Where are all the ferris wheels of doom? I like them. They are not at all safe, and you know when you sit on that dirty metal seat covered in rain water or urine, there's a fine chance a bolt will come loose and you will fall and die a horrible death.
As the happy ride goes around n around, the bulbs that still work dazzle us with faded colors. The music from other rides are in the air and we listen as it blends with the snapping and creaking of the very ride we sit upon. It's wholesome fun, mixed with a growing sense of your own mortality, and how quickly life can snuff you out in a second. Good times. Good times.
The carnies are an excellent species to examine. I find that I like to play "find the dirtiest carnie", it's kinda tough sometimes. It could easily come down to just a few extra teeth missing, or maybe just a bit more of a particular smell. (booze and shit in pants?)
But this enjoyment is hiding from me and frankly I don't like it. Not one bit.
I like to get yelled at by crazy game booth people who want you to spend lots of cash to throw crap so you can win a Kermit the Frog doll that looks more like a ferret on speed, and smells like a foot. The basketball man yells to me repeatedly, 'take a shot! take a shot!'....I tell him sadly, 'I cant...I have no arms'. I see him look upset for a moment or two as he ponders this while watching me walk away, both arms swinging at my sides. Poor bastard, I believe at some point his brain was kicked clear out of his skull during a donkey show gone horribly wrong and they replaced it with a half eaten candy apple.
So this is where he belongs. Shuffled in amongst the morbidly obese children with dirty faces breathing in a bag of cotton candy and the big strong men trying to look tough while they deep throat a foot long corn dog.
So one day if your driving around and above it all you see the ferris wheels lights glowing, and you smell burnt popcorn and vomit, come pick me up. Cause I know where I wanna go. Fuck yeah.
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