Last last last week, a few of my friends decided it was a good idea to go to the state fair. It wasn’t something any of us reeeeaaaally wanted to do, but we’re the type of people who’ll do anything — probably even jump off a cliff or eat intestines — as long as friends are involved and we’re all doing it together. I guess that just makes us normal people. Anyway, so none of us was dying go to the fat people parade (when you live in a state with a high obesity rate, or any U.S. state really, fairs are more like places where you can gape at people who have more rolls than a bakery), but we paid our $10 admission, which allowed us to see a few goats and shell out more money for food and rides (sounds lame, right?).
It was fun, though; we took lots of crazy pictures, tried on mohawk and animal hats, and ate delicious Chicago-style hot dogs and deep-fried Oreos. I HAD to take this picture (true story: the only people we saw at the fair who weren’t fat managed to make it into this photo):
(If you can’t read it, it says “Photo’s” in big cursive and “TEE SHIRTS” in a little bubble on the banner.)
“Dude, you’re the second person I’ve met named Photo! My friend’s mom got wasted and lost a bet and now his name’s Photo. What’s the story behind your name?”
“Uh, are you insane? My name isn’t Photo.”
“What is it, then?”
“Bartholomew Billy-Bob.”
“Nice name. Do you not know how to use apostrophes correctly?”
“What?”
“Your sign?”
“Oh, my cat made that.”
I may or may not have had that conversation with the guy manning the tent.
Okay, so I didn’t, but that was the conversation I WISH I’d had, because: 1) I’ve always wanted to meet someone named Bartholomew, 2) I’ve always wanted to meet someone whose middle or last name is Billy-Bob, and 3) the cat-making-the-sign thing (or the man-named-Photo-manning-a-t-shirt-booth thing) would have been the only acceptable explanation for that atrocious sign, because, hello, what a smart cat. Yes, outrageous grammatical errors are only okay when cats commit them. Also, I want a cat that can make things for me.
On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t go up to the tent, because according to my previous post on apostrophes as portentous warnings, if I’d approached the guy, he’d probably have abducted me and taken me to Equatorial Guinea on a banana boat.
P.S. I gave in to Twitter. Follow me or die. I’m very polite.
P.P.S. Please don’t be offended by any fat jokes on this blog. My friends and I don’t really hate fat people. In fact, we’ll probably become them soon.