9/5/07
Long time readers of my blog will no doubt remember last year’s post concerning the 2nd Annual Billings Pub Crawl. Well last weekend it was that time again, and this year it coincided with the annual Billings Fair. All this and Labor Day weekend? Good gravy, however did I survive the revelry? In deference to our out-of-town and international readers, I should explain that Billings, Missouri is a tiny little town about 18 miles outside of Springfield, with a population of around 1,100 souls. It’s the type where you can see the “Thank You for Visiting” sign from the “Now Entering” sign, and it is from this sleepy little burg that my dear wife graduated high school. I can’t decide whether being there reminds me more of Children of the Corn, or Doc Hollywood, but there is something quaintly creepy about the place, not the least of which being the fact that my wife is related through some convoluted buggery to 9 out of 10 of its residents. It’s a nice place to visit, I should say.
Two years ago the village elders or whoever it is that makes decisions about these things decided that having rides at the Billings Fair was somewhat superfluous. Thusly, you get all the enjoyment of eating bad food and playing crooked, cheap games for even cheaper prizes while breathing exhaust fumes from the “tractor pull” without any of the distraction of actual fun that rides would bring. Oddly, it seems you don’t need carnival rides to attract carnies; they are just sort of drawn to the place like flies to a cow pie.
I’m pretty sure this guy is trying to shove a funnel cake into his mouth while shotgunning a giant Slurpee. I’m pretty sure he had pork cracklins in his pockets.
Long time readers of my blog will no doubt remember last year’s post concerning the 2nd Annual Billings Pub Crawl. Well last weekend it was that time again, and this year it coincided with the annual Billings Fair. All this and Labor Day weekend? Good gravy, however did I survive the revelry? In deference to our out-of-town and international readers, I should explain that Billings, Missouri is a tiny little town about 18 miles outside of Springfield, with a population of around 1,100 souls. It’s the type where you can see the “Thank You for Visiting” sign from the “Now Entering” sign, and it is from this sleepy little burg that my dear wife graduated high school. I can’t decide whether being there reminds me more of Children of the Corn, or Doc Hollywood, but there is something quaintly creepy about the place, not the least of which being the fact that my wife is related through some convoluted buggery to 9 out of 10 of its residents. It’s a nice place to visit, I should say.Two years ago the village elders or whoever it is that makes decisions about these things decided that having rides at the Billings Fair was somewhat superfluous. Thusly, you get all the enjoyment of eating bad food and playing crooked, cheap games for even cheaper prizes while breathing exhaust fumes from the “tractor pull” without any of the distraction of actual fun that rides would bring. Oddly, it seems you don’t need carnival rides to attract carnies; they are just sort of drawn to the place like flies to a cow pie.
I’m pretty sure this guy is trying to shove a funnel cake into his mouth while shotgunning a giant Slurpee. I’m pretty sure he had pork cracklins in his pockets.
I was curious whether “Italian Charms” meant charms from Italy, or charms made by Italians, or perhaps charms to keep away Italians...
Turns out it means cheap crap with a nice dose of passive-aggressive racism:
And just what the fuck is going on here?
I shuddered each time a child crawled out of the Giant Smurf Vagina tunnel. It was like watching a log flume of alien births...being clitorally stimulated by a humping dolphin. Great balls of greasy fire.
Worst. Ring toss. Ever:
That day would have been a great time to be a thief in Billings, as the entire police force was at the fair. There must have been some vile terrorist plot to explode the bouncy castle, because they even had some guys in black t-shirts that said “Police,” complete with handcuffs and all, who claimed to be “police volunteers.” I didn’t even know that existed. I’m pretty sure “Police Volunteer” just means you like hitting people with sticks and wearing a mustache.A dry burger, one jar of pickled watermelon rinds, and a fantastically delicious funnel cake later, we departed the fair en route to the first stop along the infamous Billings Pub Crawl. Tune in tomorrow for that tale, dear readers!
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