Oktoberfest is just around the corner.
It’s the time of year that our local Bavarian communities hold a celebration of their culture and beer and the rest of us just think, “Jesus Christ, there’s a ‘Bavarian’ community in our community?”
Where the hell’s “Bavaria?” It sure doesn’t sound good. Sounds like it could be in Germany or Europe or one of those countries.
It’s probably in France. I wouldn’t put it past it.
And what’s that “k” doing in “October?” That’s probably how Jello Biafra spells “October.”
I like crisp apple strudel as much as the next guy, but what I’m NOT down with is ethnic cleansing or boiled cabbage.
The first thing you notice at Oktoberfest is there are a lot of women WAY too old to be wearing pigtails, but apparently that doesn’t stop them.
Everyone named “Helga” or so-and-so “Von” this and that.
Hymie Von Späetzle, etc. Rudolph Von Brätwurst, etc. Helga Von Bøsom.
They get to yappin’ in that guttural, spittle-spewing “language” of theirs and a certain little mustachioed munchkin with a bad attitude comes to mind.
The “German Elvis,” if you will.
Our Elvis was better.
Men in lederhosen. Don’t know what “lederhosen” is, but I can only imagine.
It’s unsettling group-singing oompah music with people who, under different circumstances, would make a lampshade out of you as soon as look at you.
You can’t help but think, “How much of the proceeds from the cotton-candy concession are being siphoned off the the Baader-Meinhof Gang?”
Some of those revelers could be related to Rammstein.
Lotsa luck clog-dancing in pigtails and lederhosen to their music.
I just can’t picture Goethe in leather breeches and knee socks.
I can’t see Thomas Mann shredding on an accordion.
Didn’t Germans invent the accordion? Hats off to them on that one.
There’s a proud tradition of wearing Oktoberfest Bavarian hats during the event, which contain a tuft of goat hair. In Germany, goat hair is highly valued and prized and the more tufts of goat hair on your hat, the more wealthy you are considered to be.
Good thinking. Who was in charge of coming up with “customs” in Bavaria? Salvador Dali?
Who was in charge of hats?
I guess we can set our cultural differences aside for a day over a mutual love of beer and, quite frankly, any intoxicants we can get our hands on.
Let’s get shitfaced and try to forget our heritage.
Let’s polka and scarf wieners with our hefty friends, our goat-hair tufts swaying gently in the soft breezes from the myriad brass instruments and bellowing Bavarians.
World War II, Shmorld War II.
Remember, Germans love David Hasselhoff. On that, at least, we can agree.