Kratzer’s vocabulary – the soft sofa of the Kabul experts – Bavaria

The more the need in Afghanistan has intensified in recent weeks, the faster the number of “experts” in Germany who knew everything better on Twitter grew. The great age of the Gscheitschmuck began


When the need in Afghanistan escalated dramatically a good two weeks ago, the number of those in Germany who knew exactly what had gone wrong in Kabul and what should now be done skyrocketed. The know-it-all hit a record level on Twitter. That was even too colorful for the Vice-President of the Bavarian State Parliament, Markus Rinderspacher (SPD). He remarked ironically that Twitter had plenty of competent evacuation experts in Afghanistan who were reporting live from Starnberg and Düsseldorf from close quarters about Kabul. The Bundeswehr would like to thank the thousands of self-appointed commanders on the soft sofa for assessing the situation. Rinderspacher could also have used the word Gscheitschmatzer instead of “experts”. In times of crisis, this species reproduces as rapidly as the snails in the salad bed. The Gscheitschmatzer is closely related to the Gscheithaferl, which is almost overflowing with intelligence and tends to strain the listeners’ nerves. Like the Gscheitschmatzer, the Gschaftlhuber takes itself terribly important. Of course, life teaches us that with Gscheitschmatzern and Gschaftlhubern it is often not that far off when it comes to cleverness.


The rainfalls of the past few weeks and the associated floods have washed the word Letten to the surface, which is used both masculine and feminine, but is almost never heard in times of drought. A Latvian is the dirt that covers the ground after a flood. A similar word would be Baaz. In the past, the village children liked to bathe in the pond or in the river. What could be nicer than to take this opportunity to smear your stomach with Latvians or to stand barefoot in the Latvian, so that your toes just slumbered and bubbled. It was a pleasure to run your fingers into the Latvians, whereupon the baaz oozed sausage-like from the closed palm. The author even had this primal experience on communion day, when the village youth stood in the rain after the devotion, became cocky and ended up in the Letten in their holiday robes. Today it is almost unimaginable what dirt covered public spaces in times without asphalt and pavement. When the foehn broke in in the spring, the frost of the Latvians gave way. If you weren’t careful, your shoe got stuck in it.


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