It’s OK. I know you probably don’t speak Fingleutsch, so I’ll translate:
One day, my clown consort and I are happily teasing bears in a tent while riding around on bicycle parts and wearing more makeup than a Mary Kay Vice President. Next thing you know, Angela Merkel’s giving some Greek outfit all our cultural fund money to prop up their souvlaki and molotov bottles industries, and we’re out on our keister. Now we have to travel the countryside, delighting small children one-on-one out in the landscape, the only way we know how: Falling on our faces in gravel.
Hey, it’s a living. Well, the disability checks we’re going to qualify for will keep us in fleisch und kartoffeln, anyway.
(Thanks to Gerard at American Digest for sending that one along. He speaks Fingleutsch, but I think he’s a swamp German or something)