The World’s First and Last Grapefruit Eating Contest

In a curious effort to squelch the region’s manifest obesity issues, the powers-that-be at the Biscuitville County Fair have decided to replace its wildly popular pudding eating contest with a contest of seemingly similar disposition.

“It’s just grapefruit, ya’ll,” said Bud Plaquemine, mayor of the anonymous county seat of Biscuitville and master of every ceremony that’s ever been known to the county. “A little bit of Vitamin C ain’t gonna muss nobody’s mane.”

The mayor was addressing the forty-six contestants, who were all perched on and around a flotilla of haggard picnic tables. “Regular ol’ grapefruits, that’s all they are,” he said, his exasperation beginning to show. “Grown right here in the county. I think.”

“If you got ‘em at the I.G.A., then they ain’t from the county,” said a Tina Ray Belcher, last year’s runner-up.

“I didn’t get ‘em at the I.G.A., Tina Ray. I bought ‘em down in Boofport off one of them trucks that sit out by that Huddle House every Saturday and Sunday.” There was a cascade of moans and grumbles.  “Aw, c’mon, now, ya’ll hush and let me explain the rules... Seriously, ya’ll cut me a break, okay? Remember, it wasn’t my idea to change this up. Not to throw anybody under the bus, but all this is a direct result of the county commissioner and his yankee doodle wife and all them commie spinsters they go to brunch with every other day. If it was up to me, we’d be doing puddin’ for the next thousand years.”

“Well, why ain’t it up to you? You’re the damn mayor,” said Fistbump McGriddle, the only person in the county who was born outside the contiguous states. “Can’t you veto ‘em?”

“On the federal level, I could probably do that, yes sir,” said the mayor. “But we ain’t on the federal level, are we?”

“This is some secret society bullshit, is what it is,” said Rudy Fracas, ambiguous security for the event. His hat said CIA and his shirt said FBI.

“Rudy, please,” said the mayor’s wife Julia, whose real name was Juli, but had long ago added the “A” at the end in an effort to maintain a regal air.

The mayor started troubleshooting with a grapefruit, eventually going full-blown Houdini on the thing and sawing it in half. He took a big bit and when he was done grimacing, he said, “Mmm! They’re actually pretty damn yummy. Real juicy, too… Plus, like I said, a little bit of Vitamin C can do wonders for your health and such.”

Jiffy Hormel, the self-proclaimed Michael Jordan of the now defunct pudding eating contest, stared at the deep October sunset and began channeling his internal rage into something like ambition. “I’m gonna give these buncha hosers SCURVEY is what I’m gonna do,” he said, chinning at the other contestants.

“Where’d you learn that word, on the back of a box of Oinktard Flakes?” said one of the contestants

Tina Ray Belcher swiveled around and said, “He ain’t gonna do shit except make his Wranglers look like somebody exploded a Baby Ruth in ‘em. Just like last year and the year before that and the year before that.”

“Yeah, all them years I won,” Jiffy Hormel countered. “Second place is first loser, homegirl, though you ain’t even gonna come close to that.”

“I just hope nobody out there knows the Heimlich this year.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean that.”

The mayor ignored them and said, “Here’s what’s gonna happen… Everybody’s gonna start off with thirty pounds worth of grapefruits…” He directed the contestants to a nearby convoy of big brown wooden buckets. “Each of them there has got exactly thirty pounds of grapefruit in it, which accounts to about twenty-somethin’ grapefruits, depending on how big or little they are. Most grapefruits weigh about a pound plus tax and tip, if you know what I mean, though there’s definitely a few in there you could probably make Jack-O-Lanterns out of if you felt so inclined.”

The mob of contestants said nothing, though they did continually pepper the sylvan silence with a weird improvisation of burps, grunts, and farts, as well as varied internal emissions.

“Same deal as usual with regards to cutlery. No forks, no knives, no spoons, no sporks, no damn chopsticks, no nothin’,” the mayor said.

“What about napkins?” hollered one of the contestants.

“You can have all the napkins your little heart desires, provided it’s just napkins. Remember what happened two years ago to that ol’ boy who’s name I shall not mention who tried to hide a roll of Tums inside a roll of Bounty. Any unsportsmanlike conduct will be dealt with swiftly and thoroughly. Immediate disqualification from not only this year’s contest, but all future contests as well. Next year, the year after that, and the year after that… Basically disqualified until the sun falls into the sea, right? Now, you’ve all been warned.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

“Well, don’t cheat and you don’t gotta worry about it.”

“What about bathroom breaks?” hollered another contestant.

“What about ‘em?”

“I’m sayin’, what do we do if we gotta go to the bathroom?”

“I’d suggest doing what ol’ Jiffy does, otherwise just hold it.”

“Eww.”

“Oh, and this prize is a little bit different,” said the mayor. “It’s a surprise prize.”

This information really fired all the contestants up. “Yeah, right… Surprise!—It’s a fifty dollar gift certificate to Wal-Mart… Surprise!—It’s one free dinner at the Western Sizzlin… Surprise!—It’s a bottle of Hot Damn… Surprise!—It’s a big ‘nilla envelope with rattlesnake eggs in it…”

“Ya’ll think ya’ll some funny bunnies, don’t ya?”

“Just tell us, is the prize money or not money?”

The mayor paused and fingered his mustache. “Let me put it this way, it’s moneylike,” he said, to their satisfaction. “Anyone have any more questions?”

“What do you suppose we do with the skin?” asked someone. “We’re supposed to peel the grapefruits and eat only the inside, right?”

“You can do whatever you want with the skin. Thing is, you start off with thirty pounds of grapefruits, like I said, and whoever has the least amount of pounds left wins, right? So I’d maybe suggest going back and eating the skin when you’re done with the insides. Kinda like what they do with crawfish eating contests. After they scoop out and eat all the meat, they go back and suck the holy spirit of the heads and then tackle the claws, et cetera, et cetera.”

The crowd purred with mild epiphany.

“Any other questions?” said the mayor, making his hands into little binoculars and looking over the congregation. “Good. Everybody rest up and I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow at 10 on the dot.”

 After everyone had cleared out, the mayor sat down on the edge of the stage they were using for the event tomorrow. He swung his legs happily like he was on a porch swing while he frisked himself for his pack of Winston Lights. He found them and took out a cig and lit it with a lighter that said Cum-N-Go down the side of it.

His wife Julia stepped out of the shadows.

“Great night for stargazing,” she said to him.

The mayor looked up at the sky and stifled a massive yawn and said, “Sure is. Look, you can see both dippers and that damn belt I always thought was a dipper. Just like the planetarium. Better, even.”

Julia took the mayor’s hand in hers, which meant she was about to say something she thought was important, and said, “Don’t stay up all night with Cliff.”

“Who’s Cliff?”

“Your buddy from Poncho’s,” she said, pointing at a meaty dude assembling the concessions area off to the side of the stage. He had backed his truck up to it and no less than forty cases of Budweiser cans were in the back of it.

“His name is Cliff? I’ve been callin’ that boy Clint for I don’t know how long.”

“Bud Plaquemine, you are really something special,” Julia said, getting up to leave. “Be home in bed by 11, okay? You have a big day tomorrow.”

“I have a big day every day.”

“And don’t smoke that whole pack.”

“Yes, ma’am, I won’t, ma’am.”

Julia made a kissy sound and then walked over and got in her Jetta and eased out of the parking lot.

 The morning weather could hot have been better for opening of the Biscuitville County Fair. The air was crisp and cool and apart from a patch of dainty cirrus clouds, the sky was as blue as a blue whale’s belly.

The big banner everyone had to limbo under to get the acre of folding chairs where they could cheer on the contestants said Welcome to the 2021 Glade Air Freshener Biscuitville County Grapefruit Eating Contest. All of the picnic tables—which now looked impossibly more busted up than they did last night—had been moved to an elevated stage. The contestants sat one by one and across from each other, with nothing in front of them but huge buckets and tons of napkins and a few emergency pitchers of Coca Cola.

The mayor, who was either still drunk or massively hungover or in some terrible DMZ between the two states, adlibbed about the importance of the contest and thanked his desultory cast of organizers who were arranged intermittently on the front couple of rows, and then pulled out what looked to be a snubnose .38 and waved it around a couple times for effect.

The crowd watched this leftfield shenanigan impassively so the mayor pointed the gun at the sky and went, *click* . . .

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch . . .” *click, click, click* “Julia, you didn’t do what I think you did and unload this thing for some stupid reason, did ya?”

“Just borrow mine, Bud!” said somebody in the audience.

“That’s okay,” said the mayor, squinting, blinking. “I’ll just holler. Ya’ll ready to do this? I said are ya’ll ready to do this!”

Random hoots, a smattering of claps. The contestants themselves looked uncertain if they were indeed ready to do this. No less than six dogs, unseen but near, had been barking mercilessly since the fair had opened up at 9.

The mayor went, “GO!”

All forty-six contestants sat there motionless.

 The mayor scowled at them and repeated, “Go! Ya’ll dig in, damnit!”

The contestants stayed deliberately frozen.

“Ohh, I see what’s going on,” said the mayor at last. “This is protest, isn’t it? Makes perfect sense. Actually I’m surprised I didn’t see this coming.” He addressed the crowd now. “Did any of ya’ll see this coming? Check it out, it’s not just a protest, it’s a silent protest. Aww, poor babies didn’t get their puddin’, awwww . . . What a buncha weinies. Tell you what, I’m gonna go get something out of my car real quick. I’ll be right back. Don’t nobody go nowhere.”

The contestants all stayed motionless, moving their heads on a little to make uncertain eye contact with each other.

The crowd, on the other hand, was beginning to get impatient.

“What a bunch of little you-know-whats . . . Seriously, ya’ll oughta be ashamed.”

The mayor returned to the stage and held something up and said, “Anybody know what this is?”

The mayor held up what no one in the audience recognized to be his personal checkbook (his wife Julia, withstanding).

“This is my checkbook. See? Checks inside and everything. Here’s what I’m gonna do . . . I’m gonna take out check number . . . Oh, let’s see, zero three two four and I’m gonna sign the bottom—dit-dit-dit—and gonna write one . . thousand . . dollars on this line right here. Boop! There. And I’m gonna leave this part blank because I don’t know who I’m making it out to yet.”

Julia stood up and said, “Bud, don’t you dare!”

“Lady, hush,” Bud said, sharply.

“Don’t you tell me to hush.”

“I’ll tell ya whatever I wanna tell ya. Now, shut up and sit down! Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, dear lord,” said the mayor. He walked over to the side of the stage and did a little royal wave at the teenager who was minding the event’s little makeshift bar. “Yoo-hoo, bartender, bring me one of them Bushwackers you were feedin’ me last night. Goddamn, those things are yummy, once you get past the brain freeze part, at least. And put some extra chocolate syrup in it, I need something to get me going a little bit. And gimme a Bud chaser. I don’t need no cup or nothin’. Thank you very much.”

The mayor took his little gun back out from inside his jacket and said, “Ooh, I almost forgot…” He put his hand deep in his pants pocket and felt around for a long while and finally pulled out a single bullet and put the bullet in the gun’s chamber and pointed the gun straight up at the sky and said, “Real deal this time, ladies and gentlemen. Are ya’ll ready to do this?”

The crowd and the contestants all agreed: they were ready to do this.