| | On Saturday, our jaws dropped when we were overtaken at the LA County fair by an old woman on a motorized wheelchair, speeding past us like a banshee on her way to the pony rides. It wasn't her full head of Doc-from-Back-to-the-Future white hair, nor the large "RENTAL" sticker emblazoned on the back of her seat that had us transfixed. It wasn't even small, terrified, whisp of a boy tethered to the steering handles, stradling her lap, fearing for his life. No, it was the fact that wheelchair was playing music. Leaving not only a trail of dust but of tunes as well, this wheelchair was tricked out to the nines, the parapalegic's answer to the "premium luxury" upgrade at Budget Rental Car. "Where the fuck are we?" we wondered aloud. Over the course of the day, we witnessed several accidents and even more near-misses involving motorized wheelchairs piloted not by the disabled or elderly, but rather, the morbidly obese. What draws these human pachyderms out of the relative comfort of their domestic-made vehicles and ranch homes?
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Deep-Fried Oreo. You would think that perhaps the very fact that a trip to the fair requires a rental of a motorized wheelchair to save you from crushing your legs might be reason enough to forgo this heart-stopper, but then you would be wrong. So wrong.
 
Even avocado-shaped nuns come out for crazy fried shit. And seriously - CRAZY FRIED SHIT.
As you might imagine, such gluttony does not attract the most discerning, sophisticated attendees, but you have to give it to the fair's organizers, who, knowing their attendees' limitations, devised a sensational cross-promotional marketing campaign that caught even me off-guard:
Related: if you like cheap beer, you might also like beating your wife! (But if you like Stella-Artois, you might also like men.)
We visited the horse races, and were quite entertained. Not so much by the actual horses, as by the woman in front of us.
"What's that, La Verne? You can't read that there small print? Well let me use my other pair of glasses and help you! God Bless America!"
Here we have Greg (wonder why I'm not bitter/lonely/frustrated lately? blame/thank Greg), Barry, and Davey. My horse won, but that's only because I kept changing the horse I was rooting for until I chose the one that was about to cross the finish line.
And finally, is there any more appropriate way to entertain the kiddies?
No, I think a giant, inflatable, sinking Titanic does just fine, thank you. Ha! And look - even in the playground version, there aren't enough lifeboats! History is fun again.
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