Please Don't Mess With Big Tex
Welcome to Alice Column, in which Alice Laussade writes stories about things on (roughly) the same day of (roughly) every week, making it (roughly) a column. Got an idea for a column? Start your own blog and write it up, you lazy shit.
Remember when Big Tex's on-fire face was scaring the toddler shits out of toddlers on the last Friday of the State Fair of Texas last year? Me too. There was a lot of stress-puke. A few dreams died. I, for one, was strangely saddened by the sudden loss of the giant Dickies-wearing fair buddy we'd all grown up with. And the more than $45,000 in private donations to the fund to rebuild Big Tex tell me that I'm not alone.
Mourning the loss of Big Tex brought up a lot of great State Fair of Texas-related childhood memories: I remember the first time I vurped chocolate-covered strawberry waffle ball while taking a family photo at Big Tex's boots. Fond are the memories of telling people to "Meet me at Big Tex" right before we headed to the Midway to throw tens of tens of dollars at giant stuffed animals as a group. "Front side or butt side?" Always meet at the butt side, friend, because standing in the shade of Big Tex's flat ass is the gift that keeps on giving in the heat of the Texas sun.
I know there are a lot of ideas about how he should look when they bring him back for the 2013 season of the fair, including but not limited to: Hipster Big Tex, (complete with handlebar mustache, sugar glider pouch, Pearl Cup coffee cup, judgy smirk); Bacon Big Tex (made entirely of bacon, to be eaten by fairgoers); and Mrs. Big Tex (including Double Z boobs that will shade the entire fair, sponsored by every Dallas plastic surgeon).
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But I hope they bring him back the same as he used to look. People Who Are Rebuilding Big Tex, please bring him back as the same weird-looking Not-Santa that he always was. Maybe plus fire-retardant clothes and a better internal system in case of fires.
In a world where the pope gave up being the pope for Lent, where Anne Hathaway wins Oscars even though she sucks at all things, where candy corn M&M's exist and Perez Hilton is a dad, we need Big Tex to stay the same.
And the resurrection party needs to be huge. It needs to be a crazy weeklong bender of a celebration of Big Tex, our badass Fried Fair Jesus. This year, when you get that giant crane out to lift him up into the air, I want Dolly Parton there, singing love songs to Big Tex. I want fireworks (a safe distance away). I want free chocolate-covered strawberry waffle balls for all.
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