“Food fight!” — John “Bluto” Blutarsky

Call this one: Attack of the giant turkey.

Why, why, why do I let my stomach do my thinking? At the end of last week, after struggling through days of bland soup and antibiotics trying to kick the bug I’d caught, my robust appetite came bounding back home like Lassie.

All week I’d listened to people at work and in town talk about the county fair and its many attractions, all the exciting acts, the new rides, a 9-foot dancing robot, cuddly camels, the challenge of staying on a mechanical bull, and oh, all those glorious food booths.

Is there any better comfort food than fair food? Oooey, gooey fair food? I think not.

So on Friday night, I went straight to the fairgrounds for dinner. Honest to God. That was my only reason for going. I was hungry and I knew I’d find something delicious and fattening, and that’s what I needed after my illness-imposed fast.

I began to salivate the moment I entered the carnival atmosphere along the fairground midway. My eyes — and nose — were immediately tempted by a wall of ribs, smothered in barbecue sauce, sizzling in song.

I wanted a rack of those ribs so badly, but I stemmed the temptation, talking myself off that ledge, “Come on buddy. We just got here. Don’t make any hasty tasty decisions that you’ll regret later. Move around, look around, see what everybody has to offer before tucking that napkin into your shirt collar.”

I moved through the fair food vendor trailers like a detective, looking for something special.

Italian and Polish sausages sizzled and popped next to piles of onions and peppers, and they were calling out my name. Barbecue sandwiches in all tastes and styles were taunting me as well. A parade of those shiny red Southern hot dogs whispered in my ears.

And then a loud man in a stained apron and ball cap called out, stopping me in my tracks. “Whatcha want? Let us feed ya. We got everything ya could ever want? Help us out now, will ya?”

At the top of their menu was a smoked turkey leg. I blurted out that I wanted one, and a diet Pepsi.

“Great choice! Good for ya! You’re gonna love it,” the man said with way too much gusto.

He went behind a wall and returned with a tin-foil encrusted smoked turkey leg. I swear it weighed 8 pounds and was the size of a tennis racket. I said goodbye to a ten-dollar bill and looked for some place to eat this monster.

I unwrapped the turkey leg and using both hands to bring it to my mouth I took a big bite. It was horrible and nasty. I discovered that the turkey leg had been cooking since, oh, the Clinton administration.

It was prehistoric and petrified. Ultimate turkey jerky on a bone. But I’d paid big money, so I chewed and chewed like a fool.

The meal is 4 days old and I’m still picking bits of turkey from my teeth.

Then I learned that a smoked turkey leg carries a whopping 1,176 calories and 59 grams of fat. My doctor is going to kill me if I survive the turkey leg.

I should have gotten the ribs, or better still a fried Snickers candy bar, described by one satisfied customer as being “like a Snickers Hot Pocket,” and “the BEST THING EVER!” Or perhaps I should have stuck with the old standard corndog.

I asked my friends to share some of their fair food stories.

Krista is back in Holland, Mich., where every spring they have a tulip festival that brings out hordes of tourists and fatty food vendors.

Oliebollen is a Dutch word for Fat Balls, a doughy delight that is very popular with the Tulip Time crowd.

“I had a friend drive all the way from Chicago (150 miles) to eat Fat Balls and have our picture taken in front of the Fat Balls sign,” says Krista.

They fry up a donut-like ball, let it cool, slice it in half, and stuff it with your choice of filling, various fruit pie fillings, or custard.

It may sound good but Krista advises, “Don’t waste your money — they’re like a jelly donut only greasier, and because they’re cold, the grease coats the inside of your mouth.”

My pal Linda from South Carolina’s Lowcountry relates a fair food incident involving cotton candy.

“On the way out I bought my last fair food of the night: a big honkin’ batch of cotton candy,” Linda says. “Ate that thing all the way home, walked in the door, turned on the light, and went to take another bite and boom, there staring back at me was this dark spot near the cone. After I picked at it to see what it was, I found spidey himself — a poor jumping spider in the middle of my cotton candy ... it was still wiggling ... Now I always hold my cotton candy up to the light before I bite into it!”

Best fair food story award goes to Ben back in Holland, who ate festival food for lunch and dinner for five days in a row.

“I had a gall bladder attack after the fifth day,” says Ben. “The only thing that kept me from leaving the sports desk and going to the hospital was the fact that I was wearing Hank Williams Junior underwear with the Confederate flag on them. I was too embarrassed and just lived with the pain.”

That is all.

— John Charles Robbins can be reached at 272-6122 or jcr800@gmail.com.