Move Along. Nothing to see.

The Florida State Fair takes place in February –– a fact that continues to surprise me, despite knowing full well what the weather is going to be like in August. 

Heading to the Fairgrounds, I find I have just enough intestinal fortitude to share a single deep-fried delight (A plain but weighty elephant ear this year. 2014 was the year of the maple-bacon funnel cake), but a perhaps endless appetite for the livestock aisles. 

There was a bit of drama among the fowl.  Imagine the scene at home for this guy:

Story #1 
Setting: A modest living space, well-lit but with very sparse furnishings. Our hero enters in a state of greater-than-usual dishevelment and begins in a rush:
      "I'm ADOPTED?! Mother, how could you let me go to the Fair, knowing what would happen? You know what? I'm GLAD to be going to the slaughterhouse. You ruined my life!"


Story #2
The scene is a long dining table. The murmur of voices diminishes, and from the head of the table, a deep male voice rings out:
"So, it appears that Junior here is NOT a Cochin? Marge, is there something you want to tell us?"


Story #3
And in the hot-headed world of the Telenovela:
" 'Cochin' mi culo! Más como cochina!"