in a land… far, far away

Not too long ago, I somehow made my way to Germany during the month of October to sample the finest beer on the planet. Strangely enough, I quickly became enamored with not only the booze, but the women. They were INCREDIBLE. Like sickeningly beautiful. Not only were the majority of them in shape (not the bulemic American in-shape I usually settle for, but the athletic-but-not-to-the-point-of-lesbianism sorta’ “in shape” I that I really dig,) but they were also incredibly well dressed and strangely polite. One of many things (probably the most important too, but I’m not single right now so my libidinousness doesn’t play such a large role this time around…) I loved about my newest home away from home. All things considered, my beloved American culture in its most stripped down, bare-bones essence varies little from that of those awesome Deutsche folks. We can all appreciate the occasional beer (although their beer is a lot more flavorful, and significantly heartier than our own), share a love for sports (they take the loss on this though, soccer is gay… I don’t care where you live), and a fetish for fast cars (everyone there drives a Porsche.) But beyond the simple bullshit that all shallow, hedonistic drones (such as myself)  impassively whittle away their lives chasing lie blissful realms of idiosyncratic minutae that one can only grow to appreciate through experiencing someone else’s culture first hand. Immersion in that Germany shit? T’was the bomb. The food there? In-fucking-credible. Not in the “I hope this burger sucks up some of this great foreign alcohol so I can drink some more,” sorta sense either. The attention, or better yet, the care they take in preparing and presenting your food is crazy. When was the last time you recieved your Royale with Cheese (my bad, I meant 1/4 Pounder con queso. Pulp Fiction references for the win…) in the same condition it was presented to you during that super cool commercial? Exactly. Over there? Every. Single. Time.  I mean, I had the best quesadillas of my life in Germany (my grandmother, bless her soul, is FROM Guatemala, and her quesadillas aren’t fuckin’ with the joints I had in K-town.) Not to mention they don’t spit in your shit. Plus everything about the country screams photogenic. Between the labrynthine intricacies of the awesomely ubiquitous Gothic architecture, and the more contemporary spaceship shit they have floating around that place, is some sorta’ inexplicable magic that can only be imparted through a camera lens. Unfortunately, I wasnt there as a photographer, so the good ole’ D200 only came out once or twice. That means you kinda sorta have to take my word for it. But still. Germany (and probably everywhere else I’ve never been, short of Beirut) has soooo much to offer it’s visitors. The two weeks and some odd days that I spent there weren’t even remotely enough to absorb a full understanding of that place. But from what I can gather, it’s awesome. I mean, even old people and rusty bicycles are fun to look at…

Food. Booze. Scenery/Nightlife. People. Mercedez-Benz taxi cabs… All boxes get a check.

One day, I’ll make my return to that great nation, and I’ll whip out the camera more than once or twice… and I’ll be sober through most of the trip… and I’ll come back to this post… and I’ll show the world what they’re missing. Or at least the .5 viewers my blog should have by then. Whatevs.

Word?

Caught this in some stair case. Hi-larious.

Lion lass, your nip-nips are showing…

I think I threw up with this guy once.

Build what? You’re shittin’ me.

I caught the giant, all right. And I ate that bitch.

Every one has a Porsche there, so I shot this.

What Germany thinks I look like. Not far off, just minus some tattoos.