So last Thursday, with a mind as open as limitless as the tangent of fx= 3x²y, I climbed aboard the Busabout prison van to serve my sentence at the Oktoberfest concentration Camp. From this moment onwards, I suffered pain and infirmity at the hands of a selected few ‘guides’ (as they called themselves). Oktoberfest is definitely a memorable experience that I will cherish for the rest of my life, as now that I know what pain feels like it makes the painlessness of normal life simply blissful. Eighteen long, uncomfortable hours were spent on the bus, and the most disturbing part of it was being subjected to the torture technique of ‘Austin Powers’. While the Guides planned the future torture to come, we feeble prisoners whispered amongst ourselves of the crimes we had committed to be there – enjoying our youths, having an open mind, being free agents – and the dreaded agony which loomed before us, which rumoured to include the infamous Camp Thalkerchin shower chambers.
Arriving at the living quarters, we were stripped of our identities and branded with an orange wristband, then changed into our debasing uniforms. The men were subjected to uncomfortable leather overalls (‘ladenhosen’), childishly long socks and simply humiliating shoes. The women were burdened with ‘durndls’, consisting of off-white low-cut blouses, hefty and unsightly-patterned dresses, and stockings and shoes. And how the Guides laughed at us! The humiliation was nearly too much to bear; some broke down and cried, while others tried to foster revolutionary fervour and remind the enemy of our common faults: our nationality. The ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie’ chant was quickly quelled by the Guides who reprimanded the rebels for their actions.
We then were piled back onto the prison van and transferred to a camp called Munich, a mean trick as all the signs were in a foreign tongue which none of us spoke. We were shepherded into the first torture tent called The Hoffbrauhouse where we were given our first dose of the Yellow Poison. This deathly liquid is the most common form of torture at the Oktoberfest Camp and is administered in huge 1litre doses. The first night they tested the waters, giving us a mere 1-2L each, while on average prisoners are generally given 6-15L per day. The adverse side affects we suffered from the initial dose gave us a preview of what was to come for the next few days: dizziness, headaches, loss of ability to speak, loss of decision making abilities, loss of balance, vision impairment, and acting completely out of character. Those prisoners lucky enough to retain some of their abilities were able to get on the Busabout prison van back to Thalkirchen, but a couple including the pitiable yours truly were completely bowled over by the Yellow Poison and the foreign surroundings, and was forced to negotiate the Autobahn or the train lines which previous prisoners had slaved away building for us. On arriving back at the Camp, the scene was dire: the majority of the 70 000 prisoners were stumbling and swarming about, completely inebriated by the Yellow Poison, not knowing what they were doing, yelling out infanities, stewing in their filth, speaking in tongues, dancing, kissing, hugging, crying, fighting…it was a sad day in the history of humanity.
Conditions didn’t improve in our living quarters. Our tents consisted of a thin and worn material stretched over the cold, dewy, Deustch (Deustch, as a matter of interest, is a German word for "fat nudist") grass as we struggled to find warmth in whatever scraps of materials we were permitted. But that torture didn’t last long, as a Greater Torture was soon forced upon us: a 5:45am rising time. Our breakfast rations included pieces of bread with plastic cheese in between, a meal that some would consider fit only for animals, but ney was fed to us. At ridiculous o’clock, dressed in our ridiculous uniforms, we returned to ridiculous Munich and were herded through to the Oktoberfest Camp where our patience was tested in a queue, a unique form of torment which is unheard of in most of Europe, especially in London. After the horrid queue, we waited in some kind of a chamber with long tables and chairs, were fed rations of salty and doughy pretzels until suddenly the clock struck midday and it was once again time for the Yellow Poisen. Female prisoners dressed like us (no doubt who had committed the severest of crimes to earn such grim penalties) administered these doses, and my, they were high. Some people were given 6L in only a few short hours. Some were lucky and only escaped with half doses. I think (though I can’t remember properly, I was quite affected by the Poisen) that I suffered about 6 or 7 litres of Poisen that day. Before I was completely knocked out by the Juice, I do remember consuming tainted chicken, pork knuckles, sauerkraut, and pretzels, as well as conferring with Japanese spies, standing on tables, and yelling out the Prisoner’s Cry of hope, ‘Ein Prosit!’.
The next day followed much the same. Some selected few were taken away to a faraway castle for more torture – undoubtedly these prisoners were suspected spies and were keeping information from the Guides. I and a few other prisoners were tossed into the Hoffbrau torture tent that day, where we cleverly avoided the infamous and highly dangerous pig pen. The aim of the pig pen is to cause the sufferer as much pain and humiliation as possible by ripping of whatever underwear they are wearing and tossing it atop some sort of statue. Drowsy from starting the Poisen far too early, I retired to
Finally the last day. You’d think they’d go easy on us, inflict us with lesser punishments or even let us off the hook completely. Ney, my friend. These people have no consciences, no morals, not even a scent of decency in their structures. They are the most malicious collection of cells you will ever meet. We were taken to not one, not two, but up to six tents for injections that day. Then while still feeling the adverse affects of the drug, piled unto the Busabout Prison van to suffer the same eighteen hour ride home, - home to Freedom. Many of us awakened to notice our cash had mysteriously disappeared, our clothes were in a terrible state, our bodies were weak and sickly, our skin oily, our statures 5kg the heavier, and our morale had reached new lows. One last torture called ‘It’s complicated’ (also known as ‘death by rom-com’) and we were nearly free. At last we stumbled out of the prison van, having served our once-in-a-lifetime sentence at the Oktoberfest Camp, back to
So that is it. Friends, family, future employers, cyber stalkers, computer software programs, and small children banging away on a keyboard who ended up on this page...let it be known.
I SURVIVED OKTOBERFEST CONCENTRATION CAMP 2010.