Rattlesnakes, Zippers, and Psychedelic Corn Dogs

Seeing as how when you Google "rattlesnake roundup", a link to one of my Soapboxes on the subject comes up, I feel obliged to let y'all know that I once again attended the Taylor Jaycees Rattlesnake Roundup in Taylor, TX last week. For a complete description, you can check out http://www.rogerwallace.com/roundup.html. Nothing super-different this year -- snakes, snakes in bags, snakes in a boxing ring, snakes in a pit, snakes in batter and grease. Carnies, dudes in camouflage ball caps, women in Bedazzled t-shirts about 5 sizes too small. Food on sticks, food in little paper boats, beer in cans. Carnie rides, midway games, and the knick-knack strip mall manned by old ladies in booths, surrounded by stuffed snake heads and jars of peach preserves.

A few items of note:

We had a bigger gang this year -- Jason and Cherri (who also came last year), Steph, and Shaz came along, as well as Miss K of course. And special thanks to Melia for the freebie tickets! When we first got there, it was in between sacking rounds, so we decided to check out the pit, where they keep about 8 billion rattlesnakes slithering around in piles. They had the pit in a different place this year, in a tent down by the empty pool and next to the petting zoo, instead of the cool concrete shed that made the constant droning hiss of the rattles bounce of the walls. As we meandered past the petting zoo pen, full of everything from rabbits to a fat little calf (mmm... veal), my first thought was, ' Um, should they be keeping the rattlesnakes so close to the bunnies?' My second thought was, 'That goat's giving me the stink eye. I'm going to the pit.'

As we all stood around the pit, watching a woman picking up snakes by the head and walking around holding them out for people to touch (we got to hear her her say, "Damn, I hate when they pee on me"), she happened to glance down at a spider on the floor. She jumped and yelped, "Hey, somebody git that thang! I hate spiders! Git it, git it!" There she was, this woman with a Western Diamondback rattlesnake draped around her arm, her fingers holding his mouth shut, standing in the middle of a room surrounded by more rattlesnakes, and she's hopping around like a cartoon elephant who just saw a mouse. "Eek! Eek! Heeelp! Haay-ulp!!" The spider was about as big as my pinky nail. Awesome.

Apparently there was acid in the corndogs, because Kris & Shaz decided to ride The Zipper. Yes, that Zipper. Mind you, this ain't Six Flags -- these rides were likely built during the Nixon administration, made of tinfoil and duct tape, and held together with Bazooka bubble gum, bailin' wire, and asbestos. I think the carnie running it played the youngest son in "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" -- "Let's take a picture! Heh...heh... yeah, that's a good 'un! Heh.. heh.. I like pictures... hee hee...". Mostly what I remember (while the sun was frying my retinas as I tried to watch) was the sound of one continuous shriek/curse coming from their car -- they were they only ones on the ride -- complete with Doppler effect, as the ride hurtled them around within an inch of their lives for about 10 minutes. Gosh, there's something about the sound of your girlfriend shrieking in terror, mixed with the metallic creaking and grinding of a psychotic death machine, that just makes a Sunday swell. I expected the carnie to whip out his Polaroid any second.

Speaking of whipping out... a little side note from the day that even my compadres didn't know about at the time. Remember when I went to the Port-A-John when we first got there? Well, I had the distinct honor of my zipper breaking right in two. So, I had to spend the whole day pulling my shirt down and making sure I didn't lean back too far when I sat back on the bleachers. Good thing I wasn't going commando.... The good folks at the Taylor Jaycees might've had a puppet show they didn't pay for. Or an overzealous snake-sacker might've tried to chunk me in a bag.

My favorite sacker team of the day was the stocky fireplug dude with the crewcut and his seven-foot partner with the bag in one hand and his beer in the other. The shorter guy -- kind of a Barney-Rubble-with-a-farmers-tan type -- walked in the ring with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. They dump the snakes on the floor, he tries to arrange them in a pile before he starts, and the cigarette still hasn't moved. "Is he going to keep the smoke? Sweet," we all murmurred to each other. Then, right on cue, it drops on the floor. "Well, so much for that," we say. Nope. He picks it up and plops it right back in his mouth. I mean, you gotta have your priorities straight when your hunched over a bunch of pissed off rattlesnakes. And talk about priorities; the guy holding the bag for him jumps to the side of the ring right in the middle of the round. "Uh-oh. He got bit!" we all say. Nope. He grabs his beer, takes a big swig, puts it back down, and scoots right back over where he was as his buddy flings another one in the bag. That's highlight reel shit right there, friends. And major kudos to the dude that got bitten halfway through his round... and finished the freaking round before he went for the antivenom. Cohones!! He's gonna have one of those stories that starts out, "'Member? 'Member when my finger used to be right there?...."

All in all, another good year at the Roundup. Except Mueller barbecue was closed again. Bastards. But, hey, at least I got to win Miss K a litte red stuffed bear before we left. We named him Zipper.

Roger