By Tim Metzler
Online News Editor
Sickening—Oktoberfest is the worst time of the year. I truly hate the so-called celebration, which is really nothing short of an excuse for decent people to spend two weeks slowly killing themselves. I grew up in the La Crosse area, and I’ve witnessed, firsthand, the absolute nightmare that has been deemed a celebration of German heritage.
Personally, I’m embarrassed that Oktoberfest has lasted as long as it has, and I’m humiliated year after year after year when I hear about another numbskull throwing dead squirrels, or another drunken angry mob tipping over cars in my home town. It should be eliminated, abolished, illegalized, because there is no streak of 14 days that I find more repulsive and offensive to the considerate people who live in this fine town than Oktoberfest.
Don’t get me wrong. I think Oktoberfest COULD be a good thing. It could be a good thing if the people who choose to partake showed any form of what is known in the civilized world as “restraint,” “limitation” or “self-control,” and if the celebration only existed in the designated areas, with people who are 21 and older.
It would be a good thing if there was even the slightest hint of dignity involved in the festivities. To my dismay, there is no dignity, there is no restraint, and I have absolutely nothing good to say on this matter. Yes, I could throw some statistics in this article, but, honestly, nobody will read them, and, more importantly, nobody will care.
As a Resident Assistant at Viterbo, I know that the two weeks of Oktoberfest are really just one gigantic opportunity for under-age boys and girls to get immense amounts of alcohol.
That’s not the end of it, though. It’s not just that they can get the alcohol, it’s that they somehow feel encouraged to binge drink like complete animals, destroying their lives and the relationships they’ve worked to build. It’s disgusting and sad. Please stop this holocaust of brain cells. Please exercise some control. Please grow up. Do it for your own sake.
Unfortunately, this celebration of neurological suicide is here to stay. The worst part isn’t accepting its existence. The worst part is knowing that many of my friends are going to go out and put their lives in danger for the sake of literally nothing important or valuable.
However, if the people of La Crosse, which includes Viterbo students, truly can’t find any other way to socialize or cut loose, then I say, “do what you want.” Just don’t expect me to sympathize for you when you wake up in your own—or somebody else’s—vomit.
