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Archives: Sep 2010

Oktoberfest in September

Oktoberfest is a special time, when our desire to get drunk for no reason inspires us to forgive our German friends for that whole Holocaust thingy. Granted, I’ve never held a grudge against the Germans, but I have to be careful living in Los Angeles, as there are countless numbers of elderly Jewish ladies in grocery stores who will lecture you on concentration camp crematoriums if they overhear you praising Oktoberfest, Volkswagons, or Bavarian creme pie.

California may be the best state in the nation for Oktoberfest, because no one with German heritage lives here, so all our celebrations are utterly ridiculous and borderline insulting. Los Angeles’ annual Oktoberfest is held in Torrance, a South Central neighborhood best known for El Salvadoran crime lords and drug addicts who like to rob liquor stores conveniently located next to multiple highway on-ramps.

Only in Torrance would they host an Oktoberfest that starts in the middle of September. Authentic German bands are flown 6,000 miles from Frankfurt and then ordered to play German-sounding versions of “Sweet Caroline”, “Margaritaville”, and “La Bamba”. Once every two hours, band members stroll into the audience and stand on people’s tables playing their accordions and trumpets, while onlookers slip dollar bills into their belts as if they were strippers. The one Caucasian man who lives in Torrance is hired to impersonate German musician Heino, complete with poofy blond hair and sunglasses, and sing horrible made-up songs that even the real Heino wouldn’t take credit for.

Tony Danza is dead

I’d love to write you a funny column today, reader, but my laptop died on Monday and I’m left only with this crappy laptop from nine years ago that can’t even view adult films properly. Every time I try to play an inappropriate video, the entire operating system freezes and I have to restart it. Restarting the computer takes roughly seven hours, and causes the laptop to emit a sound that would make one believe that an ostrich is being skinned inside.

Some people may suggest that the sound of an ostrich being skinned is a type of porn – an exotic delicacy of sorts – but it’s just not my cup of tea. I much prefer videos of emus taking long walks on the beach and talking about their feelings.

Sigh. You’re so very pretty, my lovely emus.

I’m sorry, what were we talking about again? Ah yes, my deceased laptop. Some people give their cars human names like “Jenny”, “Trixie”, or “Zelda Fongsleeve”. This allows people without real friends to assign personalities to inanimate objects and fill that void in their life. I had affectionately named my laptop Tony Danza, as it eased the pain of never having met the real Tony Danza. I really can’t explain the feeling of waking up one morning to find Tony Danza dead on your coffee table.

Bedbugs can nest in your eyebrows

Terminix Man: Man, this economy is killing us. Nobody’s bothering to call in pest control companies anymore.

Orkin Man: We need something to drum up some business. We need to start a campaign of fear. What’s the world’s scariest pest?

Terminix Man: Cockroaches?

Orkin Man: Nah. People are too used to them. We need something unusual, almost mythical. Something tiny and hard to track, so people will get paranoid and think they’re infested when they aren’t.

Terminix Man: Bedbugs?

Orkin Man: That’s perfect! They suck blood, they’re hard to see, and they can transfer herpes.

My brother is getting a leash

My brother got engaged last week. You can tell his love is for real because he was both sober and not having sex with her when he proposed. My future wife will not be so lucky. I’ll be both drunk and having sex with her when I propose, and after I finish I’ll get a worried look on my face and say, “Just kidding.” Then she’ll get mad and force me to go through with it anyway, despite the fact that she hasn’t finished high school yet.

Unlike my own future wife, I approve of my brother’s choice of brides. She doesn’t get mad when I write profane and horrifically rude comments on her Facebook statuses, and that’s all I really care about. Also, unlike some of my brother’s previous girlfriends, I’m not worried that she’ll go off her meds and murder him with a meat cleaver.

I have vivid memories from a decade or so ago, when this crazy girl my brother dated picked a fight with two huge black dudes at a gas station while my brother was inside buying smokes. She would repeat this attention-seeking act roughly twice per week. Out of all the ridiculous things girlfriends try to get away with, picking fights with muscled black men is pretty much the only inexcusable one. That and suggesting a threesome with Minnesota Vikings coach Brad Childress.