Maniacal Machinations: At the Fair part 1

I went to a local fair yesterday. You know, the ones with those ripoff booth games and rides that look like they'd fall apart if I stared too hard at them. Yup, definitely a recipe for a good time.

I know they're ripoffs, but I'm a sucker for carnie games. Firstly, I hit the game where you have to roll a ball into a hole to move a mechanical horse to the finish line. It wasn't just one hole either. I had three holes of three different types to stick my balls in. The first set got my horse as far as a real horse would go if I gave it a shove. The second set . . . well, I never figured out how well those worked, though I'd assume that it'd make my horse move like sonic in a 3D game. Now, the third set of holes was serious fucking business. I'm talking 2D sonic here. That was my hypothesis, anyway. I never actually found out because while I was tempted to reach in and just dump the ball in the good hole, but the guy running the game was already looking at me since I was the only one there over the age of ten.

After recovering my shattered ego, I went to the whack-a-mole game (though it wasn't called that for reasons of copyright). Once again, I was faced with my nemesis: prepubescent children. I was pumped-up and ready to go. Hell, I'd have taken the game to town if it weren't for one thing: the five inch chord binding the hammer to the machine. It should go without saying that being bent over like a man taking it up the- I mean a fifteen year old trying to play Chopin on a Fisher-Price xylophone wasn't the ideal way to do it. I can only assume the chord was there to keep psychopaths like myself from throwing the hammer at the operator in frustration. Surprisingly enough, I managed to outdo my grade-school rivals and was able to claim a memento of my victory: a carnie prize. I had a choice between a dark green frog and a light green frog. Decisions, decisions . .

Next, I spotted a pair of target practice games. One involved using a BB handgun to shoot at novelty targets while the other involved throwing baseballs at milk cans. Recalling my previous experiences with baseballs (one of which involved me pegging a bystander), I opted for the gun. Turns out I wasn't much better with plastic firearms. Then again, the fact that the targets were about as big as the member of anyone reading this. Well, at least I didn't hit anyone this time.

Sulking past the deathtraps known as Ring Toss and Test Your Strength, I happened upon a balloon popping game. Having thrown many a sharp object in my time, I figured this was the perfect game for me. Alas, fortune was against me. 20 mph winds, lead-lined balloons, and darts about as sharp as the wit of a Newgrounds flash maker conspired to separate myself and the five-cent, mass-produced plush toys most likely made in China. Against all odds, I did hit enough balloons to get a prize, though. To my dismay, however, I was presented with a trio of abominations which included what I could only assume was supposed to be a dog with its face melted-off. I passed on the prizes.

Although I gave up on the carnie games at this point, I passed a booth with absolutely no signs, a pool filled with rubber ducks and balls, and a bin of inflatable giant hammers. Being the kind of person who likes to know the rules before playing a game, I poured my immense intellectual resources into figuring out what in bloody hell I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to catch a very specific ball? Was the net I'm using rigged to fall apart? Was this a race? Maybe-

"Just catch a duck."
"Huh?"
"All you have to do is catch a duck."

Thinking this too good to be true, I warily scooped up a large, blue duck.

"Yay, you won. Here's your hammer."

Only after taking a few steps away from the booth did I realize that the game was made for kindergartners and all I had to do was grab a damn duck. Lovely. Just lovely . . .

Come back next time for the second installment in this misadventure!