September 20, 2020
The time we went to Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede.

Sunday Rerun-day: Dinner and an Ungulate

Today’s Throwback: The Time We Went To Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede


The horse is a majestic creature. It is the brownest of all ungulates. According to Wikipedia:

For example, the “hot-bloods”, such as race horses, exhibit more sensitivity and energy, while the “cold-bloods,” such as most draft breeds, are quieter, calmer creatures.

That’s right, just like in Harry Potter, one can classify a horse by its type of blood, which has nothing to do with the blood itself but rather an arbitrary feeling of whether or not the horse can pull a wagon or run.

'PLAN YOUR VACATION' it shouts at us, beseeching us to blow whats left of our savings on horse theater.
STARRING ONLY HORSES FROM PURE-BLOOD SLYTHERIN LINES!

Enough back story, this week (editor’s note: back in like 2006) my family went to Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede. A failure on my part, where I forgot to die, ensured that I would be coerced into a large arena where horses would be thrown into visceral, bloody combat. The theatrics involved a pre-show, where juggling and liquor were the primary goals, and we drank from plastic “boots” due to the belief that thirsty enough men would drink from their own boots. Hungry enough men would eat other men, but unfortunately I did not see that on the menu. Afterwards, they usher the audience into an arena where they are split up into a North and South side. An overall goal of the night was the defeat of the North side to ensure continued strength of the Southern cotton industry and use of slavery.

The food was delivered to us either in buckets or gigantic trays, beginning with a soup which was delivered in a man-handled pitcher. As it arrived, they played a loud song that went a little something like this:

YOU ARE FAT AND SOUTHERN.
YOU ARE FAT AND STUPID.
YOU ARE PIGS AND MONSTERS OF MEN SO MAKE LOUD NOISES AS YOU EAT AND GET FAT
.

This was a little out of place. I tend to eat to the tune of Mozart’s “Lick me in the ass“. Overall, the entire small rotisserie chicken and pork loin wasn’t bad, but I was looking forward to dining on the animals prancing around in the center of the arena. I believe they classify show horses as “muggle-born”.

The night concluded when the South won, Abraham Lincoln was set on fire and ferreted out of the theater, and Dolly Parton said something. Then we were all ushered to tip our wait staff, wherein I saw that the richest man in Fatty-lon was the man who doled out biscuits from a bucket.

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