It’s always Octoberfest, somewhere

The throbbing at the base of my skull tells me that I was inspired — no — GOADED with not-so-subliminal showbiz seduction to drink und drink und drink last night!

And I blame this on no other than the highlarious yodeling dominatrix, Manuela Horn, and her enabling cohorts at Teatro Zinzanni’s late-night cabaret, this one titled “Septemberfest: Why wait until October?”

Surrounded by the mirrored beauty of dem Spiegeltent, we bought in to the notion that we shouldn’t wait until October for Octoberfest. We hooted. We hollared. We sang. We shouted out “Ziggy, zaga, ziggy, zaga, oy, oy, oy!” We danced to the Octoberlesques. We ate Brats and sauerkraut. We conga lined. We popped balloons. We basically reverted to 12-year-olds. And yeah. We drank. 

From beer-bonging to a lederhosen-clad male stripper to a drop-dead gorgeous contortionist, Manuela sang and hosted us through a slobbery good time.

Thanks Manuela. You made my Saturday night (and yet, you ruined my Sunday). 

Photos by Deirdre Allen Timmons. Pictured from left to right: Manuela Horn; Manuela’s boots and very appropriate devil’s tail; that’s a balloon, a red one; the very bendy Sabrina Aganier; Manuela; Mr. Big being pretty; Faggety Randy just showing off that junk; DB Watkins as a one-man drum band; Sabrina being bendy on a hoop; a beer bong, yes, a beer bong. 

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