Let's Go To The Ex

I was at the CNE this weekend. Unfortunately I seemed to be there on Half-Price Hillbilly Saturday.

If you want to spoil a white supremacist's day, just take him to the Ex. You won't find a more disappointing collection of Aryan genetic material anywhere. I felt out of place being the only man without a blue Celtic tattoo on my neck and five children at my ankles, each kid about eight and a half months older than the next.

The least popular food there was corn on the cob, because to eat it everyone would have to line up to share the family tooth.

Somehow, everyone had cell phones and someone to speak to, since a lot of the mothers entertained themselves by staying on the phone while the children tried to climb under the tilt-a-whirl and their husbands / boyfriends checked out the passing trailer park talent in the Paris Hilton Does Walmart clothes.

And there's no better place to have a public fight with your husband than on the Midway, where you have to shout extra loud to be heard over the guy calling "Doggie, doggie" into the microphone.

At least there's one thing you can say about the crowd - it helps the carnies with their self-esteem issues.