it's time for the fryeburg fair.
the blue ribbon classic;
the monstrous maine agricultural/monocultural big action;
the burly-booted buttholes in camouflage and confederate flag congregation;
the animal feces and urine EVERYwhere explosion;
the teen lust behind the carnival rides furtiveness;
all of that,
every last drop of droopy-eyed, fat-fingered humanity,
is all really happening, in one large group,
as a mob of crowded creatures coalesce into a creeping crud of crap......
amidst all of that reeking, seeping american idiocy,
there's a goldne beacon of hope and joy and love and healing F*ing light, kids.
you know what i'm talking about.
and if you don't know?
you're about to,
what's the only part of the fair i care about?
where's the only place i go, all eight days in a row of that festival of fatness?
what sort of heat-seeking shark-bullet barbarian juggernautical gluttony guides me,
and to where am i pinpointing?
is all my money getting put exactly where my mouth is?
that's a lot of questions, neighbors...
the answer is so simple though-
there's only ONE thing that means a damned thing at the fair, y'all.
and it's all i even give any sh!ts about this week.
check themutha-'ucking-real-talk-type teleport:
MAINE FALAFEL COMPANY SUPER-TURBO-HOTTNESS IS IN FULL EFFECT!!!!
that first fresh bite slid down so smoothly.
i missed them so much.
what happened next?
i had MORE:
two more, right out of the gates.
i'm only there to eat falafel and act like i don't know nobody.
check and double-check.
my list is complete.
rules is rules, y'feel me?
too much is the right amount!!
four fair-food fried fresh-to-death falafels for my face!!!!!
i don't know about you guys,
but i'm getting ready to blarp the F* out.
my eyes are open kids,
and i'm lookin' down the barrel of a tahini tsunami.
there's no fear, here, for the future.
there is only falafel.
i'm leaving work early, every day this week.
crabtree still needs caretaking,
and i'm all he's got.
i'll be home first, and then having dinnertime at the fair.
i won't stop until the job is done,
and that means a LOT of falafels are headed into my head.
this is it.
a strong week of self-destructive racing around and stuffing myself.
it's not productive, really,
but it is what's happening.
i'm sure by day 3 i'll already be visibly worse for wear,
but that's the path i'm on.
i've got my weekly pass everyday all-day bracelet,
i've got my weirdie tin cup for soda-pop,
i've got no interest in anything else within the walls of this gigantic compound.
there is dinner,
and then there is leaving.
everything else is extraneous;
never quiet, never soft.....