Jason Goes to the Rodeo
Yeehaw motherfuckers! What? Couldn’t you guess I’d start a formal essay about the rodeo like that?
I know what you’re thinking. Jason doesn’t seem like the rodeo type. Jason wouldn’t survive a day on the range tackling donkeys. Jason doesn’t know the difference between a rope and an umbilical cord. Stop whispering to each other about me.
Well, the rodeo is outrageous. Here’s how it starts. You ride a horse thirty yards from the parking lot to the “no camping in the parking lot” sign where you pay for your tickets. You have two payment options; you can either pay with a Buffalo (applause, x10million Buffalo points) head nickel or with your old toothpicks. Toothpicks get you a five dollar discount.
You’re not on your way to your first rodeo yet? Do you have a disease?
The next step is the beer. Just like any extremely intelligent festival or event, you have to buy tickets first. Like they always say, two lines are better than one! After you survive the lines, you have your choice of two different beers. America or America Light. The bad guy cowboy in the black hat tries to convince you to buy a commemorative rodeo beer koozie by strangling a little kid. You’re convinced to donate to your favorite charity out of fear for the human race. That’s the only way you can help stop the black-hatted cowboy. You buy the beer koozie too.
The next stop is the western wear hut. Here you can try on your favorite flowery western shirt and pink cowboy hats. The cowboy fashion judges hold up score cards as you walk by and the winner gets a free Harley Davidson belt buckle. Ok, that part was just from my rodeo fantasy. It didn’t actually happen. But you still try on the hats and shit. Of course, you’re already wearing some top of the line western gear. Who would go to the rodeo without it? Cowboy boots, a bolo tie, a cowboy hat and a bandana is the obvious necessary attire. A western shirt is more or less mandatory.
On your way to the seats, you can grab some food or stop by the hoedown barn and do some square dancing. The key to this is having no idea how to actually square dance and bumping into the professional square dancers around you. They’ll love it, trust me. Make sure you don’t waste too much time though, you need to make it to your seat in time for the opening ceremonies.
The first of the opening ceremonies is America: The Musical Prayer. This nifty little song and dance ditty features synchronized flag waving, horses jumping through flaming hoola hoops and (I think) Donny Osmond on lead vocals. The line “Jesus was the first American cowboy” always gets a rise out of the crowd but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it worked. Not even the Mormons believe that.
I can’t think of anything more boner-inducing than a reasonably attractive female riding two horses at full speed while doing a headstand. Perfect, because that’s exactly what we are getting ourselves into in this next event. Cowboys faint as this beautiful daredevil defies the laws of cowboyery. I’m pretty sure those are the exact words that the PA announcer used. She gets an awkward standing ovation from the boner-hiding cowboys. Myself included.
The rest of the rodeo is kind of a bore after this. Self-proclaimed Rodeo World Champions tie up sheep and chase around baby pigs. The rodeo clowns tell extremely offensive racist and gay jokes. The rodeo clown trips. What a goofball! A bull gores a junior bull rider and jumps into the stands. Yawn. Your usual rodeo activities.
After a few hours, the rodeo wraps up. This time, we take a short bus from the bleachers back to our car. On the bus, shit gets wild. A weird old cowboy man holds a little boy’s hand against his will. The bus driver swerves to avoid an old western shootout. Luckily the bus ride only lasts two minutes, otherwise I might throw up on myself or have a heart attack.
When we leave, we blast country music all the way home. Not really. Who would listen to that shit?
See you next year rodeo. I love you.