Its a Minnesota thing, afflicting many (but by no means all)  Minnesotans.  I have yet to  meet a transplant to Minnesota who approaches the Fair as much zeal.  For me, a good deal of the attraction lies in childhood memories of going to the Fair with my family.  Climbing on tractors, checking out all of the animals, all-you-can-drink milk, seed art, watching the Princesses Kay of the Milky Way in the freezer while a sculptor carves their likeness from a huge block of butter.  Good times. 

“He got nik, he got nak, he got noke.  He all a mess.”

I don’t remember the plot details, but this is a line from my middle daughter’s first narrative story (she’s 10 now.)  I think the nik, nak, noke came from the song “Knick Knack Paddywack”.  When I asked her what nik nak noke meant, she didn’t really know, it was just something bad.  So “nik nak noke” has become part of our family’s lexicon.  For example, if I call my mom to complain about the bad day I’m having, her response may be:  “You got nik, you got nak, you got noke. You’re all a mess.”