Tag Archives: german jokes

Denglish 65: My German Wife Attempts to Describe Menstrual Cramps

A smart, sensitive husband will never ask his wife if she is on her period. Asking this questions seems to evoke a surprising amount of anger from the fairer sex. I have been surprised by the sheer ferocity of this anger in the past, but since meeting my wife, I think I finally understand it; asking a woman if she is on her period is similar to asking if she is temporarily insane — it devalues anything she might be saying at the time while suggesting she is not in control of herself. For men, the equivalent insult is experienced when we finally open up to our wives about our emotions, share our feelings and even shed a tear or two in the process — only to have our wives turn to us with one eyebrow raised and ask, “Are you drunk?” (The answer is yes.)

Though I might not ask my wife straight up if she is on her period, I am still curious about the menstrual cycle in general. Like, how does it feel? Does it suck? (I bet it sucks.) So, on a particularly slow drive home from work, I turned and asked, “You’re on your period, right? What does it feel like?” To which my wife, in her High-German accent replied…

THE WIFE: “Like cramps in my ooteris.”

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Denglish 64: My German Wife (Somehow) Reinvents the Cause of Sexually Transmitted Diseases

As I’ve explained in a previous post, I have dry skin and full lips for a dude. Sometimes they’ll chap even though I am diligent about applying lotion after every shower and every time I brush my teeth. I even keep a tube of ChapStick on my person at all times. Sometimes the left half of my top lip will dry out, turn red and itch for a few hours for absolutely no reason whatsoever. During these moments, I find it hard not to mess with the dry skin — I’ll touch it, scratch it and look at it in the rear-view mirror of our car every 5 seconds while my wife and I are driving home from work. It was during one of these commutes back in December of 2011, as I was toying with yet another spontaneous dry patch, when my wife turned and admonished me…

THE WIFE: “What is on your lip? Stop playing with it. You get a herpes.”

Gentle reader, please take note: I do NOT have herpes.

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Denglish 62: My German Wife Fails a Quiz on Reproductive Anatomy

As you may already be aware from our post Denglish 55: My German Wife Recommends a Swift Cleansing of the Genitals, my wife is sometimes unclear on the English words for human genitalia and how wonderfully they can be mistranslated. (And yes, I fully realize I have no business whatsoever making fun of her for this, since I can only refer to my junk in German by saying, “Ich habe einen Steifen in meiner Hose.“)*

So, back in August of 2011, my wife had forgotten the word “genitals,” and asked me to help her remember it. I gave her a few clues, but she struggled, looking into my eyes with what was clearly a massive amount of concentration. I couldn’t take that wide-eyed, Bambi stare of hers for very long, so I prompted her with another clue: “The word you are thinking of is kind of like ‘testicles’ but it starts with a ‘G.’ Can you guess what it is now?”

THE WIFE: “Gesticles.”

*Let it be known, my own wife is the one who taught me that colorful German expression mentioned above, so I hope my Mother-in-law will continue to operate under the impression that I am a perfect angel who would never have uttered such a tasteless sentence without constant pressure from her horrible, evil-minded daughter.

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Denglish 61: The German Weighs In On American Desserts

Portland, Oregon is a haven for food enthusiasts,  affectionately known as “foodies.” (I kind of hate that word, but I used it for you anyway, Dear Reader, because I would bleed for you.) And for reasons I do not wholly understand, the food scene here is absolutely exploding: food cart pods are blossoming on both sides of the river, ethnic cuisine from around the globe is represented by family-owned and operated restaurants in all 4 quadrants of the city (Note: I also hate the word ‘ethnic’), and, of course, we have our infamous dessert destinations…

Pix Patisserie, Voodoo Doughnut, Papa Haydn and Rimsky-Korsakoffee House are just a few of Portland’s sugary locales guaranteed to throw off your insulin balance like a fat kid on a teeter-totter. However, my wife and I largely ignore these places because: A) My wife is German, so her idea of ‘dessert’ is some ultra-dense cake the color of midnight with a taste that is one part intimidation and two parts depression; and B) I prefer savory over sweet, and like any true American worth his salt, I keep my systolic blood pressure at a screaming 200 mmHg.

This is why, when asked to define our taste preferences, my wife will proudly inform you:

THE WIFE: “We don’t eat much dessert. We are not sweeties.”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Denglish 60: Why I Cringe When a German Wins a Fight

The Wife and I got into some kind of argument back in February of 2011. I can’t even remember what it was about, but I know it was relatively minor, with only the slightest bit of temper flaring involved. (In all likelihood, we were quarreling over the answer to Bertrand Russell’s Barber paradox using first-order logic… or maybe it was because my wife doesn’t think it’s funny when I hang my dirty undies from the ceiling fan.)

Anyway, when it was over, after we’d both made our points and reached a civil, respectful compromise, I declared our argument a success, explaining, “We were both half right — about 50/50. I made some good points and so did you.”

THE WIFE: “Our fight was 70/30 in my favor plus two fingers up your butt without Vaseline.”

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Denglish 59: Are All German Women Freakishly Strong?

Like many young, amorous couples, my wife and I engage in the occasional tickle fight. You know — a bit of the ol’ “Slap and Tickle” — though, as a German-American couple, we most often refer to these encounters as “World War III.”

Our tickle fights involve a lot of wrist grabs, leg locks and general vying for physical dominance. And, as a man, I naturally expect to triumph over my wife with laughable ease; I should have complete and effortless control over these struggles — using a clearly restrained amount of force to succeed — but this is not the case. I actually have to try to win, and I have to try hard — but not too hard, you see; I would never forgive myself if I accidentally injured my little Frau.

And this is why, during a particularly intense World War III on our couch back in February of 2012, I warned my wife not to struggle too hard. She relaxed, releasing her thighs from the vice-like grip they held around my abdomen, and offered a theatrical sigh:

THE WIFE: “You are right. I should not use all my strength. I don’t want to hurt you.”

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Denglish 58: My German Wife and the Freakishly Unsettling Way She Eats Bananas

There are a variety of methods for banana consumption. You can bite off a chunk, chew it and swallow it. You can cut the banana into slices and use a fork to place them in your mouth. Hell, you can even cram that mother down your throat and swallow it whole like Jenna Jameson in one of those stag films I keep hearing so much about. I consider all of these examples perfectly acceptable — especially that last one — but my wife does not eat bananas in any such ways as these; she likes to place the first few inches in her mouth and then shave the underside with her lower teeth as she withdraws the fruit. This shaving action produces pulp — something like a banana mousse — which piles up at the base of her mouth. She then swallows this frothy white load and resumes the process anew. (Again, a lot like Jenna Jameson.)

Now, as a straight male watching a beautiful young woman consume a banana, I cannot help but imagine trading places with said piece of fruit; it’s a guy thing, and I am not ashamed to admit it. However, my wife’s fruit scouring habit not only destroys this fantasy, but leaves me wondering just how much pain and lasting tissue damage it would inflict upon my little German helmet.

But you know what else is a guy thing? One of which we should never, ever, feel ashamed? Ripping ass in front of our wives. Hey, we’re married and everyone farts — it’s okay to fire off a round or two and make no effort whatsoever to conceal it. Why, just the other day, in fact, I broke wind and sat down next to my wife as she was consuming a banana in the disturbingly toothy manner described above. “Awww…” I groaned, “You’re doing it again,” — to which she offered an abundantly dismissive shrug:

THE WIFE: “You farted in front of me. I can scrape my banana.”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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