Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Can't Miss The County Fair

Dear Cousin Red,

This comin' weekend is the Miserable County Fair, held every year since 1855 on whatever weekend in September the Farmer's Almanac says will be the most sorry. If'n the other three weekends are dry, the Fair gets drowned out in 12 inches of rain. If'n the other days are warm, then Fair weekend is either cold enough to freeze y'all's cotton candy, or hot enough to set fire to the paper cone.

I recall one year we had fun while choppin' tabacca by seein' who could raise the biggest cloud 'a dust by spittin' in the dirt. Fair weekend, even the concrete was soggy enough to make mud pies. We even had a judgin' for mud pies that year. My wife took second place with one that left the kitchen as banana creme.

An' I also rec'o'lect one year they canceled the horse show, 'cause of flies. But that was only after two of them flies carried off the prize winnin' Belgian. We found him later in the parkin' lot, next to a guy cryin' over a new Cadillac, with the windshield covered in somethin' that belonged 'round some roses.

We always manage ta’ have a good time though. Between the beer booth, an’ the rides, an’ the beer booth, an’ the stock judgin’, an’ the beer booth, an’ the food vendors, an’ I want to make sure I mention the beer booth, an’ the midway games, and a’course friends y’all run into at the beer booth, it’s sure to be fun, even in the rain.

We take the young’uns every year anyway. At least until they’re old enough to take theyselves. And that day don’t come too soon sometimes. ‘Tween the games, and the rides and the eats you can run thru 20 bucks like crap thru a goose. Then we go over an’ sit down ta watch the horse show. Or sumtimes just people watch.

The wife looks at the couples. Y’all know what I mean. Who’s with who, and who ain’t with who. I just watch the women. So what is it with some of these women who think the law says they gotta wear the same clothes to the fair every year that they wore when they was 16? 25 years in the same pair a’ shorts is more than enough.

An' whoever thought mother/daughter matching halter tops and hot pants was a good idea must'a been two cans short of a twelve pack. Or ten cans into a twelve pack, sometimes there's not much difference. It's not that I have sumthin' again' seein' a women's body, It's just seein' what 'peers to be two women's bodies in one shirt, with enough left hangin' over the belt ta' hide the buckle, ought'a be outlawed.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

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