Every year, I go to the L.A. County Fair. Every. Year. I never tire of this. There is nothing else I would rather be doing at that moment.
I always go with fellow writer Eric Stone. He looks like this most of the time:
He would rather take the pictures than be in them, so in retaliation, he makes me pose with giant cartoon rabbits.
I want to see all the animals at the fair. All of them. Every last chicken, goat and cow.
We ate things that are bad for us. One of us ended up with mustard on his nose and on his pants and pork chop juice on his backside. I’m not saying which one, but it wasn’t me. (I actually didn’t tell him about the pork on his butt because, hey, it was dark, and he was going to wash the pants anyway, what with the mustard and all.)
It’s possible he guessed though because he made me stand next to what was purported to be the world’s largest horse, which wouldn’t turn around. So this is a picture of me next to the world’s largest horse’s ass. (I paid an extra $1 for this privilege, I’ll have you know.)