“Fuck this stupid ass machine.”
My feet sloppily kicked a rusty old Marlboro cigarette dispenser as I muttered under beer-drenched breath. By then, I had been consumed by joyous Latin salsa for hours — a far cry from the longing acoustic Fado that soundtracked Lisbon by day. Between pumping live brass, liquid flowing hips and…
“Prost!” Our steins clunk; beer spills over the side and splashes onto my cheap 50-euro dirndl -- but I’m too sloppy to notice.
It’s Oktoberfest in Munich and I’m about 12 steins and three cheese kranskies deep.
Katie’s already lived up to our bogan reputation by spewing into her apron. At least she caught it,…