Alright, I’ll tell you the truth: I didn’t pull out an exotic dagger and try to murdah the carny. But, I kind of wanted to.
So there was this booth where there was a BB machine gun, and there were gigantic stuffed animals for prizes, and all you had to do was shoot out the red star in the middle of the target, leaving no trace of its redness behind. I used to be a good shot, but I haven’t taken aim at a target in four or five years, easy. I figured trying to win a gigantic prize for my niece Sara was a decent reason for dropping a few bucks and squinting a bit to get back into shape, bullet-wise.
Imagine my surprise when the first few BB’s actually ricocheted off the paper target. Uh-huh. I see how it’s going to be.
The red star is what hangs you up, initially. A few bucks are always dropped on your earliest, caveman inclintations: SHOOT THE STAR SHOOT IT OUT SHOOT THE PRETTY RED STAR. Ten or twenty bucks in, you realize the angle—don’t shoot the star itself; shoot around it. Try to make a circle with your shots, through which the center drops out.
Easier said than done. Once you get the methodology down, there’s still the ugliness of proving yr magnificent State Fair Theorem.
My best effort:
Me and my brother-in-law, Sara’s stepfather? We quit before we hit triple digits, cash-wise. Call us sissies; we were already bruised from the kiddie rollercoaster and I’d already squealed in fear on what I like to call the Film Canisters of Doom, Wherein Small Nieces Are Thrown to Their Giggling Deaths. Sara loved the centrifugal hijincks, but the moment she came up out of her seat and we were ten feet off the ground, I shriveled.
The difference between the two of us: she bounded off to gallop through some Raiders of the Lost Ark
themed playground (which had been sort of desperately updated with Angelina JolieTomb Raider grafx, making it only a few years out of date, instead of twenty), and I wiped my brow with a shaking hand, totally knowing that when I was five years old I was a sissy, and she’s a VIKING.
I leave you with a hand-out from the evangelicals at the fair. Because, you know, in Mississippi we don’t have enough Christians.
Dear Fair Missionaries,
What about, I don’t know, Ecuador? Or, maybe, Nepal? We’ve enough Baptists here. Trust me on this.
For reals, yo,
p.s. Roll Tide! Bama’s on a run that hasn’t been seen in their parts since the mid-nineties. My dad and I pretty much just scream AAAGH a lot and close our eyes, wishing Jamie Christensen to greater and greater heights.
Currently . . .
Reading: The Complete Calvin and Hobbes, Bill Watterson
Listening: The Twilight Singers, “What Makes You Think You’re the One,” from She Loves You
Playing: Sigma Star, Game Boy SP
Bitter Fish in Crude-Oil Sea: You Don’t Have to Bother Me.