My plan was simple: Get high as a kite, wander around the fair, and eat as much bad food as possible without having a heart attack. The problem with my agenda is that every year–without fail–I always go to the fair at the exact same time as everyone I know but don’t like. So, in order to avoid any possible encounters, I figured the fair on a Wednesday at 1:30 p.m. would be perfect; because who in their right mind goes to the fair before 2 p.m.
And that was my first mistake of many that day.
The smell of charcoal, livestock, and poorly built rollercoaster brakes filled my nostrils, as I made my way through rows of cars melting in the mile-long parking lot of the fairgrounds. I finished the last sip of my 110mg “piña” Agua De Flor infused drink and tossed it in the garbage, already feeling its medicated effects taking hold as I allowed a teenager to rifle through my bag and wave me through the gates. Leaving the safety of my everyday life and entering a world of fried foods, expensive beer, and guys named Rusty that probably shouldn’t be in charge of heavy machinery is more disheartening than you’d think under the influence of THC. I made a bee line for the farm animals and stumbled upon possibly the cutest thing ever: a pig race.
Surrounded by children, high on sugar and starch, and drenched in (mostly) my own sweat, I watched each portly contender enter the race track and our hearts. The main event was about to start, and as the applause slowly faded so did my high. It was time to find a place to smoke and some food to judge. Luckily the fair has plenty of both.
Cup O’ Corn
I don’t trust corn. Something that can be used to power a car also shouldn’t be something that powers my body. And, while we are on the subject, what other food exits your body looking exactly the same as when you ate it? I set aside my differences with the vegetable and chose to cover it in Tajin and lime juice. After a few bites it was clear that I had judged corn a bit too harshly. Maybe we should all take a look inside ourselves and find out who our “corn” is and collectively forgive them and work on finding common ground. Or, maybe, I’m too stoned to be thinking about food groups and their respective factions.
Jefferson’s score: 🌽🌽🌽
After finishing my cup of food that somehow feeds both humans and trucks, I needed something with a little more nutritional value. I pulled out my Naked THC vape pen and let the smoke slowly escape my lungs. I was beginning to feel lightheaded, and my nose was leading me around like Pepé Le Pew while trying to sleep with the black and white lady cat. I followed my instincts and decided that a hotdog was the perfect meal to consume next and to later sweat out. A hot dog has more nutritional value than corn, right? I thought about how American I was, as the woman behind the counter took my order and handed me an ice cold….Pepsi? I looked at the cup with disdain, as I realized the entire event was sponsored by the horrible liquid. I sat, wondering how people could ingest such an awful beverage until my name was called. The hotdog was a perfect partner to my Pepsi, covered in sauerkraut, mustard, and sadness. At least my vape pen knows exactly how to support me in times of need.
Jefferson’s score: 🐖🐖
Full of pork products, Pepsi, and pot I couldn’t help but feel terrible about eating an animal I had grown to admire– and just watched race around a little track. The heat and smoke were starting to really affect my judgment, I realized, as I contemplated purchasing an above ground jacuzzi with a lifetime warranty. I needed a beer.
$13 and two ID checks later I sat down to wash the taste of betrayal and disappointment from my mouth. The pain from my food choices arrived as soon as the beer hit my gut, the sauerkraut from my hotdog felt like tiny nazis goose-stepping around my belly and the beer made them stomp harder. I felt like a bag of dogshit and the 90-degree heat warmed my cup quicker than I could drink the frothy liquid it held.
Jefferson’s score:🍺 🍺🍺🍺
I had only been at the fair for two hours, but it felt like days. The crowds, smells, and intense heat began to chip away at my plans for more food. As I waited patiently for my uber to save me from the mess I’d created, I knew one thing for sure: nobody goes to the fair to eat a bunch of junk food when it’s 2 in the afternoon and 90 degrees out.
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