It's only been a week and a half since I returned from Munich several years older than when I left. While I gather photographic evidence from others who attended (and who are willing to share), it is vital that I not leave you empty handed. Below is a list of those who went to Munich for Oktoberfest a couple weeks ago, and a brief biography of each. In the coming weeks, you will get to know each of them intimately.
You know me. I'm the overfed, longhaired leaping gnome whose blog you're reading. Well, the overfed part's right anyway. I work too much, blog too little, and organize trips to Oktoberfest for my own amusement. It's safe to assume you cannot trust a single thing that I write. But then again, if that were true, wouldn't it be false?
A self-professed Paul Shaffer fanatic, Bonham and I have nonetheless been friends for approximately 25 years. One time I saw him run down an antelope and tackle t, but then he didn't kill it because it was enough for Bonham that the antelope knew that he could have killed it.
Shane grew up with my former roommate Tron. He's the inventor of the famed "Shaneface," exhibited masterfully to the left. He collects medieval cabinetry and drawings of frogs smoking cloves and/or driving jalopies. The Annie Lennox song "Dancing on Broken Glass" was actually written about him. Keep that in mind. Prove to me that it's not true.
Derrick grew up with Shane and Tron in the city by the bay -- not San Francisco, which is weird because all he wore was Golden State Warriors stuff. Trained as a medicine man, Derrick is always in search of peyote. He sings in his sleep, mostly about Chris Mullin and Mitch Richmond. He also does a pretty good Shaneface.
He ain't heavy. He's my brother. He's also heavy. I tried lifting him.
One of Reed's friends, Ben is a self-proclaimed Pisces. He's into hanging out at internet cafes, throwing organic tomatoes at grass-fed cows, and getting footjobs from homeless chicks, which he really shouldn't have told me in confidence.
One of Reed's friends. Based on his name, one can safely assume Colt was an outstanding college quarterback whose game did not translate to the NFL for one reason or another. He now works for a company that sells goods or services. Every accent he attempted to do devolved into Borat.
Colt's wife. She's fond of sticking Bavarian flags in her bosom, or so I assume. When Colt's not watching, she can be seen huffing glue and cruising eligiblegreeks.com. She would prefer her mate to be top-half goat, bottom-half human rather than top-half human, bottom-half goat, or maybe it was the other way around. Who's to say, really?
Trained at the University of Michigan and the University of Chicago, last time he was in Munich, he went to the infirmary and made a double digit order of cheeseburgers from McDonalds. Most of the time, he wears cloaks, rides lions, and bobs for apples.
Gregerson's ladyfriend. Emily is a student of the Ted Bundy school of thought: bite now and never ask questions later. When she's not biting people's arms for no reason whatsoever, she's probably playing with her gyroscope while watching her favorite show, Ice Road Truckers.
One of my fraternity brothers, who now lives in Seattle and makes a living hunting seagulls at Ivar's with darts. He drinks beer from a saucer like a cat. When his wife isn't demanding that he tattoo "Nicole 4 EVA" on his chest, he directs porns set in commercials about colleges where you can design video games.
RPTre's wife. From what can gather, she's narcoleptic. If there's one thing Kellie loves, it's the combination of tits and pretzels -- titzels, if you will. She relates everything to the movie Fear. She also wears brass knuckles at all times except when she's being photographed.
Works with Kellie. She is the outspoken founder of Links Without Lynx, an annual charity golf tour of Scotland's historic links courses that aims to raise money "with the goal of wiping out the devil cat of the high altitude forest, the lynx."
Chandler is unabashedly addicted to elf porn. It drives his every decision. In fact, he came to Munich only because Bavaria is home to more nymphomaniac elves per capita than anywhere else in my imagination. He also founded the 2 Live Crew fan club at Cornell.
A classic Venezuelan ad man, Daniel loves glass elevators, heavy metal, and classic Menard's commercials. He is terrified of squirrels, golf gloves, Golden Corral, Minnesotan accents, and Nathan Lane.