Tag Archives: Culture Shock

5 Reasons Why You Should Totally Have Sex with a German Dude


“I share this reluctantly.” — Image Credit: sunshinecity (https://www.flickr.com/photos/sunshinecity/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Here’s the deal: I am a straight, married, American expat from Portland, Oregon, now living in Hannover, Germany. My wife is a scalding hot German woman with two master’s degrees and a smile so stunning it could stop your heart. I did my time as a bachelor before I was married. I’m over it. This is why, years later, single life and the one-night stands which go along with it are about as interesting to me as white hot birdshit.

I have absolutely no motivation to give out dating advice, especially when it might help young German men get a little extra honey on their stingers. The thing is, as a foreign blogger in a strange land, I am compelled to make observations about the things I see around me. I also try to be as honest as possible with my readers, so this is why all you straight women, gay men, bisexual and bi-curious individuals are about to discover the top five reasons why you should totally, absolutely, 100%, drop whatever you are doing right now and pork a German dude:

#1: German Dudes Are Sexy


“Anybody else want to punch this guy right in the heart?” — Image Credit: Hotlanta Voyeur (https://www.flickr.com/photos/hotlantavoyeur/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License. Lightly photoshopped.

You know how the stereotypical American tourist is a fat lard with white sneakers and a mean case of type 2 diabetes? Young German guys are the exact opposite; they’re style-conscious, thin and freakishly tall. Listen, I’m 5’10” tall when I’m wearing thick soled shoes, standing up perfectly straight and totally lying to myself. But the dudes here in Germany? They are, as my wife would put it, “lighthouse tall.”

Obviously there are exceptions — I’ve seen a few short guys here too — but most of them are like the Ents from the Lord of the Rings; elongated tree people, all lanky as hell with arms and legs akimbo. And if this is the moment when you decide to be a smart ass and google the average height between Germans and Americans only to find the difference minuscule, you can take those statistics and cram ’em: Here in northern Germany, dudes between the ages of 16 and 35 are tall as fuck. I see them every single day, and their genetic good fortune pisses me off.

One day, in a social setting, I asked a medical student here in Germany why the guys seemed so tall. He didn’t think his countrymen were any taller than mine, but suggested if there were a difference, it probably had something to do with diet. My ingenious theory, however, was that German winters typically last longer than those in the States, resulting in less sunlight and an overall deficiency of vitamin D. I went on to explain, beer in hand, how this would logically require the human body to adapt in order to increase surface area, resulting in a lanky populace better equipped to absorb sunlight. (Of course, according to my theory, Inuit people living in the Arctic should be tall enough to touch the goddamn sun, but hey, I was drunk at the time.)

Now, I have absolutely no explanation why German men tend to be so thin. Consuming the traditional German diet is like getting down on your knees and praying for a heart attack. The abundance of meat, bread and beer certainly hasn’t made me any sexier, so what the hell man? Maybe it’s just portion control. Maybe it’s greater emphasis on walking and cycling as means of daily transportation. All I know is young German dudes tend to have awesome bodies. Six pack abs are everywhere, as are broad shoulders and sculpted jawlines. This is why, on a worldwide scale of beauty from 1 to 10 — with 10 being the most beautiful — I am considered a British “7,” an American “6,” and a German “warthog.”

You know what else German guys have going for them? Style. They wear cool clothing that isn’t garish or overtly macho, and their hair tends to be stick-straight, allowing them to shape it into dazzling works of art. They stay ahead of all the latest fads and trends, so overall, their appearance is hip and fresh to the eye. (Or fruity as hell, depending upon your attitude.) Good style seems to be an inherent cultural trait across most of western Europe, but right now it’s definitely working to the advantage of young German males. That, or sexy unicorns are pissing in the groundwater.

Anyway, as I’ve said before, there are exceptions to every rule; not every young guy you meet here is going to be devastatingly handsome… but most of them will. Christ, with all the moussed hair, trendy jeans, blessed height and Olympian physiques, living in Germany is like being trapped inside one huge boyband. So if you’re into pretty boys, come on over; you’ll have a mouthful of beautifully shorn scrotum before you even leave the airport.

#2: German Dudes Are Smart

 -- Image Credit: Johan Bichel Lindegaard (https://www.flickr.com/photos/accidentdesigns/) -- Subject to CC 2.0 License. Adjusted for contrast.

“Oh, well you’re just the whole package, aren’t you… you NERD.” — Image Credit: Johan Bichel Lindegaard (https://www.flickr.com/photos/accidentdesigns/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License. Adjusted for contrast.

Alright, look — there are stupid people in every country, even in Germany — but it is important to note my wife and I do not make a habit of associating with knuckle draggers. Instead, we gravitate toward Germans who tend to be educated, well-traveled and able to consume alcohol in social situations without winding up tasered senseless and thrown into the back of a cop car. We’re arrogant snobs, is what I’m saying, so please keep this in mind as I make another sweeping generalization about the young men of northern Germany.

First of all, most of them are bilingual. They start learning English in the 3rd grade, and I know this because I have the incredible misfortune of living right next to a primary school. Every morning I get to hear these little nerds singing English nursery rhymes while I’m trying to work:

TEACHER: “The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout…”

SCHOOL KIDS: “The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout…”


Anyway, their language studies continue right on up through high school, and even if they don’t pursue it any further, they’re exposed to English on a regular basis through TV, movies and music. Hell, most of my German friends even speak a limited amount of some additional and totally unnecessary language, like French. Does this automatically make them smarter? Hell no, but I triple-dog-dare you to try and find a stupid polylinguist. Something about forcing the brain to switch between languages makes it more flexible and dynamic. I believe this is because a language isn’t just a bunch of words; it’s a different way of thinking. Regularly alternating the way you think is going to make you a more interesting person, if not outright more intelligent. So when you’re enjoying pillow talk with your new German lover, not only will he be able to understand your every word, but he will probably have something insightful to say just as soon as you remove that ball gag from his mouth.

The German dude you choose to lay will probably have spent a great deal of time at university as well, attaining both his undergraduate and graduate degrees. See, higher education is of great importance in Germany, and college is virtually free — the key word here being virtually. My wife and I were once walking along Georgstraße in Hannover when we stumbled across a huge group of angry college students protesting against rising tuition fees in Lower Saxony. This was a few years ago, so I can’t remember the exact amount, but tuition had risen from around €500 euros per semester to like €525 euros. I laughed so hard I peed a little. And get this: Just a year or two later, Lower Saxony abolished tuition fees altogether. As an American, I just can’t wrap my head around free or even affordable tuition. Of course, I also can’t wrap my head around half my monthly paycheck going to the taxes it takes to cover said tuition, but still, it’s a pretty awesome system. It encourages high school graduates to go learn a thing or two about the world and stop being such narcissistic little shit twisters.

In general, Germans tend to be very well-traveled — especially the younger generations. They’re encouraged to embark on school exchange programs and spend a year or two at foreign universities. Then, after they’ve returned to Germany and entered the workforce, they are often sent back overseas for internships and additional job training — especially in the science, engineering and medical fields. I don’t know about you, but I have yet to meet a well-traveled individual who isn’t at least a little bit more sophisticated than an isolated one. As a result, German men of sexable age tend to be open-minded, sensitive and respectful of other cultures. So throw a condom on that gentle jet-setter, because he’s probably crushed ass from Sacramento to Singapore.

#3: German Dudes Are Humble


“You’re so money and you don’t even know it.” — Photo Credit:
Daniel Zedda (https://www.flickr.com/photos/astragony/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

In my experience, German guys tend to be extremely modest. I have no doubt there are a few egotistical shitbags running around over here, but all the ones I’ve spoken with practically trip over themselves when you pay them a compliment. And even I have to admit — it’s pretty adorable. See, I come from America; our culture is fueled by unchecked egotism and blind self-confidence. Things like bragging, cockiness, and inexplicably high self-esteem are so normal they make me homesick. But over here? No way. Good luck telling a German guy he’s smart or good-looking; he’ll probably black out and walk straight into the nearest wall.

Maybe it’s inherited guilt from the two world wars. Maybe it’s the rather intense secondary school system, or maybe it’s lack of praise or basic affection during childhood, I don’t know, but it seems like German people are reluctant to show any kind of national pride whatsoever. (Unless you’re talking about soccer. Then, apparently, they’re allowed to go apeshit.)

What I’m saying is, there’s still a lot of guilt over here, and that makes for a dating pool of young men who tend to be more reserved, less aggressive and way more grateful for the sex you’re having with them.

#4: German Dudes Aren’t Prude


On an unrelated note: This picture makes me laugh every time I see it. — Photo Credit: Jens karlsson (https://www.flickr.com/photos/chapter3/) Subject to CC 2.0 License.

When it comes to sex, we Americans are very prude. Oh sure, we’ll watch some action star cut an entire village in half with a machine gun, but a pair of tits on a billboard? None of us would get to work safely. This stems from our Puritan ancestry and the fact that, as a country, we’re still in our adolescence. We’re like a bunch of teenagers giggling in Sex Ed class: “Tee hee hee! The teacher said, ‘labia.’ ”

The country of Germany, on the other hand, is old as balls. Sure, the German Empire was formed in 1871 by the Prussians, but Germania has existed since the time before that one goody two-shoes got his ass crucified. And because Germany is right in the middle of Europe — greatly influenced by all of the countries surrounding it — its modern-day culture is very difficult to define. What I can say, however, is that it is old, and with age comes maturity. Here are a few German cultural traits regarding sex I can confirm, having observed them with my own two eyeballs:

  • Public Displays of Affection (PDA) – From city parks to beaches, German people give exactly zero fucks about being seen making out. And I don’t just mean sexy young people; I’m also talking about old people slapping waddles together like a couple of hungry sea lions.
  • Nudity – Not only are nude saunas commonplace in Germany, but so is nudity in advertising and entertainment. I try and act cool whenever I see a breast on a poster for skin cream, but inside I’m dancing around like a schoolboy: “Titties, titties titties!”
  • Compartmentalization – That very same German dude who just got done playing tonsil hockey at the park and watching sweat drop off his nards with a bunch of other guys in the sauna will then walk back into work, adjust his tie and give a presentation to the executive team without missing a beat. This is compartmentalization is action; everything has its place, but what’s cool in one place is not necessarily cool in another. They keep that shit separate.
  • Interracial Coupling – I love seeing people of different races get together, and I see it a lot more often here in Germany than I ever did in America. Sure, racism and prejudice exist here too, but it’s not stopping these crazy kids from mixing up their crayons.
  • Prostitution – I’ve talked about prostitution in Germany before, but I’ll say it again; it’s legal here, and it’s no big deal. Personally, I think prostitution should be legal everywhere. Why does the government care if you want to choke yourself while some chick dips your nuts in coffee? I think it’s awesome.

Now imagine a young German man growing up in this environment, where sex is accepted more openly and with greater honesty; he may not necessarily be a porn star, but he won’t have as many hangups about sex as your average American. Can’t you just picture the relaxed, easy confidence of a lover so perfectly bred? The only problem is German guys fail to realize how cool they really are; they don’t understand their casual attitude toward sex is both surprising and refreshing to Americans. That’s why in Germany you’re so likely to run into a tall, smart, handsome bastard with the soul of a virgin nerd.

#5: German Dudes Are Uncut


“Get that awful wiener out of my face.” — Image Credit: barockschloss (https://www.flickr.com/photos/barockschloss/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License

Oh, did you think this was going to be one long ass-kissing session? Like I wanted to endear myself to the young male population of Germany by listing all the ways in which they rule? No. This is the part where I cut them right back down to size. (Tee hee!)

So here’s the deal: I make a real point out of not looking at other dude’s junk while I’m showering at the gym, but it’s impossible to avoid entirely, especially if you tend to walk with your head down, like I do. If I exit the shower area right as another guy is entering, I will see, in exactly the following order: feet, knees, cock, nipples, face, and then it’s “Oh, excuse me,” as I step aside, thinking, what in the fuck is with all the uncut birds in this country?

I know circumcision is not a part of Christian religious tradition, and Germany is lousy with Catholics and Protestants, so maybe that explains why it isn’t so popular here. But then, America has a shit-ton of Christians too, and most of us had our birds cut while we were still fresh out of the womb. So I’m not sure about the reasons, but circumcision is a surprisingly divisive issue. To cut or not to cut: That is the question. For some it’s about the look. For others it’s about sensitivity, cleanliness or simply not wanting to cut off parts of their baby. And according to the half-assed google search I just did, circumcision seems to be on the decline — at least in America. There are tons of reasons for this — all of which are hotly debated — but none of them matter at all, because uncircumcised dicks are fucking disgusting.

I had my foreskin hacked off as a baby, and I’m glad as hell. (Thanks Mom and Dad!) Every time I go to the bathroom I think to myself, yeah, that there is some fine lookin’ denim pork. Now, does it make logical sense that an altered body part should look better than a natural one? Of course not. But still, we pierce our ears, right? We get tattoos, shave our pubes, wear makeup and lift weights to try and achieve a physique with which we were not genetically gifted. Hell, in some cultures they scar themselves from head to toe or wear rings around their necks until they can’t support the weight of their own heads. These are all examples of cultural body modification for the sake of beauty, and when a certain type of beauty is popular for long enough, it becomes the standard. (Hey, I don’t make the rules, I’m just playing by them.)

Sure, uncircumcised dongs will likely come back into fashion, as will big hair, quaaludes and 1970s porno pubes, but I for one will be crying the day that happens. (Except for the quaaludes part. Those sound awesome.) But if you want an uncut penis and you want it right now, come to Germany, because they don’t send their soldiers to war without a helmet.


Although I have strongly recommended throughout this post that you have sex with a German dude, just remember to use protection. Your future spouse is not going to want to hear about the STD you caught in Munich when you were nearly slapped to death in a nutsack hurricane. And you definitely don’t want to explain you have herpes because of that one summer in Berlin spent drowning in penis.


It’s real simple: German dudes are awesome. When compared to the rest of the knuckle-dragging primates of the world, the great apes of Germany score a record-setting 5 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

Merkel Diamond from Angela Merkel, Prime Minister of Germany
Oh, I’m sure many of you will disagree with this assessment — most of all the guilt-ridden, self-loathing Germans themselves — so I cordially invite all of you to light up my comments section like a flaming dildo.



5 More Weirdly Specific, Totally Irrational Fears and Phobias of an American Expat Living in Germany


“Welcome back to my world of madness.” — Image Credit: DieselDemon (https://www.flickr.com/photos/28096801@N05/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License — Adjusted for contrast.

Remember that post I wrote a while back about my top 5 totally irrational fears and phobias? It actually started out as a list of 10, but the deadline snuck up on me so fast I had to cut that bitch in half. Here’s the second half…

As human beings, we are subject to certain basic fears. Lots of people are afraid of flying in airplanes or standing in crowded elevators. Others are afraid of things like snakes or spiders. Regardless of their source, our fears serve to keep us away from danger and remind us that no matter what we achieve as a species — no matter how tall our skyscrapers, how ingenious our inventions, or how far we explore into outer space — we’re really all just a bunch of scared, shit-slinging zoo monkeys.

Chances are, you and I share all the same phobias — only I have a few more. And by a few more, I mean supplemental fears which are not only freakish in their specificity, but also absurd and unnecessary. These are fears I have always had, but which have grown far worse since I began my life as an American expat in Germany:

Phobia #5: Eye Drops


“Is that innocent saline or battery acid? I bet it’s battery acid.” — Image Credit: National Eye Institute (https://www.flickr.com/photos/nationaleyeinstitute/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Look, I’m an artist and a writer. I’m naturally protective of my eyes and my hands because, without them, I wouldn’t be able to make a living; I’d just be a blind, handless trophy husband. That’s why I recoil in comedic fashion whenever something comes close to my eyes, like umbrella spikes, pencils, butter knives, hot dogs… basically anything shaped like a dick.

I refuse to wear contact lenses based solely upon my fear of anything touching my eyes. And you know that machine that gauges the pressure inside your eyeballs by shooting a tiny puff of air into them? That thing makes my eyes water before the air hits them, and then when it does, I flinch so hard I shake the whole table. Scares the shit out of the optometrist.

But you know what really sucks for me now that I live in Germany? Eye drops. I never had to use them before, but the pollen over here is both foreign and plentiful, resulting in spring and summer allergies so strong I am forced to use them if I want to open my eyes in the morning.

Of course, I can’t really say I “use” eye drops; it’s more like I hold the evil little bottle over my eye and stare right at the droplet, waiting in agonizing anticipation for it to fall. Then, when it does, I slam my eye closed so it splatters all over my eyelids and runs down my face like a porno. The only part of the fluid which ever enters my eye is that which has been caught in my eyelashes, so my use of eye drops is really more of a daily accident I now call routine.

Phobia #4: Crowds of People


“Raise your hand if you’re emotionally unstable! …You? I knew it.” — Image Credit: Stéphane Gallay (https://www.flickr.com/photos/isa_lias/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Good Christ I hate being around large crowds of people. Concerts, festivals, conventions — it doesn’t matter; they’re too bright, too loud, and they present way too many social factors for me to consider all at once. And they have so much potential energy! God, it freaks me out. What if they all got mad? Like, at the same time? The way I look at things, every crowd I see is just one emotional trigger away from becoming a riot.

Let’s say there’s a fire; am I the only one who considers the sheer impossibility of so many people passing through the fire exits simultaneously? Forget the flames and the smoke — you know you’re gonna get trampled to death first. And what are the odds at least one person in any given crowd has a gun? In Germany, that number is thankfully much lower than in the States, but still, even here, I’m certain at least one dude is packing heat. And how can you possibly relax when, as a statistical certainty, some small percentage of the crowd has a serious mental illness? Clearly I have one, but all I’m gonna do is talk shit about it on this here blog. What about the violent schizophrenics? Hell, the drug addicts? It only takes one tweaker to ruin your day. That’s all I’m saying.

Okay, I feel like I’m not getting my point across. Like, I can’t possibly explain just how fragile a crowd of people can be. Imagine you’re at an Elton John concert. You’re drunk. You’re having an awesome time. Then some asshole decides to start screaming right in the middle of “Tiny Dancer.” A high-pitched wail which pierces right through the music. No reason, just some crazy dude losing his shit. Even a short yelp will put the entire crowd on edge. But a prolonged scream? At the very least people will be alarmed and start looking for the nearest exit. Hell, Sir Elton himself might even stop playing the piano until security got there. But that sort of thing almost never happens. Why? Because most of the time we all behave ourselves. But that’s just the thing: It all hangs in such delicate balance! I simply cannot relax. Large crowds of people both frighten and exhaust me.

And this fear has only worsened here in Germany, what with all the Christmas markets, fairs and festivals going on. There’s a major social gathering going down in every German city, all year ’round. There is no escape, especially when your spunky German wife insists upon attending at least one of these powder kegs per year. God dammit, just thinking about it now has me reaching for the Xanax. “Oh yes, you beautiful, wonderful little pill… take Daddy away from the bad thoughts.”

Phobia #3: Things Falling from the Sky


“It’s not beautiful, it’s menacing.” — Image Credit: Crysis Rubel (https://www.flickr.com/photos/crysisrubel/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Do you ever look up at the sky when it’s sunny, bright blue and cloudless, and think to yourself, “Wow, there is absolutely no ceiling there. A little atmosphere, sure, but really nothing between my soft, fragile skull and the chaotic universe beyond?” The Earth is being pounded by meteorites all the time. Just look at the Moon, with all its scars and pock marks. Over the years, that thing has taken a real pounding, and the universe is not a gentle lover. No, the universe is a dangerous, violent bitch, just flinging shit in all directions. When I look up at the sky, I cannot stop thinking about which chunk of cosmic space debris has my name written on it.

This fear actually extends to anything dangerous hanging over my head, like construction equipment. The economy in Germany seems to be doing pretty well, so there’s always new construction going on. I can really only speak for Hannover though, when I say I can’t walk across the Kröpcke without passing beneath a lot of scaffolding, a few ladders, a crane and a bucket full of bricks. How qualified is that dopey bastard in the hardhat to be hoisting a slab of concrete over my head? Not nearly enough, I say, and that’s why I pass beneath construction zones as quickly as possible, shuddering and reciting a silent warning: Motherfucker, if you drop that thing on my head I will haunt you so hard. I will haunt you until you die.

Phobia #2: Doorknobs


“Laugh all you want, but that thing is covered in herpes.” — Image Credit: r. nial bradshaw (https://www.flickr.com/photos/zionfiction/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

It may surprise you to know I do not have OCD. I don’t wash my hands a thousand times a day or anything, but I do hate touching doorknobs — especially the ones in public restrooms. I will seriously pull my sleeve up over my hand and use it to open the door rather than allow that sullied metal to touch my skin. My wife just laughs and shakes her head when she catches me doing this. Oh sure, it’s cute now, but imagine seeing me do this as an 80-year-old man; you’d be forced to assume I’ve gone senile. “That poor old bastard — his brain is just riddled with dementia. He probably wipes poo on the mirror too…”

No, you assholes, I just don’t like having dirty hands. I keep them clean and my nails trimmed down to the skin, the way God intended. My problem with touching doorknobs — or really any object utilized by the general public — stems from my lack of basic knowledge in the subject of biology. How many germs are on the average doorknob? What is their half-life? Is it possible for germs to infect one another, so you’ve got the flu, filled with measles, filled with AIDS, like a Russian nested doll?

Screw it. I just avoid the problem entirely. Hell, with my sleeve-over-the-hand technique, I can urinate in a public bathroom without touching anything but my own pink wiener. And since my hands are always clean — and my wiener is easily the cleanest thing on earth — why bother washing my hands at all? My hands are probably cleaner because I touched my wiener.

How has this phobia worsened as a result of living in Germany? Well, my wife and I don’t need a car. We use our bikes in combination with Germany’s awesome public transportation system. And if you’ve ever ridden an U-Bahn train, you know it’s impossible to do so without touching a few door-open buttons, or grasping one of those straps or poles for standing passengers. This is where my sleeve technique fails me; if I try to hold onto a shiny metal pole with a layer of slippery cotton in my fist, I will lose my grip and fall down onto the even filthier train floor. Now I’m being laughed at and infected with viral hepatitis.

Also, on the S-Bahn, where you sometimes have to climb a few steps, it’s expected you help women with strollers board or exit the train. This means, in order to be a proper gentleman, you have to touch the handlebar at the front of the stroller… right below the filthy baby. You know the little demon farts all over that thing. Just all day long. Probably does it on purpose.

Phobia #1: Russians


“Raise your hand if you’re having an awesome time! …No one? …Anyone? …Bueller?” — Image Credit: Brandon (https://www.flickr.com/photos/bpprice/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

There are cool people in every country and there are shitty people in every country. We’re all just human beings in the end, so I try not to make generalized statements about anyone based upon nationality. However, I’m gonna go ahead and do that right now by admitting Russian people scare the shit out of me.

I’m talking about Russian nationals; the ones born and raised in the Motherland. Men and women. Young and old. I am equally afraid of them all. Why? Because of Rocky IV. Just kidding. It’s because 99.9% of my experience with Russians — in America and in Germany — has been scary.

When I was younger, my friend and I were accosted by a Russian man wielding one of those huge, round bottles of wine that cost like $2. I once dated a Russian woman who turned out to be an unapologetic gold digger (but she was hot, so fuck it, right?). Her mother was a mail order bride — clearly miserable — with visible disdain for her American husband. I knew another guy — this one closer to my age — who married a Russian mail order bride and she absolutely hated his guts. (To be fair, I didn’t like much him either, but this young woman would later go on to commit manslaughter by driving over a hobo. I am not joking.) I listened as a Russian contractor told one of my co-workers he could custom-build a 2,500 sq.ft., 2-storey, 4-bedroom house for her under $100,000 dollars — and he whispered it to her, so you just know he was full of shit. That, or the materials were stolen. Anyway, a few years later I had two Russian men knock on my front door and try and intimidate me into moving the fence behind my house, claiming it was over the property line — and they wanted me to move it within 24 hours. (It was totally over the property line, and I was legally required to move the fence, but my point is they were dicks about it.) Here in Germany, I’ve seen countless drunk Russian men on the U-Bahn hassling people and outright daring them to say something about it. I went to a party last summer and there was a Russian guy there — 6′ 7″ and built like a brick shithouse — who, upon hearing I was from America, tipped his head back to swallow a shot of vodka and declared: “I do not like America.” Holy shit, nothing makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end like a slurred Russian accent. Sounds like they’ve got a mouthful of marbles.

So I’ve had a bunch of unfortunate encounters with Russian people. Is it fair to judge them all based upon my own personal experience? Of course not… but in general, Russians do seem pissed. Like, pee-yaa-HISSED. Maybe it’s the long winters. Maybe it’s the decades of economic struggle. Maybe it’s because they’ve got a James Bond villain for a president. I don’t know.

But now I want to talk about that 0.1% of my experience which wasn’t scary. Like the time shortly after I arrived in Germany and began my mandatory German language course. One of the other students was a woman from Russia. She was maybe 5 feet tall, in her late 60s, married with kids and grand kids, and she had — pound for pound — the biggest tits I’ve ever seen in my life. Seriously. I was concerned about her lower back, hauling those sweater puppies around all day. Jesus Christ. Anyway, she was smart, nice, and she took the class seriously. She even helped me sign up for the next class after the school lost my file. She was by far my favorite person there.

Then I went to a different language school, where I met another awesome Russian. This time it was a dude, in his mid-30s. He also took his language studies seriously, but he had a very chill, very subtle demeanor about him, and I greatly enjoyed his dry sense of humor. After our teacher had introduced the theme for the day — say, wild boars posing a serious threat to motorists in Berlin (this was an actual theme, by the way) — we would be asked to discuss it together in small groups. My Russian buddy turned to me and asked, “Are you threatened by wild pigs in America?” I laughed, shaking my head. He then turned back around, saying, “In Russia, we are more threatened by bears.” I loved that guy.

Here’s my point: I am afraid of Russian nationals, but I still reserve a very narrow, very jaded place in my heart for the nice ones. So, Nostrovia! (And I know I spelled that wrong, you angry sons of bitches.)


Given the oddity of my phobias — especially where they have been exacerbated by expat life in Germany — I must award them with a solid 4 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

Merkel Diamond from Angela Merkel, Prime Minister of Germany
This is not a perfect score, however. If you can top any one of my fears in terms of overall strangeness or potential to derail you as a human being, the comment section is wide open.

I look forward to hearing from you.


P.S. If you’d like to read the first half of this post, you can find it here: The Top 5 Weirdly Specific, Totally Irrational Fears and Phobias of an American Expat Living in Germany.



The Top 5 Weirdly Specific, Totally Irrational Fears and Phobias of an American Expat Living in Germany


“…and THIS, children, is the face of insanity!” — Image Credit: Okko Pyykkö (https://www.flickr.com/photos/data_op/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

We’re all afraid of something — spiders, heights, confined spaces — these are all common phobias. And while they scare the everloving shit out of me too, I have an additional set of fears which are far weirder and less rational than the rest. Fears I have always had, but which have been made far worse since I became an American expat living in Germany.

Phobia #5: Getting Lint in My Pee-Hole


“Things way flow out, but NEVER in.” — Image Credit: Marc Diego (https://www.flickr.com/photos/132739655@N07/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Few things are more sacred than my urinary meatus. It is the very keyhole behind which my soul is locked, and therefore, never to be sullied. Still, I have an intense fear of getting lint — or any other foreign object — lodged inside it. I cringe at the very thought. In fact, I am cringing super hard right now.

I suspect this fear stems from a moment in my childhood when I was at the playground near my house. Like most playgrounds, this one sat atop a thick layer of bark dust. I recall finding an unusually long piece of bark dust, then proceeding to run around swinging it over my head like a pirate. Soon enough, I needed to climb the play structure in order to better command my swabbies, but I only had one free hand. Thinking I was the smartest pirate ever, I jammed the bark dust into the waistband of my shorts and started climbing. By the time I got to the top, what was once a sword had exploded into a thousand merry splinters, one of which worked its way into my tiny piss hole. “Yarr, Matey! Batten down the hatches and–HOLY FUCK IT STIIIIIIINGS!”

What does this have to do with Germany? Well, I refuse to sleep naked. You see, occasionally, the summer months in Germany are actually hot, and air conditioning is a very rare indulgence in this country. Even though it is obviously the greatest thing ever, Germans tend to see air conditioning as wasteful and, in some cases, even unhealthy. Since my wife and I don’t want to be the only assholes on the block with an A/C unit sticking out the window, we must escape the heat through a pair of oscillating fans and our own nakedness. But therein lies the problem: As I’ve already explained, I am irrationally afraid something will find its way into my glue chute. That I’ll roll over while I’m asleep and crush my boner headfirst into a pile of sock lint, resulting in a massive infection and a trip to the emergency room, where my inflamed bongus starts shooting out whole socks like a malfunctioning clothes dryer.

Phobia #4: Sitting with My Back to the Door


“Someone is sneaking up behind me right now. I KNOW it.” — Image Credit: Ralph Daily (https://www.flickr.com/photos/ralphandjenny/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

I’m just a nerd who sits at home all day making pretty on the computer. I am not a secret agent. I am not a criminal, nor am I an assassin, so realistically, no one is out to get me. I have absolutely no reason to fear having my back to the door in public places, and yet, it still bugs the holy Christ out of me. Restaurants, classrooms, offices — really anywhere I must remain for longer than a few seconds — are all spaces in which I am compelled to position myself so I can see exactly who is coming through the door at all times. Sure, I can white-knuckle my way through dinner at a sushi restaurant with a steady flow of foot traffic behind me, but I’ll look over my shoulder so many times my wife will eventually throw down her chopsticks and switch seats with me just so we can both relax.

This anxiety is all about control. I have no control over people when I can’t see them, and that makes me feel vulnerable. When I can see them, I feel as if I at least have a chance to protect myself and my wife from danger — even if I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell. Like, if some halfwit marches into a cafe and lights the place up with an assault rifle, at the very least I’m going to throw a salt shaker at him. Maybe even a dinner plate or something. Bang, bang, bang… “Fuck youuuuuuuu!” SMASH! …NEWS FLASH… American Expat in Germany Saves Dozens of Lives by Incapacitating Gunman with Fennel Caprese Salad.

What does this have to do with Germany? Well, public transportation in German cities is pretty sweet. My wife and I don’t need a car; we ride our bikes, take the bus or hop on the U-Bahn. You know what sucks about the U-Bahn though? There’s always a door behind you. Unless you want to stand up the entire time at the front of the train with your back pressed against the driver’s booth, staring the other passengers in the eye like some creepy homunculus, people are going to be entering and exiting right behind you. It sucks, and that’s why I always ride the U-Bahn with a tiny canister of pepper spray in my pocket — my thumb hovering nervously over the button — just waiting to ruin someone’s day.

Phobia #3: Drain Cleaner


“Pictured: The burning tears of Gomorrah.” — Image Credit: Mike Mozart (https://www.flickr.com/photos/jeepersmedia/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Chemical drain cleaners are scary as hell. Have you ever used one, like Drano, Liquid-Plumr or Rid-X? God damn, that shit will eat through anything, and it’s not exactly discerning; It’ll burn through the wad of soap scum clogging your shower drain just as easily as it will your wrinkled scrotum. With this in mind, I handle drain cleaner like unstable dynamite; delicately tiptoeing my way through the house, keeping the bottle at arm’s length and my face turned slightly away while wearing an expression of dainty horror. Basically, like the world’s biggest pussy.

I am deathly afraid of getting drain cleaner on my skin, and I am 100% convinced it will somehow, magically, wind up in my eyes and blind me for life. Like, the fear itself is so strong it could blow a fuse in my brain, short out my instinct for self-preservation and replace it with the impulse to pour heinous amounts of acid directly into my eyes and mouth. This, in turn, causes more fear, which makes the impulse seem even more real, resulting in a thought loop from which I cannot escape, and proving — once and for all — I have lost my goddamn mind.

How does this relate to Germany? Well, renting houses and apartments — rather than owning them — is much more common in this country. Lots of Germans rent their homes their entire lives, but the universal problem with renters from any country is they rarely care about the place they’re renting. They don’t own it, so fuck it, right? On top of that, cheapskate apartment managers never fix things when they break. You’ve got to handle problems yourself, and that’s where drain cleaner comes into play. See, if your wife has long, sexy German hair like mine does, your shower drain will clog with hairballs at regular intervals throughout the year. This will force you to either buy a plumber’s snake (yeah right, that’s gross) or resort to the use of chemicals. And since my wife has deemed all things pertaining to clogged pipes as “icky” and “a man’s job,” I must regularly face my fear of drain cleaner — or as I have come to call it, “Cowering in Fear of the Devil’s Hot Acid Ejaculate.”

Phobia #2: Dogs


“Oh, how cute! A pretty princess and a handsome gentleman… with razor-sharp knives in their mouths.” — Image Credit: Pets Adviser (petsadviser.com) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

I used to love dogs, man. When I was younger, I had no fear of them whatsoever. But that all changed back in Portland, Oregon, in the mid-2000s, when I made the ingenious decision to try and break up a pit bull fight in my underwear.

You see, I was renting a room in a house owned by a woman with a pit bull. There was another renter living there too, and he also owned a pit bull, but neither of these two idiots had the slightest clue how to raise dogs like these. So, I woke up one Saturday morning to the unmistakable sound of dogs fighting over food in the kitchen, but it wasn’t just the usual snarling and barking; what I heard was two pit bulls trying to kill each other.

Not my problem, I thought to myself, rolling over and pulling the pillow down over my ears. But the bloody murder just got louder and louder, until it was clear one of the dogs was about to die. I jumped out of bed — out of anger and annoyance, not heroism — grabbed the canister of bear mace I kept (and still keep) next to my bed, and walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of thin, blue boxer shorts.

There was dog food, blood and hair all over the kitchen floor, and the woman who owned the house — whom we shall refer to as Muffinbrain McTouchedinthehead — was trying to bodily heft one of the pit pulls up and out the back door. She wasn’t strong enough to pull this off though, especially since the other pit bull had locked its jaws on the dog’s hind leg. I got Muffinbrain’s attention and offered to use the can of mace in my hand, but she insisted I try and pull the second dog away and separate them instead. I don’t know why, but I went ahead and grabbed the dog’s collar and yanked it back. It worked, but stupid goddamn Muffinbrain let her dog get away, and it charged across the kitchen and sank it’s teeth into the second dog’s neck. Of course my fingers were in the way, and to this very day I have the scars to prove it.

Anyway, it was at that moment when I absolutely lost my shit: I was basically naked — my exposed flesh vulnerable from all angles — bleeding and pissed off, so I pulled the safety guard off the canister and bear-maced the holy shit out of pit bull #1. Not yet satisfied, I firehosed pit bull #2 for good measure, then gave them both a few departing shots as I walked back to my room. I got dressed and left the house, but not before seeing Muffinbrain still in the kitchen, coughing and gagging on the atomized pepper spray in the air, and the two pit bulls standing there with vacant looks in their eyes — like nothing happened. In retrospect, I think the mace had temporarily blinded them, but they handled it calmly and professionally, like the purebred assassins they are.

How does this relate to Germany? Well, Germans like to bring their dogs with them everywhere. Restaurants, cafes, department stores… even the U-Bahn. You can’t get away from the filthy little beasts, especially here in Hannover. And every time one gets close to me — even if it’s just a little Pomeranian puffball — I am convinced it will bite me and I must resist the urge to punt that little fucker like a football.

Phobia #1: Young Men


“We cannot be hurt. We cannot die. And together, we will bring an end to all that is good and decent in this world.” — Image Credit: fakeyoursmile (https://www.flickr.com/photos/fakeyoursmile/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

I ask you, is there anything more dangerous than a group of bored young men between the ages of 16 and 25? Having been one myself, I can confirm, yes, they are, in fact, the most dangerous species on the planet. (And they stink too, secreting a perpetual musk of assholes and armpits.)

Young men are selfish, loud, rude and oblivious to the people around them. Of course there are exceptions; I’ve met many kind and considerate young men. But the vast majority have brains which are not yet fully developed — like half baked lumps of monkey shit — so they literally cannot imagine how their actions today might result in negative reactions tomorrow. This is why they get obnoxiously drunk, drive too fast, get into fistfights and think of little else beyond finding girls willing to smooch their he-chicken.

What does this have to do with Germany? Well, I must admit, I do feel a bit safer around young German man than I do American ones. This is probably because Germans are far less likely to own guns, but also because they just don’t seem quite so… aggressive. But then you have young, German, frothing-at-the-mouth soccer fans, and being trapped in an U-Bahn car with these drunken idiots after the big game makes me feel about as safe as a fat-tailed gerbil in a sack full of cats. “So, uh, has everyone already eaten today? How about them flea collars, eh? Itch like a real bastard, I bet! Heh heh… oh my God please don’t kill me.”


I have to say, given the morbidly obsessive and wildly irrational specificity of my phobias — especially as they have been exacerbated by life in Germany — I must award them with a solid 4 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

Merkel Diamond from Angela Merkel, Prime Minister of Germany
However, this is not a perfect score: If you think you can top any single one of my fears in terms of overall weirdness or potential to incapacitate you as a human being, the comment section is wiiiiiide open…


P.S. Would you like to read the sequel to this post? Check it out: 5 More Weirdly Specific, Totally Irrational Fears and Phobias of an American Expat Living in Germany


How One American Expat Celebrates the 4th of July Outside the United States

Team-Frankreich-Intermède-Hannover-Internationalen Feuerwerkswettbewerb

“Wait, what day is it again?

How One American Expat Celebrates the 4th of July Outside the United States

An interview with the author of ‘Oh God, My Wife Is German,’ conducted by ParcelHero.com

Parcel Hero – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

1. Why are you a resident in Germany? Where in the US are you from originally?

I am originally from Portland, Oregon, but I moved to Hannover, Germany, in order to be with my wife; a beautiful, smart and (unintentionally) hilarious German woman. With her adorable linguistic mixture of Deutsch and English — better known as Denglish — she often says things like:

“Why does our time on earth have to be limitated?”

“But maybe I can spend money. I am the bread maker now.”


“It is time to get out of the bathtub now… my fingers are getting schrinkled.”

2. How will you be celebrating the 4th of July this year?

To be perfectly honest with you, I generally forget about the 4th of July every year, much like I forget most holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. However, if I should remember it this year, I will spend the evening worrying about the house we own in the States — and the likelihood that it will be swiftly burned to the ground by some mouth-breathing neighbor kid with a popsicle in one hand and a Roman candle in the other.

3. Where will you be celebrating it? (eg: a specific restaurant, party, etc.)

After calling my rental agency and confirming our house has not, in fact, been reduced to smoldering ashes, my wife and I will probably watch A Game of Thrones while eating a pizza and then pass right the fuck out.

4. What do you miss most about ‘home’ on the 4th of July?

I’ll miss the heat. July is generally pretty warm in Portland, but here in northern Germany? You just never know. It could be warm, but it could also be cold or windy — even rainy — because the weather here is always threatening an early return to winter… as if it were designed by Mother Nature herself to gently crush all joy from the German soul, keeping it focused upon the robotic task of producing the world’s finest automobile components.

— Oh God, My Wife Is German.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Expats around the world should check out ParcelHero for international delivery, collected from your door, by the couriers you trust, at www.parcelhero.com

And if you’d like to find out more about life as an American expat in Germany, check out some of our other posts, like this one: Five Things That Suck About Living in Germany

Culture Shock in Germany: An American Expat Is Horrified by His Discovery of German ‘Schreber Gardens’


“And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod…” — Photo Credit: Patrik Tschudin (https://www.flickr.com/photos/patsch/) — Subject to CC 2.0 Generic Copyright.

Dear Germany,

I have a confession to make.

When I first arrived at the Hannover airport back in 2012, my wife met me at the security gate, we picked up my luggage and boarded the S5 train on our way toward our new home. About a mile or two outside the city, I saw a vast wasteland of the most depressing houses on earth; tiny little shacks — too small even to hold a car — complete with miniature windows, flagpoles, chain-link fences, yards and gardens.

“My God,” I whispered to my wife, barely containing the tear which threatened to spill from my eye, “those poor, poor people…”

I marveled at the thought of living in such a confined space. Would the toilet be right next to your head as you slept at night? What about running water? A kitchen? Heat during winter? Holy Christ, are people raising children in those things?

I was disgusted by the idea a city like Hannover could thrive within spitting distance of such wretched slums. What sort of mayor allows a cesspool of humanity like this to decay in his own back yard? A sick one, that’s who. And then I took a closer look at these little nightmare shanties, all huddled together for warmth like derelicts around a burning car tire…

“You know, for a bunch of filthy untouchables, these Germans bums sure decorate the shit out of their huts.”

And it was true: Each little house was manicured with tender, loving care. Like dollhouses for God’s sullied children. They were freshly painted, complete with trim and decorations on the front door. They even had tiny chimneys and gutters. The yards were immaculate and the gardens were actually growing real, live, fruits and vegetables. I even saw a miniature trellis supporting a beautiful red climbing rose… like a single wish of hope in an otherwise hellish quagmire of despair.

“These are the best hobos ever!” I declared loudly, not only for my wife, but for the rest of the train car to hear as well.

“Those are Schreber gardens,” said my wife. “We call them ‘Schrebergärten.’ People who live in the city rent them so they can garden on the weekends. When I was a kid, I used to have sleepovers with my friend in her family’s Schreber garden.”

She was right. Apparently, the “Schreber Movement” started in Leipzig, Germany, in 1864. European industrialization in the 19th century brought tons of people into German cities, and most of them were very poor. As a way to improve their lives and put more food on the table, they used these little plots of land outside the city to garden, work outside in the fresh air and have a place for their children to play. These days, Schreber gardens are more of a hobby than a necessity, and though I’m sure there are some young people who continue to enjoy them, all I’ve seen are super old people with their hands in the dirt and their asses to the sky.

And so, Dear Germany, I must apologize; I am sorry for assuming so many of your citizens were living in abject squalor. I just didn’t know! I mean, I own a house in the States and I hate yard work — I couldn’t imagine paying someone for the chance to weed my own vegetable garden. That’s just crazy talk. But you go ahead and do your thing, Germany.

Do it real good.



If you would like to read another post regarding my adjustment to life in a new country, check this one out: American Expat Receives Terrifying Haircut at Turkish Hairdresser in Germany

The Top 10 Weirdest German Foods I Have Learned to Love

When you think of German food, what’s the first thing that comes to mind? Lots of meat? Sausage? Bread? Sauerkraut? (Endless fields of pig bodies to satisfy Germany’s disturbing and straight up demonic appetite for all things swine?) Before moving to Germany, I thought of these things too, because I had no idea just how weird and diverse German food really is — or that I would someday learn to love the nightmarish display of grotesqueries at the grocery store.

What follows is a list of the 10 weirdest foods I have learned to love as an American expat living in Germany:


1.) Zungenwurst
Also known as Blood Tongue, this little childhood trauma is made from pig’s blood, tongue, fat and sometimes oatmeal or breadcrumbs. (They probably throw a live piglet in there too, just to keep things cute.) The first time I tried Zungenwurst, I hacked it back up into my napkin and told my wife I could taste the screams. The blood was so potent it was like sucking on a mouthful of pennies. But I kept at it! I tried it again a few weeks later, and again at my in-laws place, until one day I kinda liked it. Then I really liked it, and now I’m the one who buys this awful shit at the grocery store.


2.) Weltmeister-Brötchen
These guys are made out of wheat and rye flour, and for some reason enjoy calling themselves the “World Champion Bread Roll.” Pretty cocky, if you ask me. But look at all those seeds! There’s enough to choke a pigeon. I bet if you buried one of these rolls in the dirt, an entire forest would spring to life. Anyway, as an American, I was really only familiar with white and whole wheat bread, so these dense bricks of heartiness were entirely new to me. I took to them pretty quickly, however, because my wife said all the seeds would be good for my pooper. (And if you know me, you know I’ll eat anything if it increases the armor class of my anus.)


3.) Speck
Speck, or ‘lardo,’ is just straight up pig fat. Sometimes it’s served with a thin layer of meat, but that’s just cosmetic; make no mistake, you’re putting pure fat into your mouth, and Germans lack the common decency to be ashamed of it. I took quite a while to shake hands with Speck — and I still look at it a little sideways — but it’s pretty good. You gotta heat it up, of course, and I learned the hard way not to eat it straight: put it on some bread or it’ll give you a phenomenal stomach ache. Kind of like you ate a big wax candle.


4.) Grünkohl
Grünkohl is green cabbage or kale, and Germans eat it mostly in wintertime. I actually think it’s kind of gross, but when you throw it on top of a steaming pile of sausage and potatoes, well, you’ve got yourself a party! I first experienced Grünkohl after a Grünkohlwanderung (Green Cabbage Walk), during which my wife and I — plus a huge group of Germans — walked through a snowy forest in celebration of a friend’s birthday. We drank the entire time and played humiliating team games, and when it was all over, we sat down to a huge meal of this green nightmare cabbage. It was awesome.


5.) Wiener-Würstchen
Check it out! Hot dogs in a jar, yo! Oh, I knew I would love these sumbitches right from the start. Just like American hot dogs, they’re made entirely of asses and eyeballs. They’ve got that salty twang we love so much, plus a satisfying pop when your teeth burst through the outer skin. Okay, so they sound completely disgusting, but trust me on this one: Wiener-Würstchen rule. Just don’t get any bright ideas about drinking the water in which they’re contained — it is pure, liquid sodium. And by sodium, I mean it tastes like Poseidon’s saltwater piss.


6.) Griebenschmalz
So this stuff is just spreadable pig fat. There are chunks of fried pork rind in it, plus herbs and salt to really give your body the old middle finger. They even sell versions with apple and onion pieces, because Germans are completely out of their minds. It took me quite a while to embrace this stuff, but now I love it. Hell, I eat more Griebenschmalz than my wife does, because, although she doesn’t know it yet, we are locked in a competitive race to the grave. “Good luck paying off the mortgage after I’m gone, honey!”


7.) Prosciutto
Alright, so this is Italian food, and pretty much every American has tried it, but I never really ate much prosciutto until I moved to Germany. Now I buy it every week, and my wife loves it even more than I do. I mean, who doesn’t like cured meat? It rules. The thing is, my wife and I have a rough history with prosciutto; we’re about 100% certain it’s to blame for the heroic case of food poisoning we experienced in New York, so it took both of us a while to trust it again. The other issue is, every once in a while, we’ll get a batch of prosciutto which tastes really gamey. Like a big, pink pig is sitting right on your face. *Shudder* You know what? I’m not even sure why I keep buying it anymore.


8.) Schinkenmettwurst
These things look like harmless peperoni sticks, right? That’s what I thought too, until I was so hungry I bought one in a panic at a train station and discovered they’re basically just tubes of raw meat. They’re cured, of course, but then they’re finely ground so they have the mouthfeel of earthworms. From that first bite, I kind of wanted to throw my Schinkenmettwurst across the train station and then stomp on it until arrested — but I also wanted to keep eating it. It was the oddest sensation. Like good and evil in the same mouthful. Now I know what to expect, so I can eat one of these things and be comfortable with the fact that it tastes great but also gives me the dry heaves.


9.) Sülze
Have you ever heard of head cheese? That’s what this is. Normally I buy it sliced, but they also sell it in these revolting jars. Basically, Sülze is meat from the head of a cow or pig — sometimes including the tongue, feet or heart — which has been set in gelatin. Like a murder victim on display in a shop window. Is it just me, or does German food seem unsatisfied with merely killing an animal, but must go a step further and mock it as well? Jesus Christ.


10.) Schinken-Teewurst
Schinken-Teewurst is spreadable, raw sausage. Again, it’s cured, but that does nothing to inhibit your gag reflex. I downright hated this shit the first time I tried it. But as a blindly tenacious American, I kept trying. I learned to like that it is roughly 40% fat and smacks of pickled hot dogs. I even ignored the stomach ache it gave me whenever I tried to eat it straight. Like most German foods in the grocery store, I have no idea why I like it. I just do. Maybe I love pork. Maybe I hate pigs. It doesn’t matter; now that I live in Germany, my entire diet consists of German food, so I will probably die with a cloven hoof in my mouth and a load of cabbage in my undies.

If you liked this post, there’s a solid chance you’ll dig this one too: 10 Easy Steps to Become the Worst God Damned German Language Teacher on the Planet


A Year in Review: American Expat in Germany Looks Back at Blogging in 2014


2014 was pretty sweet. My wife started working as a full-time Gymnasium teacher, and I enjoyed some modest success as a self-employed graphic designer. We moved out of our affordable (yet questionable) apartment and joined the Stepford Wives by moving into a house way out in suburbia. Overall, it was a great year; one in which my wife and I both felt as if we’d taken a big step forward. The only bad thing that happened was when some drunken idiots tried to steal my bike, failed, and proceeded to beat the everloving shit out of it.

But you know what’s really cool? What just rules entirely? You do. Our readers. You’re so positive and encouraging — you’ve really helped make this blog the humorous refuge it was always meant to be.

We would like to sincerely thank you for reading and invite you to take a look at some cool blogging information from this past year, including:

  • Funny Statistics
  • Our Most Popular Post from 2014
  • The Countries Where Our Readers Come From
    …and of course…
  • Our Top 5 Blog Commenters of the Year

Here’s an excerpt:

The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 400,000 times in 2014. If it were an exhibit at the Louvre Museum, it would take about 17 days for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete 2014 report for Oh God, My Wife Is German.