When I was a kid, I went to the fair every year. I remember smuggling in beer and scoping out girls when at the Kern County Fair in Bakersfield, and throwing up hot dogs during rides at the state fair in Carson City, Nevada. I hadn’t been to the fair yet in Alameda County, and thought this was the year when I realized that the fair had animals, rides, and food that is bad for you, which are three of Malcolm’s favorite things. Actually that is a bit of a lie. Those are the only things that Malcolm enjoys nowadays.
The fair has changed a lot since I was a kid. I used to think that the county fair is where the community goes to go have fun together. If you didn’t know any better (and Malcolm doesn’t) you/he would think that the county fair is actually where you go to buy things, (lots and lots of expensive things). The first thing that we did when we got there (after paying $8 for parking and $10 for entrance fee) was to walk down a long outdoor corridor that gave you the opportunity to purchase hot tubs, gazebos, sun rooms, cookware and outdoor pools. Don’t think, though, that it was merely one kiosk for each of those. No, there four or five hot tubs shops, three gazebo places and half a dozen sun room outlets. Who the hell buys an addition to their home at the county fair? I guess the conversation fair organizers you want to have when you get home goes like this, “How was your tip to the fair, honey? It was good; we rode the rides, ate some cotton candy, and bought a new backyard, complete with pool, spa, BBQ and palapa. Oh, and after we ordered deep fried snicker bars, we bought a sunroom. All in all, our trip to the fair cost us $15,000.” Things were so ridiculous that there was a 100,000 square foot tent set up with the following sign, “AIR-CONDITIONED shopping, THIS WAY!!!!” Since it is usually around 100 degrees during the fair, I would guess that people go to this tent, because it is the only place in the fair with AC. I guess everyone needs to make a buck in today’s world.
Our first stop at the farm was the races. The horses were running at the track later on in the day, so we stuck to the pig races. Yes, no typo there, in what is quite possibly my new favorite sport, Malcolm and I watched little piglets running around a tiny track, making cute little grunts all the way around the track. Since it was 11:00 on a Thursday, we sat right next to the track, and took in all the action. The only thing wrong with seeing Amazing Pork take first place in the finals was that I wasn’t able to wager on it. I would definitely have boxed AP with Spider Ham who ended up losing by, you guessed it, a nose.
We saw some baby cows and sheep, and then headed over to the 4-H pavilion where you could get up close and personal with more cows and more sheep. While in the pavilion, I saw the weirdest sport I had ever witnessed. In a ring, surrounded by grandstands, 10 or 20 young kids in bright white uniforms with green neckties chased pigs around in circles. I don’t know if you have ever been around pigs, but they are hard to give orders to. That is why the kids, in order to make the pigs go where they wanted them to, whacked the pigs in the face with a long, thin stick. Yes, that last sentence was right. A group of 50 or 60 parents sat in the stands watching their kids walking around a ring, whacking pigs in the face with a stick. The oddest thing about this Pig Smack-Off was that it was done in complete silence. For ten minutes, I watched in horror, wondering where the pigs were supposed to be going, while at the same hoping someone would intervene and stop those kids from whacking the pigs in the face all the time. Having considered it now, I think I prefer silence to cheers from the parents in the audience. Yells like, “C’Mon, Cindy Sue, hit that sow!!! Or Bobby, smack the shit outta that pig!!!” would have been ten times worse. I considered the very real possibility that the kids were tenderizing the meat for the corn dog stand and whisked Malcolm away to the Kids area.
We enjoyed a couple of shows, rode a kid’s train, ate corn dogs and fries, and Malcolm even rode a horse, but by far my favorite event of the day was seeing the ridiculously large penis of the shetland pony. My god, that sucker was huge, easily the length of Malcolm’s arm. The kicker was that the pony was only as tall as Malcolm’s shoulders. I stood in stunned silence, seeing the huge appendage almost dragging on the ground, I couldn’t help but think of the enormous, (and I mean enormous!) sense of pride that pony must have walking into the locker room. It’s not often you tip your cap to a farm animal, but that giants hat definitely gave its propers to “Honey,” who in my opinion, is the pound for pound the largest penis owner in the entire planet.
We finished our day and headed back to the car. Malcolm had a great time, and it was probably because he didn’t suffer from my neuroses. He didn’t gawk at having to spend $60 for a day at the fair. He didn’t care about the trans-fats in the corn dogs, or the sugar content of the sno-cones. He didn’t care why the kids were beating the shit out of the pigs, or feel bad that Honey’s penis was about 25 times the size of his. He just let go and had fun for a day at the fair. And now that I think of it, that was just what I used to do.
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Those kids are lucky, pigs can eat people.
Fess up, how many corn dogs did you really put away?