Welcome to the Bummingdome

I'm stuck in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle of bummingness, a place I haven't visited much since I've become a father. This magical place can only be visited by following these three steps:

1) Catch a brutal cold and try to ignore it.

2) Ensure sleep deprivation all week (enhancing the effects of Step 1).

3) Gorge on processed pork and rich beer at a German restaurant on a Thursday night.

By Friday, you will understand the Bermuda Triangle and be a runny-nosed, feverish mess like me. I'm a quart deep on coffee at 9:30 AM. My first urine of the day was neon yellow, and I'm all tweaked out. Other than that I'm perfect.

I think I ate 69 mini pieces of bratwurst, weisswurst and potato pancakes last night. They were passed around on a tray by authentic German waitresses. The outfits of one of the authentic German waitresses made the restaurant experience a million times better. The husky, busty German woman had her curvy figure (and enormous bosoms) stuffed into a traditional German dress. There was cleavage spilling everywhere. It was tremendous. After my second giant mug, I was absolutely smitten. After my fourth giant mug, I was ready to tell her I loved her. After my fifth giant mug...I crawled home, unfurling noxious pork farts the likes of which haven't been smelled since...the last time I ate a lot of German sausage. Nobody won.

What made the night better (and this morning worse) was the discovery of two taps in a corner of the restaurant. I could fetch all the Spaten Oktoberfest beer I wanted without having to go to the bar. It was awesome. And costly.

I feel old and bloated right now. I will count the hours until I can retreat home.