. There was a man wearing Liederhosen scooping horse shit into a bucket, and god dammit, he was amazing at it. People just mind their business, enjoy themselves, and aim to do their jobs well.

We ate at the China Garden in Englishchier Park. Pagoda is one of my new favorite words. Second to aqueduct, but ahead of crease and onomatopoeia.  Moist is still the worst.

There is a band playing on the second level. Those guys killed, and they were given a hero’s welcome upon descending. I was given a hero’s welcome by my future heart bypass surgeon for this display. Look at the girth of this spread and tell me you aren’t sick to your stomach at my disgusting habit of living.

I was catatonic after the pork I had the night before, and I wasn’t necessarily hungry upon embarking on this monstrosity of a journey. Needless to say, afterwards, I was a disaster, but still had a fantastic sense of direction and was tall. But honestly, look at the caprese I had though. I used to not eat tomatoes. My life was a struggle. That bread has pumpkin seeds on it.

We went back and took a nap after I waited a half hour on a dial up connection to check my email. I could honestly hit enter, crochet myself a knit cap with a snowman on it, and develop a taste for olives by the time any page had loaded. God, I am complaining about Internet speed. Here is the meat, if you’ve made it this far.

We got off the train, and walked up the stairs to this:

9/10 of these people are absolutely blitzkrieged on various ales. Walking through this mob was difficult, and the last thing I wanted to do was run into somebody, because chances are, it would lead to me running away from a fight.

After an attempt to sit down in a tent crawling with people singing Hey Jude (stay tuned for VIDEO!), we left in hopes of trying to get lucky in another tent. The security was tight, and had 2-4 people on ropes manning the entrances to the tents. That didn’t stop people from distracting them and running underneath. Just as my Dad and I were getting ready to attempt something along those lines, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s some fella asking if we want to buy two wristbands into the tent. I say, elegantly, “prove it.” Sure enough, this guy leads us right past the guards, gives us wristbands, and gets us into the tent.

He says we can order beers at his table, but then we have to scram. We stand next to a table of bankers, who also play soccer together. We order a beer, kind of mingle for a second, and prepare to leave, before my Dad decides to buy our scalper friend a beer. Apparently, this gesture was appreciated, as suddenly, things get a BIT hazy at this point. Floodgates are OPENED. We’re now IN with some authentic Germans.

Let’s go down the line. There was Ludwig (alias Wiggy) the Scalper, Stephan (alias Stevesie, Steve-O), Andy, Michelle from Erie, and a host of other folks at this table. They hoisted me up onto their picnic table, which was the last place I expected to find myself. Ever. If I’ve ever made fun of you for dancing on a bar, I’m sorry, because I am now one of you.

See the Peanuts video in the previous post for a lesson on how to make people feel uncomfortable while dancing, or laugh HARD if they understand the reference. They didn’t! My goodness.

Ludwig and my Dad. Ludwig banks. Hello.

Myself and Steve. Turns out he doesn’t ever go by Steve. Friends for lyfe.

This is a photograph of myself and Andy enjoying Oktoberfest and the beer served there.

I’m not 100% sure that gentleman doing the bunny ears was doing that in a friendly manner. To be quite honest, I don’t have any fucking idea who that guy is. God, I hate looking at myself. Let’s move on.

As mentioned earlier, I high-fived maybe 200 people on the way back to the train. Many got it and enjoyed it. Other people were truly fearful of the gesture and quickly shimmied out of the way. Fuck them. No positivity.

I came back to the hotel, made a video of myself walking down the hallway which I subsequently deleted because of how disastrously awful it was, and drunkenly navigated my way through a conversation with Shelby Adams, who I think is the best. She’s funny on Twitter. Look her up.*

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