The Ghost of Friday NightLike weekends where you come from, the Fall Festival weekend officially gets its start on Friday night. They serve hot dogs and pop for free in front of the bank and the little kids have an Olympics of sorts, taking part in some classic events from the grown-up Olympiad like the pedal tractor pull and the cake walk, which does or does not award cakes based upon the year. After everyone has had their thrill tolerance thoroughly molested by six year-olds walking in circles for baked goods, any grownup worth their salt heads to the bar to get a start on a weekend-long hangover.
As a current reluctant South Dakota resident, this is where I came in. I couldn't get to the Better Dakota in time for all of the bloodthirsty competition, which was actually alright because I'm more of a draw-the-penis-on-the-drunk-guy player anyway. I stopped off to catch the aftermath of my high school team getting edged 63-0 in a football game and then it was time for the alcohol imbibing to commence. Kojak's, the municipal bar, and at least two different households were treated to some brilliant, Busch Light-inspired philosophy from me that carried on well past Carson Daly's sign-off. Eventually my liver told me to get bent and called it a night at 5:30 AM, but not before my buddy Ryan decided to cook a pizza. But before the 13 minute cooking time had elapsed, his liver was peer-pressured by mine into quitting like a coward as well. Hours later, this...thing...was found in the oven, having had presumably what must have been a rough couple of hours. It sure was nice of his Dad to let us stay at his house and to show our appreciation, we nearly burned it down. On the bright side, at least there were hot grease stains all over the exterior of the oven. Mmm boy, everybody dig in.