American Werewolves in Munich: Prologue

Along with fifteen other people who are into self-destruction, I returned to Munich last week for the greatest beer-related party in the world: Oktoberfest. And this wasn't just any Oktoberfest. It was the 200th anniversary of the first Oktoberfest, when some creepy German dude married some hot chick and decided to throw a party since he was obviously outkicking his coverage. Little has changed since then, as far as you know.

In the coming days (or, given my schedule, weeks), I will give you a day-by-day account of the trip. You will learn (again) how to take a year off of your life in a week. Expect to hear about beer, sausage, and related gastrointestinal issues. There will be the violation of lions, cows, and horseradish. There will be pictures of pretzels in front of dirndls. There will be dancing and there will be a surprising amount of blood. There was even one night with a full moon when we all shape-shifted into lupines and hunted gypsies.

I consumed a near-fatal amount of German beer, so my recollection of the events of last week is spotty if not completely inaccurate, but you can't prove to me that it didn't happen. If nothing else, it'll be weird.