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When the fair rolls around in Disappointmentville, nothing
fucking changes. All of the piss drunk, slack jawed trash goblins that
normally populate the county are out in full force, only this time
they’re confined to little wooden booths. They beg for change like
usual, only here they ask that you throw that change onto colorful
rainbows plastered across a wooden board.
What drives me nuts about carnies is the undeserved sense of authority
they get from running their little bullshit scam stations. What do you
think you are, a fucking entrepreneur? If I throw a ping pong ball into
a glass of water, I get a dying fish in a bag. That’s not a business.
That’s some twisted serial killer bullshit.
What the hell is up with ticket prices? I’m not usually one to
complain about rising prices, and I hate people who do. I’m aware that
inflation blows, you don’t need to remind me that you hate it too. But
Nick paid five fucking dollars to
ride the Gravitron; five bucks for a 30-second ride on a machine that
tries to spin you to death. This is why you never have money, Nick. That
isn’t worth five dollars.
However, watching Nick exit the ride, towering over a
large group of elementary school kids, was pretty fucking funny, and I
probably would have paid five bucks for that.
-Dylan
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