American slam poets returning home from Germany will often speak with awe of the tremendous crowds, the sheer number of slams (a touring poet can actually spend every day on tour in Germany performing somewhere, if they’re connected enough to be in the know), and the relatively adept understanding of English in the fan base. All true, gang, all true. So since Germany is in many ways an organizational mecca for slam, I feel that in talking about Deutchland that, as with the Louvre, it is somewhat passe to go on about all the great stuff (alright fine, I’ll talk about the great stuff in two entries when I cover the shows in Germany). In the meantime, here is a sampling of the truly awful in Germany:

a fat stop sign

“Art” from my hotel in Berlin

Huge Wasp Nest in Halle

Underage Drinking