State Fair of Texas Serves Up Food To Die For...Literally, Your Heart Will Stop If You Eat This Shit

The State Fair of Texas is a mere 17 days away for the Lonestar State. You can bet I'll be there to gaze on the herds of grotesquely overweight people as they gorge themselves on...well, just about anything dipped in batter and served swimming in oil.

The Big Tex Choice Awards contest evaluates new concession stand entrants and their artery-clogging wares, sampling each of the foods before finally coming to a decision on two categories: Best Taste and Most Creative. The past few years winners, along with this year's lucky gourmands include the following:

2005 Most Creative Viva Las Vegas FRIED Ice Cream

2005 Best Taste FRIED PB, Jelly and Banana Sandwich

2006 Most Creative FRIED Coke

2006 Best Taste FRIED Praline Perfection

2007 Most Creative Deep FRIED Latte

2007 Best Taste Texas FRIED Cookie Dough

2008 Most Creative FRIED Banana Split

2008 Best Taste Chicken FRIED Bacon

2009 Most Creative Deep FRIED BUTTER (Editor's note: Are you fucking serious?!)

2009 Best Taste Fernie's Deep FRIED Peaches & Cream

You fat bastards.

*That's a picture of the chicken fried bacon.

Texas Moral Superiority Stings

I've been back in the States a mere two months now, and already I am moving apartments. As celebration, two new friends and I decided to grab some cocktails at the bar and grill a mere stone's throw away from my future front steps.

The day: Wednesday. The time: two-thirtyish.

We were seated at a booth surrounded by Texas housewives out for a late lunch. I marveled at their big diamond rings, bigger bottle blonde hair, and biggerer plastic knockers. I quickly perused the menu our waitress had handed me, and noting there was no alcohol listed, asked for a cocktail menu. She furrowed her brow as we all looked pleadingly at her. It had been a long week so far, and we still had two more days to go. She returned with the wine list and a ho-hum cocktail selection, and left us to decide.

"I'll take a Manhattan," I said, handing her back the menu.

"I'll take the same," Brie* the Transplanted Architect decided.

"I'll have a Bailey's and Mint Chocolate Martini," Yuki* the Transplanted Japanese Housewife chimed gleefully.

The waitress wrote down our orders and snapped up the menus. "Are you going to order any food, or are you planning on just drinking your lunch?" If she had said it with a hint of sassy humor, I would have adored her. But she said it deadpan, no smile, and all I really wanted was for her to trip over my now-extended leg and slightly maim herself.

They say everything's bigger in Texas. I guess that goes for dourness, too.

*Names changed because if I was their mother, that's what I would have named them.

Whole Foods Has a Live Band Tonight. They Played a Jammin' Rendition of the Flintstones Melody. Not Even Joking.

Jazz is like the obnoxious drunk philosophy major at a frat house party. Only his stoner friends can really claim to understand his rant on transcendentalism in postmodern neofascism. And the rest of his friends just nod their heads to the rhythm of his voice, lest they be considered totally unhip.