Stories of drunkards, nard punching, and insinuated bestiality

I need a soda to keep from falling asleep, but it's cold out and I don't want to walk two blocks to the store. The Minnesota/Wisconsin winter didn't creep up on us this year, like usual. It ambushed us. The end of September usually just brings long-sleeved shirt weather, but it was 35 degrees this morning in La Crosse. I feel cheated.

I don't want to have to close the windows in my apartment. It'll mean no more waking up to noises outside like cars, people, or that damn church bell that rings at 9 a.m. every Sunday to wake up all us heathens who don't attend services. It'll also mean no more falling asleep to the sound of drunken hooligans running around at 3 a.m. trying to punch each other in the jimmies. I'll definitely miss that.

Hooligan 1: Come here!

Hooligan 2: Get away from me!

Hooligan 2: Oof! Aaarrggh!

Hooligan 1: You're my bitch!

Hooligan 1: Oof! Aaarrggh!

Of course, I'm not entirely sure they're hitting each other in the jimmies, but I think it's pretty obvious by the sound of the screams when one of them goes down. The scream of someone getting punched in the stomach is much quieter than the scream of someone having a fist thrust into their groin. And besides, they're drunkards, and alcohol makes people more anxious to hit others in the nards. It happens equally with men and women, though women tend to hunt in packs when participating in nard punching, which makes them more fearsome. Sadly, there's no real retaliation you can give women when they do that. You can punch them in the boob, but then they'll just hit you in the gonads again, and that's a fight you're not going to end up winning in the long run, my friend.

Anyway, I had a chance to take part in drunken fun this weekend at Oktoberfest. It was a good time, and a lot less costly than I expected. While most festivals and organized drinking fests sell Miller Lite and other watered-down crap for $4 a cup, Oktoberfest charges only $2 a beer, and they have Leinie's Honey Weiss. No German beers, though, which was weird. There's about a million varieties of Oktoberfest beer out there, but none of it was was on tap at the actual Oktoberfest. Damn posers.

But Oktoberfest isn't entirely about getting drunk. It's also about watching other drunk people getting pummeled by the police. After the Oktoberfest grounds close, the downtown bar district in La Crosse is only five or six blocks away, so everyone just migrates over. The main two or three block area of bars are blocked off from traffic during Oktoberfest, and you'll see a police officer about every five steps you take.

There are also police on horses, and they are the key to a truly enjoyable night of watching drunkards getting beat up. The police will attempt to arrest someone, and a crowd will gather. The job of the police officers on horses is to break up crowds of people. Most sensible people walk away when they see the horses coming, but there's always an amateur or two who doesn't. The amateur clumsily falls down as the horse tries to nudge him or her back from the arrest scene, and then the amateur calls the police officer a "fucker". Hilarity ensues as the amateur now becomes the person being arrested. On most Oktoberfest nights, this chain of events repeats itself at least half a dozen times. I have yet to tire of watching it.

If put in that situation, I would never call the police officer a "fucker". For an officer riding a horse, I would use a much funnier and more appropriate insult, like "horse fucker".

Yes, Oktoberfest brings out the best in all of us. The only thing I don't like about Oktoberfest is how boring everything in La Crosse seems once it's over. The bars are no longer overflowing with people, the streets are filled with traffic instead of drunkards, and the police no longer use horses or beat up tourists. Where's the fun in that? If I can't get arrested for accusing a police officer of having sex with his horse, then I'm not even going to leave the apartment.

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