I have only been to a few state fairs in my time on earth. I went to the New York State Fair, while in graduate school, with some enlightened lesbians who swear by their fried oreos. Growing up, I was able to go to the Orange County Fair and Los Angeles County Fair, where I bought some fetching hammer pants and surf t-shirts and sat on rides that made me toss up the funnel cakes and giant turkey legs that I had eaten. These three fairs PALE in comparison to what I have experienced in the heartland. Iowa, dear Iowa. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

1. 53 foods on-a-stick.
2. 2 rain soaked attempts at attending the fair…2 years in a row.
3. 7 dollar beers in 100% humidity.
4. 10 women with mullets.
5. 145,679,067 women in mom jeans.
6. 1 lesbian trying to keep her cool among the pigs and sheep

The list could go on, but so can I. I choose to take you on a short journey of my time at the fair. I go with a mission. Only the strong choose to accept this mission. The mission: To eat as much food you would NEVER eat outside the fair on-a-stick, and to boldly drink until no money is left like you had before. This year was a challenge. All the local papers taunted me. They listed the 53 different food items that could be found on-a-stick. Step back now. Don’t you dare challenge this lesbian to a food-on-a-stick contest. I will accept.

So, I came prepared. Beer? Check. Umbrella? Check. Iowa State Fair map? Check. Empty stomach? CHECK. Thundercats are GO!

While I attempted to stick to my stick mission, I was almost turned around by my Iowa on-a-stick food hating, mission hating friend. She went off the beaten path to buy a tenderloin. If you were any other place than Iowa or not a friend of mine, going off the on-a-stick path would not make sense to you, but this is the one exception in Iowa. Afterall, look at it. It is beauty on a bun.

I, on the other hand, kept walking. I was on the ultimate mission. I got word of something called a Cornbrat. What, you ask, could this be? Oh yes, it is a bratwurst with corn batter, fried, on-a-stick, open for phallic jokes, giant bit of goodness god brought down from heaven and supplied little old me for only $4. This, my friends, is the holy grail of food-on-a-stick. I had to have it.

I walked…and I walked….and I walked……and I walked……and I bypassed the ridiculously terrible attempt at “diverse” food choices at the fair….

And there it was. There it was. The footlong corndog, the key lime pie on-a-stick, and the pork chop on-a-stick all seemed to pale in comparison. Here it was. My reason for dragging my ass down to the fair in the worst of weather with my pasty white skin…

It was wonderful. Not just because I was able to take an indecent picture like this, but that I completed my mission. After all, it is not about the journey, but the destination. With focus, relative inebriation, and a large budget, this dream could be yours. Mission: To find the cornbrat. Do you accept?