Tag Archives: Humor

Sleeping Tips: How Threats of Domestic Violence Can Help You Get a Good Night’s Rest

funny married couple fighting rolling pin

“C’mere honey. It’s time for bed.” — Image Credit: frankieleon (https://www.flickr.com/photos/armydre2008/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

I work from home as a freelance graphic designer, so I can get my sleep whenever the hell I feel like it. My wife, however, is not so lucky: She works her sweet German ass off every single day of the week, and her sleep schedule sucks donkey balls.

She gets up at 5am, goes to the Gymnasium school where she teaches, gets home at 6pm, and then faces a pile of tests and lesson plans before she can do it all over again the next day. Inexplicably, she pulls this off with an average of 5 hours of sleep per night. However, I know this schedule is hard on her — because she’s basically a sobbing zombie come Friday — so I do my best to get her to bed at a reasonable hour. I always shoot for 9pm so she can score a solid 8 hours, but she resists me; resists me like a spoiled child with a diaper full of stink pudding.

Pretty much every single night, I have to drag her Teutonic tits off the couch and basically push her upstairs into bed. I don’t know why she fights my clearly superior (if overzealous and blindly confident) American common sense, but she does. She always wants “just a few more minutes” on the couch, yet I know if she falls asleep there, she’ll lose even more rest when it’s time to go to bed for real. This effectively makes me the Sleep Police of our household, and it is a thankless job.

So the other night, when I announced the time was 9:00 pm and we had to go to bed, my wife pulled the blanket over her head and rolled over on the couch, mumbling something about an 5 extra minutes. To this, I replied — word-for-word — “God dammit, woman! Stop fighting me! I do this for your own good!” So when she only smiled and snuggled a little deeper into the cushions, I calmly stated, “Mein Schatz, if you continue to resist our 9 o’clock bedtime, I will slap you right in the pussy.”

At this, she sat bolt upright, pointed her little German finger at me and said:

“I will kickboxing your ball sacks!”


 

Marijuana in Germany: Know the Vernacular Before You (Accidentally) Start Growing the Reefer

Marijuana Cannabis Leaf Germany Law Drugs

“Hey… hey guys, how do you say, ‘I’m so high right now I’m afraid I’ll never come down’ in German?” — Image Credit: DonkeyHotey (https://www.flickr.com/photos/donkeyhotey/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Remember that post not too long ago in which I described the frustrations my German wife and I experienced trying to grow rhododendrons in our back yard? That was an example of the kind of quotes which make my wife so unintentionally hilarious. This post, however, is an example of Denglish at it’s finest… and potentially most illegal.

What we’re talking about here is marijuana. Cannabis. Pot. Weed. Reefer buds. The Green Meany. Matanuska Thunderfuck. Whatever you want to call it, marijuana is still illegal in Germany. Oh sure, the Federal Institute for Drugs and Medical Devices (Bundesinstitut für Arzneimittel und Medizinprodukte, AKA: BfArM) has granted medical licenses for about 400 people with terminal cancer to grow it, but in a country with a populace of 80 million, that’s like 0.0005% of the population — and all of them are fucked.

It’s definitely illegal to walk around with weed on you, but if you’re arrested for it in Germany and you happen to have just a little bit, the cops and lawyers won’t do anything but laugh at you. NOTE: A “little” bit varies from state to state: In smelly, hipster places like Berlin, you might not even get a fine for anything less than 15 grams. But in states run by uptight nerds who sit down to pee, you’re only safe with about 5 grams. (I’m looking at you, Bavaria.)

Anyway, my wife and I did a lot of gardening last summer. We planted all sorts of things in our raised beds — all of them perfectly legal, NSA, BND or whoever else might be reading this — and I suggested it might be fun to start some potted plants, like blueberries or tomatoes, so we could bring them inside during winter if we wanted to. My wife nodded, stroking her chin sagely and gazing out over our garden as the sun began to set, saying:

“Yes, we should grow some pot plants.”*

*From the German word, “Topfpflanzen,” (literally, “pot-plants”) which refers to plants grown in pots. (We Americans typically call them “potted plants,” but my wife’s version is way more awesome.)

The Misadventures of an American Expat and His Wife in Germany: 2015 Annual Blog Report

40,000 WordPress Followers Badge Ribbon AwardOh God, My Wife Is German:

The Misadventures of an American Expat and His Wife in Germany — 2015 Annual Blog Report

As a dear and valued reader, we thought you might like to see how things went for our blog over the past 12 months. We gathered a bunch of new graphic design clients, made some great new friends, and even crossed the 40,000 followers mark — it was crazy! Take a look and see how much of an impact your participation made!

See, with fellow bloggers like franhunne4u, aurorajeanalexander and thebritishberliner providing us with the most comments in 2015, lots of devoted fans reblogging and sharing our posts each month, and our other awesome readers keeping us fueled with their consistent words of support, we’re feeling encouraged and ready to rock even harder in 2016. So thank you, Dear Reader. Seriously. You keep the words flowing.

As for the annual report, here’s an interesting fact: The busiest day of the year was January 20th, with 5,638 views. The most popular post was False Friends: 15 Examples How the German Language Is Trying to Kill You.

Would you like to read some other interesting results from our blog? Click here to see the complete report.

Screen Shot 2016-01-08 at 2.50.41 PM

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful new year!

— OGM


 

10 Activities a Man Simply Cannot Perform While Retaining Any Semblance of Masculinity

A man eats a chocolate ice lolly while walking past the wall.

“Yep. That just about covers ’em all.” — Image Credit: Garry Knight (https://www.flickr.com/photos/garryknight/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Masculinity is a tricky subject. We all have different ideas about what makes for a “real” man, but in our fervent scramble to attain perfect, inoffensive political correctness, we can’t even be sure masculinity is a desirable trait at all anymore. What I can tell you — as a man who has lived in two different countries — is that being seen performing any single one of the following ten activities will not only destroy your sense of manhood, but will make you look like King Titties of Pussy Mountain:

#10: Drinking Through a Straw

Image Credit: Bradley Gordon (https://www.flickr.com/photos/icanchangethisright/) -- Subject to CC 2.0 License.

“Hell YES I want to go drive some motorcycles! Let me just finish this drink first…” Image Credit: Bradley Gordon (https://www.flickr.com/photos/icanchangethisright/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

A man can drink from a coffee mug or a beer stein — really anything with a big, fat handle — but the moment he puckers his lips together and starts sucking on that straw, his testosterone levels drop down to zero. Imagine a huge biker thug at a dive bar. He’s drunk and hassling someone. “Hey pussy, change the channel back to Duck Dynasty. No one wants to watch that queer golf shit.” And then he wraps his mustachioed lips around a pink bendy straw and takes a dainty pull of strawberry daiquiri. Masculinity destroyed. (But that would actually be kind of awesome, so let’s table this one for now.)

#9: Wearing a Backpack (While NOT Camping, Mountain Climbing or Parachuting)

Image Credit: FaceMePLS (https://www.flickr.com/photos/faceme/) -- Subject to CC 2.0.

“So awesome, this bitch makes me TWICE as wide.” — Image Credit: FaceMePLS (https://www.flickr.com/photos/faceme/) — Subject to CC 2.0.

Camping, mountain climbing and parachuting are all manly things to do. So manly, in fact, you don’t even have to be male to look badass doing them. But wearing a backpack for almost any other purpose makes a normal man look like his body is comprised of 100% doofus. Whenever I see a dude sporting a backpack in Germany, I am forced to conclude he is one of the following: a student, someone backpacking around Europe, a homeless person, or a fashionless nerd on his way to a well-deserved ass kicking. Personally, I wear a flaming red backpack every day on my way to the gym because I’m married and I don’t give a sweet holy shit about looking cool anymore. (That, and I like to pretend my backpack is a turtle shell, and I’m going to sharpen my sweet ninja skills with Master Splinter.)

#8: Licking an Ice Cream Cone

Image Credit: Rachel Kramer (https://www.flickr.com/photos/rkramer62/) -- Subject to CC 2.0.

“Bro, don’t think I can’t start shit just because I’m holding a cone.” — Image Credit: Rachel Kramer (https://www.flickr.com/photos/rkramer62/) — Subject to CC 2.0.

Little kids, old people and hot chicks are about the only people who can get away with this one. But a dude in his physical prime — testosterone seeping from his every pore — simply cannot retain any sense of manhood while tonguing a double scoop of Rainbow Sherbet Hokey Pokey. I’m not saying a man can’t enjoy his ice cream — far from it — I’m just saying while he does it, he looks like a prancing nincompoop.

#7: Riding a Bicycle (Unless You’re Racing)

Image Credit: Alper Çuğun (https://www.flickr.com/photos/alper/) -- Subject to CC 2.0.

“So manly it’s crushing my balls.” — Image Credit: Alper Çuğun (https://www.flickr.com/photos/alper/) — Subject to CC 2.0.

We all know mountain bikers, stunt bikers and those Tour de France guys are all badass — even if they are doped to the gills. When a man is riding a souped-up racing bike, cutting through the headwind with his head down and every corded muscle jutting out like steel, he looks powerful. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about guys like me, who ride city bikes around town with a basket on the front to hold their groceries. Just cruising around with a big, dome-shaped helmet on, ringing the bell on their handlebars and waving to their neighbors. “Hi-diddly-ho! I’m off to the store to buy some more flour! My wife and I are baking Christmas cookies this year, and then we might even have sex! Missionary position sex!

#6: Drinking Wine

Image Credit: David, Bergin, Emmett and Elliott (https://www.flickr.com/photos/beglen/) -- Subject to CC 2.0.

“Lookout, John Belushi.” — Image Credit: David, Bergin, Emmett and Elliott (https://www.flickr.com/photos/beglen/) — Subject to CC 2.0.

Again, there’s nothing inherently wrong with this activity — drinking wine is fun — it’s just not possible for a man to do it while looking manly. I think it’s the shape of the wine glass which really destroys the masculine aura, especially if you stick your pinky finger out like I do. But it’s not like you have a lot of options here; you can’t just grip the stem of the glass in one meaty fist and slam it back like a viking. You’d need a drinking horn for that move. So assuming there are no alternatives, just go ahead and sip that wine, but remember: in that moment, you have all the masculinity of a training bra.

#5: Eating (Unless It’s with Your Hands)

Image Credit: sean_hickin (https://www.flickr.com/photos/sean_hickin/) -- Subject to CC 2.0 License.

“No no, Bob, you start with the little fork on the OUTSIDE.” — Image Credit: sean_hickin (https://www.flickr.com/photos/sean_hickin/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

I want you to picture a big, hairy-knuckled man, ripping into a half-pound burger with his teeth and slamming it back down so he can grab a fistful of fries as a chaser. Gross, but respectable, right? Now picture that very same man eating with silverware. Thick fingers wielding a knife and fork with the dexterity of a gentle surgeon. He lays a piece of food in his mouth with his fork — tongs up, like a gentleman — then sets it back down so he can dab at the corner of his mouth with a fine linen napkin. The immediacy of his hunger — his borderline desperation — was wiped out the instant he picked up the silverware. There is one way to use silverware and look sort of manly, however: you order a steak, stab it with a fork in one clenched fist and then violently saw it in half with your knife in the other. Yes, you’ll look like a caveman or pretty much anyone with a reality show on TLC, but at least you won’t look like a pussy, right?

#4: Picking Blackberries (or Pretty Much Any Berry)

Image Credit: David, Bergin, Emmett and Elliott (https://www.flickr.com/photos/beglen/) -- Subject to CC 2.0 License.

“I’m gonna bake this pie so hard…” — Image Credit: David, Bergin, Emmett and Elliott (https://www.flickr.com/photos/beglen/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Farmers of any gender are cool. Tough, hardworking folk, and I respect them. What I find a little harder to respect is a full-grown man picking berries while on a walk through the local park on his way back to his apartment in the city. There’s a world of difference between someone picking berries for a living, and someone doing it for shits and giggles. There’s something about the delicacy of the act; it’s just so… dainty. Moving your hands slowly to avoid the thorns, trying not to get berry juice all over your nice polo shirt. Christ, my wife looks like more of a man than I do when we pick berries. No, this is task better left to professionals and small children. That said, you’ll score massive dad points if you pick berries with your kids, so just remember to bring along your favorite child if you want to come home a handful of mangled blackberries.

#3: Walking a Small Dog

Image Credit: FaceMePLS (https://www.flickr.com/photos/faceme/) -- Subject to CC 2.0 License.

“What? She’s 1/16th pitbull.” — Image Credit: FaceMePLS (https://www.flickr.com/photos/faceme/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

Tiny, yapping lapdogs are for two kinds of people: old women and gay men. There, I said it. Hell, when I see a yoked out gay dude carrying a Chihuahua, I almost respect him more because he clearly does not give a fuck. The annoying dog still sucks, but the man retains his masculinity. Old women can get away with it because, well, they can get away with anything; they could walk down the street shouting racial slurs while smearing butter in their hair, and people will just feel bad for them. Young women with tiny dogs look like entitled princesses, but no one will think less of them for it (assuming they’re hot). But straight men — even old, decrepit ones — all look like shameful tools when seen walking small dogs. I think it’s because the assumption is they’re walking their wife’s dog, which is somehow more emasculating than if they just proudly sauntered about town with their own shitty little Lhasa Apso in the crook of one arm.

#2: Wearing Crocs

Image Credit: Peter Dutton (https://www.flickr.com/photos/joeshlabotnik/) -- Subject to CC 2.0.

“Maybe it’s just the deathly white legs…” — Image Credit: Peter Dutton (https://www.flickr.com/photos/joeshlabotnik/) — Subject to CC 2.0.

People have been making fun of Crocs for over a decade now. They’re an easy target, especially when worn by men. Personally, I think the problem is the exposed ankle coupled with covered toes; you just don’t expect to see a manly man — from his thick, round head down to his powerful, sculpted calves — adorning his feet with foam clogs. It’s the opposite of masculine, and it just doesn’t work. It’s like when your buddy is all excited to tell you his favorite joke, but in the end it just totally sucks and no one knows what to say: “A giraffe walks into a bar and orders a high ball, and the bartender says, ‘from the looks of it, you already have two!’ ” And just like a man wearing Crocs, friends like these should be mocked openly and without mercy.

#1: Playing the Flute

"No." -- Image Credit: Darinka Maja (https://www.flickr.com/photos/darinka/) -- Subject to CC 2.0 License.

“THIS guy.” — Image Credit: Darinka Maja (https://www.flickr.com/photos/darinka/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

…and these guys…

:)

Thank you for reading and have an awesome new year!

 


 

Gardening in Germany: When Your Rhododendrons Won’t Bloom for Lack of Testicular Fortitude

Planting-Growing-Baby-Rhododendrons-Germany

“Alright, which one of you is MAN enough to fart out a pretty little flower?”

My wife and I live in Hannover, Germany, and back in 2014, we moved from an awful apartment building in the city, to a lovely house on the outskirts of town. Having a house with a yard gave us enough space for a garden, which I’ve discussed a little bit in my earlier rant about growing tomatoes in order to overcome my murderous hatred of them.

This past summer, my wife and I did a lot of gardening and landscaping. We were out there pretty much every day, leveling a hill, building raised beds and planting all sorts of things — including 4 tiny rhododendrons. We pampered those rhododendrons like colicky babies; they got the very best soil, perfect access to sunlight and copious amounts of fresh well water to get them started. We gave them everything, and 3 out of 4 of them showed a little gratitude by growing and blooming. The 4th one, however, just sat there doing nothing — like that weirdo brat at the daycare center you just know will grow up to own a model train store.

Planting-Rhododendrons-in-Germany

“Why can’t you be more like your fabulous brothers?”

My wife and I devoted more attention to this ungrateful little bitch than any other plant, until eventually we just shook our heads in resignation. Maybe I didn’t use enough planting soil, I thought to myself. Maybe I should have dug the hole deeper or something. And then my wife finally broke the silence, saying:

“Maybe it is a numb-nuts.”

 


 

Fish Allergy Facts: Why I Can Eat Tuna Without Dying (According to My German Wife, Who Is Not a Doctor)

fish-allergy-tuna-school-sea

“Filthy, slimy, angels of the sea.” — Image Credit: TheAnimalDay.org (https://www.flickr.com/photos/theanimalday/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License.

I was born with a pretty wicked allergy to fish. My parents first discovered it at Disneyland when I was just a little kid; we were tossing chunks of fish to the dolphins and the juices ran down my hands and arms, causing redness and swelling, which earned me a hasty trip to the emergency room. “Oooh, look Mom! Flashing red lights and a siren! This is WAY better than Pirates of the Caribbean!”

Since then I’ve avoided fish as if my life depended on it, because… it kinda does. Salmon, halibut, cod, catfish, herring, anchovies, trout… all of them cause a rapid allergic reaction when they touch my skin — especially my lips or the inside of my mouth. And the sensation is truly unpleasant, like swelling, throbbing, burning, itching and aching all wrapped up into one perfect pain. Like it was designed specifically by God himself to punish me for being a naughty 8-year-old boy who should have known better than to burn all those tiny little ants with a magnifying glass.

swollen-fat-lip-allergic-reaction

“… so that you may know the anguish you have inflicted.” — Image Credit: Kate Brady (https://www.flickr.com/photos/cliche/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License

But the real danger would be if I ever ingested enough fish to cause my entire body to freak out and my windpipe to swell shut. That’s called anaphylaxis, and I don’t know about you, but I think it sounds like just a barrel of laughs. Luckily, I could never really consume enough to cause such a reaction unless I decided to chug a glass of fish juice or swallow a fistful of fish oil capsules. And that wouldn’t be an accident at all; that would be suicide.

Oh sure, I’ve flirted with fish a few times over the years. You know, just to see if I was still allergic. Like, at a friend’s house, I once touched half a fish stick to my lip only to spend the remainder of the evening looking like a 5th grader with the world’s most aggressive case of oral herpes. And then one time, during a work meeting in the mid-2000s, my entire office went out to lunch at a Japanese restaurant. We all ordered miso soup, and I’d never had a problem with it in the past, but this time it was made with real fish broth. It tasted so good I drank that shit right from the bowl, and about one minute later, my upper lip swelled up and stuck out so far I looked like a Simpsons character.

Planked Alaskan salmon and asparagus

“Planked Alaskan succubus with asparagus.” — Image Credit: Jessica Spengler (https://www.flickr.com/photos/wordridden/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License

To this day, I really don’t know what fish even tastes like — especially salmon. That stuff looks delicious, but it’s supposed to cause the most intense reaction of them all, so I leave that sexy bitch alone. The one kind of fish I can eat, however, is tuna.

I was about 25 years old when I discovered tuna didn’t mess with me. It happened by accident: One day, I thought I was holding a chicken salad sandwich, but when I bit down, it turned out to be tuna fish, and oh… my… CHRIST was it delicious! That weirdo tuna meat all mixed up with relish and mayonnaise? I was in heaven! It was like discovering a whole new set of taste buds! Crazy taste buds — and they were having a freaky bondage sex party right inside my mouth! And later I discovered I can even eat raw tuna, like at a sushi restaurant! (But if it bumps up against my wife’s sashimi salmon, the party’s over and I’m headed straight back to Fucksville.)

tuna-fish-sandwich-photography

“You beautiful creature… where have you been all my life? Oh. Literally RIGHT in front of my eyes.” — Image Credit: thebittenword.com (https://www.flickr.com/photos/galant/) — Subject to CC 2.0 License

So I’ve been a pretty zealous tuna lover ever since. Wouldn’t you be, after avoiding a delicious type of food over two thirds of your life? Now, I make sure and buy at least three cans of tuna every time I go to the grocery store. It makes an awesome snack, especially if I’m in a hurry. That’s why, the other day when I sat down next to my German wife on the couch to start a movie, I confessed to her I’d just eaten an entire can in like 30 seconds. She laughed and said it’s weird that I can eat tuna but no other fish. Then she went on to speculate as to the reason, saying:

“Maybe tuna is not really a fish. Maybe it’s a water chicken.”

 


 

Dr. Tomatolove or: How I Learned to Stop Loathing and Love the Tomato

I hate tomatoes - flipping the bird, middle finger

“You know what sucks about you guys? EVERYTHING.”

I have hated tomatoes as long as I can remember. Even as a child I cursed the name of that imp from hell who decided tomatoes should go on everything: cheeseburgers, salads, sandwiches, pizza — all ruined by this filthy vegetable. If a tomato touched one leaf of my salad, I didn’t just disregard that particular leaf, I jettisoned the entire quadrant. If there was only one pizza to be eaten, and every single piece had a slice of tomato on it, I would grab one and use my napkin to wipe that mother down until the crust showed. In college I tried to eat a cherry tomato at a party and wound up dry heaving in front of a bunch of hot chicks. Hell, even at 2am — drunk as tits and baked like a cake — I would still pick the tomato chunks out of my Taco Bell. I haaaaaaaaaated tomatoes. HATED THEM.

It’s wasn’t just the taste, and it’s wasn’t just the texture; it was the one-two punch of taste and texture. I mean, tapioca pudding has about the same mouthfeel as fish eggs and glue, but it tastes awesome. And Brussels sprouts taste like straight up poison, but they feel like baby cabbages dying inside your mouth, so they’re kinda fun. No, tomatoes ruined my day in every way they possibly could; by tasting like bloody, organic battery acid with the texture of jellied eyeballs wrapped in foreskin. God dammit! What a perfectly engineered adversary!

tomato-close-up-cherry-health

Son of a BITCH.

But in order to truly hate something, you have to be at least a little bit afraid of it, right? Isn’t that how loathing works? I honestly don’t know what tomatoes ever did to me to earn such scorn, but it must have been awful. Like, in some alternate universe, I’m probably stuck on a planet populated entirely by tomato people, and they just love to smear themselves across my naked body all day long and then fart in my mouth. It’s how they celebrate Christmas.

The point is, I’ve avoided tomatoes my entire life… until now. This past summer, I finally decided to get serious and shake hands with the red devil. And it’s not just because I moved to Germany; it’s because my wife and I live in a house with an actual yard in the back, giving us enough space to have a garden where we can grow our own vegetables. Oh, I know what my fellow tomato haters are thinking about now: “Here comes the part where you tell us fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes are different from every other tomato we’ve ever eaten. And that is stone-cold bullshit.”

You’re right; if you really can’t stand the sumbitches, it won’t matter where you get ’em. Do you know how many times my friends and family members have told me that if I just ate this one, special, super organic, jerked-off-by-Mexicans, magic tomato, it would change my attitude forever? Millions. Okay, not millions — probably closer to 5 or 6 times — but still. I understand your pain.

I’ve tried to like tomatoes. I wanted to stop fighting the good fight, but I just couldn’t do it. They were too gross. Then my wife and I started a garden, and I made two decisions:

  1. I would eat one tiny piece of tomato every single day until I learned to like it.
  2. These tomato pieces would only come from our own garden, because that’s supposed to make them taste less horrid.

And that’s exactly what I did. I slowly acclimated myself to tomatoes like a sickly goldfish in hot water. At first I was like, “NOPE. THEY STILL SUCK. THIS SUCKS.” But gradually my knee-jerk reaction weakened. I stopped gagging and was able to actually chew and swallow small pieces of raw tomato. And you know what really made the difference? The fact that when I plucked a ripe tomato right from the vine in our own garden, brought it inside, cut it up and ate a piece, it tasted sweet. Sweet like sugar — I shit you not. I’d never experienced that before! Not even from fresh tomatoes picked in the exact same way and placed in front of me at a friend’s house. Eating my own tomatoes was the key, and it actually became a pleasant experience.

Another thing which really helped were my wife’s Caprese salads. She loves ’em, but I could only ever eat the mozzarella and basil before. Now, I eat the whole thing, and the best part — I can’t believe I’m saying this — is the tomato. It’s what really ties the dish together. I’ve even graduated to eating burgers and salads with tomatoes on them, and they don’t even have to come from our own garden! (God, I seriously feel like a heathen or a traitor to my country or something.)

I’m not saying tomatoes are the greatest thing in the world, but it’s really nice not to have to pull them off everything I order at a restaurant. It’s like I’ve been at war my entire life, and I’m just now experiencing my first ceasefire. I’m not fool enough to stick my head up out of my foxhole and declare my love for the enemy just yet, but I’m not going to snipe their commanding officer either.

To be fair, I still can’t bite down on a cherry tomato without a good old fashioned dry heave — oh my Christ, the seeds just spurt inside your mouth without warning, like a rude sailor — but maybe someday I’ll get there. Maybe. In the meantime, I must grudgingly award tomatoes with a slightly nauseous 3 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

Merkel Diamond from Angela Merkel, Prime Minister of Germany

Thank you for reading and have a great day!

— OGM