Watermelon Eating Contest: A Crime Against Decency (and Table Manners)

Oh, the humanity! The sheer, unbridled chaos of it all! The Luling Watermelon Thump has once again descended upon our quiet, civilized world, bringing with it the most barbaric spectacle known to man: a watermelon eating contest. That’s right, folks. Grown adults—presumably with jobs, mortgages, and even children—will gather in public to shove chunks of fruit into their faces at speeds that would make a competitive hot dog eater blush. And for what? Bragging rights? A ribbon? The fleeting admiration of strangers who themselves are probably just there for the free samples?

Let’s break this down, shall we? First, there’s the sheer impracticality of it all. Watermelons are 92% water, which means contestants are essentially racing to see who can induce a stomachache the fastest. And don’t even get me started on the mess. Seeds flying everywhere, juice dripping down chins, sticky hands grasping for more—it’s like a toddler’s birthday party, but with fewer napkins and far less dignity.

Then there’s the so-called “prizes.” What exactly does one win for such a feat? A trophy shaped like a watermelon? A coupon for a free slice at the next county fair? Or perhaps the grand prize is simply the privilege of being the person everyone avoids at the next neighborhood potluck because no one wants to witness a repeat performance.

And let’s not forget the spectators. These brave souls will stand in the sweltering heat, phones at the ready, to capture the moment when their friend or loved one inevitably gags on a rogue seed. Is this entertainment? Is this what we’ve come to as a society? Instead of appreciating the arts or, heaven forbid, reading a book, we’re cheering for someone to inhale a melon like it’s their last meal on earth.

But perhaps the most tragic part of all is the aftermath. The winners will strut around like conquering heroes, their faces still streaked with pink juice, while the losers will slink away, haunted by the knowledge that they were bested by a fruit. And the rest of us? We’ll just shake our heads and wonder how we ever let it come to this.

So, if you’re looking for me at the Luling Watermelon Thump, you won’t find me anywhere near the contest stage. I’ll be at home, enjoying my watermelon the way God intended: sliced neatly on a plate, with a fork, and absolutely no stopwatch in sight.