It is now Friday morning and I am ready to get my drunk on. I am a little hungover from Thurday's activity, but the magic potion of Pepto and ibuprofen perked me right up. Jennifer, Anthony and I go to Oktoberfest to rider the rides. I almost make a fudge factory in my pants on the first ride. I was certain we would die. We also rode less bowel-stressful rides. Then a beautiful thing happened. We watched ride that was a swing with two rows and flipped upside down. As it flipped for the first time, a large funnel of vomit exited some drunks mouth. The carnies stopped the ride. The guy finished puking. Instead of making him get off the ride or cleaning up the puke, the carnies just started the ride again. I pitied the person in the row below him.

Get that f*cking camera outta my face!

Sleeping beauty is finally awakened and feeling fit. Notice the Lowenbrau Haus pin still on his shirt from last night. What an animal. (Also notice the stylish boxers--$12 on sale at J.Crew.)

It appears the early morning bird has flown from its perch upon my hand and landed on Anthony's hand.

Here we arrive at last night's crime scene. It's strange how everything looks different in the daylight. By the way, it was about noon when I took this picture. We walked inside and the place was already packed.

This is a view of the Oktoberfest from Miss Bavaria, a huge statute that overlooks the festival grounds.

We are eating lunch at the Hofbrau Tent Beer Garden. From the left are Anthony, Mike, Cheryl, Dave and me (eating some damn good chicken). Who are Cheryl and Dave? Well keep reading my friend!

We are now looking at the two Aussies we met at the Hofbrau Tent Beer Garden. His name is Dave and her name is Cheryl. She gave me that "You look like Joey from Friends" crap. I thought they were together, but they weren't. Unfortunately, I did not get this information until too late.

Ok, now we're talking! These 15 year olds (mostly chicks) sat down next to us. Despite the fact that the girls are now half my freakin' age, they were still good looking. They also knew English pretty well. In fact they were flashing gang signs (Westside). Since I run with the Southwest Cholos, I had to pop some caps in dey asses. Then I poured a little for all the dead homies. The girl on the right is Coco.

This picture is of me, Jennifer, and a very disinterested junge.

It is now nighttime and we are at Café Schiller, just around the corner from our hotel. We met some Scottish guys who (I am not kidding) spent about 18 hours a day for three days at this bar. This is the only guy whom I could understand the first time he said something.

Here is a fine example of a guy in a kilt. (Jennifer made the mistake of asking him what her wears under the kilt. Hmm, or was it a mistake?) The guy standing to the right is the only Scottish guy of the group who I could understand. One of the dudes wasn't even speaking English.

Once again, Scottish guys in kilts. They were calling unshaven Mike "Pablo Escobar." (For those of you not down with the Colombian cocaine cartel scene, Pablo was head of one of the biggest drug syndicate in the Western hemisphere. He retired on account of a bullet finding its way through his head.) By the way, the guy you recognize from the previous picture is called "Bad Boy Johnny." Email me and I'll tell you how he got his name. I started calling him "Not so Bad Boy Johnny" and "Not as Bad as Mike Tyson Boy Johnny." I know, I know, I am one funny sonofabitch when I'm drunk.