Part 3:  Corndogs, Sex and Johnny Cash:

Instead of murdering the dick, I attended the annual Minnesota event called "A Taste of Minnesota," which is basically an excuse to drink a lot and eat even more (It's more than likely the place the Chubby Checker chicks harvested their rotund rumps) -- while watching fireworks on the Fourth of July.  It's also the place to go if you want to have a quality one-night stand.  Hand a dude or chick a corndog, and they'll hump you like you worth as much as Donald Trump and is hot like Johnny Depp.

Along with the best firework's display ever presented to man or woman, I watched The Cure and some country chick that I ignored, because I was more interested in sucking down as many Famous Dave's BBQ rib samplers as I could, before Dave (he's famous) noticed that I was the same guy in a different shirt (and possibly a fake mustache), stealing extra samples of his marvelous dead pork.  Plus, if country didn't include the last name of "Cash," I wasn't interested.  To this day, I'm still not.

I fucked some chick that night, against a bathroom stall.  Maybe it wasn't quite the quality I spoke of above (thanks to the location), but it was a one-nighter, nobody needed anyone else's number, and we both got to cum.  All of this, while standing up.  It's like aerobics, with interlocking genitalia! 

I can't forget "the Great Minnesota Get-together," Minnesota's incredible State Fair.  Maybe it's not incredible, but it has this manmade pond with gigantic fish swimming around.  I've wanted to jump into that pond since I was a kid.  I still haven't gotten up the nerve.  I swear that, if anyone reading this article volunteers to jump in naked with me, this year, I'll do it. 

I grooved to The Beach Boys at the fair.  They were okay, but nothing but a pale imitation of the original Boys, back in Brian Wilson's day.  I hate that Republican cocksucker that's taken over the rights to the songs and uses the fun surfing tunes Brian wrote to promote fascist messages in support of Republican dill weeds. 

I saw The Violent Femmes at the fair (u can catch them on the Fourth, at A Taste of Minnesota), along with the B52s.  While the Violent Femmes were cool, I ended up making a fool of myself hitting on a lady in her thirties by quoting one of the Femmes' dirtiest lyrics regarding fucking.  Seconds later her 12 year old child sat down next to her.  *Blush*

I still wish I woulda gotten into the pants of the mother.  She was hot.  Maybe I shoulda brought a tent. 

According to KMART, all you need is a tent (IE - "Loveshack"), and you're guaranteed to get in a hottie's panties.  Why couldn't her geeky daughter leave us alone long enough for me to pitch a tent and use it to copulate with her curvaceous mother?  Stupid daughters and their annoying neediness.  I bet Beavis and Butt Head woulda loved that "pitch a tent" joke. 

Then there was the Bob Dylan concert I may have went to.  I think I saw him at some outdoor thingie, but can't even remember.  He was probably boring; or filming some lame underwear commercial featuring anorexic chicks.  I saw that tedious Hootie and the Blowfish band at a now defunct bar. 

I didn't want to go to the concert, but my girlfriend did, so I played the gentleman.  I got laid that night, so it worked...

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