Holy potato, hold the ketchup
It’s usually toast, of course. And it’s usually somebody’s face. But here in Germany potatoes are generally bigger medicine than processed wheat products are. Potatoes and beer. And Germans are always cross, of course (cross, get it?).
And here in Berlin people closely examine their potatoes before cooking and eating them too, it seems (they’re less picky about the beer, though – think Schultheiss). And it’s a good thing they do, I’d say, otherwise this one lady here would have missed the latest sign from heaven. And she wasn’t even drinking any Schultheiss when it happened. She may have had a few afterwards, though.
Not that Berliners are particularly religious or anything, because they aren’t (and the few that are aren’t generally Catholic, which makes this even less fun). Not that they understand the gravity of their spiritual situation now. Nor have they ever, for that matter. Not that they will ever see that it’s time to wake up and see the light and smell the coffee and straighten up their sinful and often third-rate act, at least when it comes to brewing beer.
It’s none of my business, after all. I could care less. I just live here. I’m just saying.
Talk to the potato. Talk to the hand.
And here in Berlin people closely examine their potatoes before cooking and eating them too, it seems (they’re less picky about the beer, though – think Schultheiss). And it’s a good thing they do, I’d say, otherwise this one lady here would have missed the latest sign from heaven. And she wasn’t even drinking any Schultheiss when it happened. She may have had a few afterwards, though.
Not that Berliners are particularly religious or anything, because they aren’t (and the few that are aren’t generally Catholic, which makes this even less fun). Not that they understand the gravity of their spiritual situation now. Nor have they ever, for that matter. Not that they will ever see that it’s time to wake up and see the light and smell the coffee and straighten up their sinful and often third-rate act, at least when it comes to brewing beer.
It’s none of my business, after all. I could care less. I just live here. I’m just saying.
Talk to the potato. Talk to the hand.
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