Oktoberfest: Funniest F*cking Thing I Heard All Day

My husband, the now infamous Cap'n Coupon, was forced to fend for himself for dinner last week.  The kids and I arrived home from our swim meet and were greeted with the olfactory equivalent of a slap in the face.  No.  Make that a square up in steel toed boots right in the old taco.

And I am a woman who is forced to ask: "WHAT IS THAT SMELL?" at least fifteen times per day.  But this was bad.  This was the aroma of sauerkraut and German sausage and German beer.  The Cap'n was enjoying an hour of being home alone with a Man Meal and a ball game.  And he'd smoked a cigar on his way home in anticipation.  The pan that had been used to cook this hideous concoction was now sitting on the stove - unwashed - perfuming my entire house. 

With no little trepidation, I took a look at the pan.  A few tendrils of  cabbage remained and the residual heat had crisped them dark brown.  The idea of crispy, slightly blackened sauerkraut is much less disgusting than its actual smell.  You should know that. 

But one thing smells worse.

Your shared boudoir the next morning, when you feel certain you've woken up face-down on the sticky floor of the Hofbrau Haus in Munich on November 1st.  We've come to expect the inanity of Christmas in July.  I was not expecting Oktoberfest in August. 

 
The. End.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010