Archive for March, 2012

When In Doubt, Stay Home

Posted: March 31, 2012 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , ,

Instead of going with the standard ‘rant and rave about x issue’ polemic or the ‘pack as much violent and sexual content into an article as possible’, we’re trying something different this time. We’re going to offer up a cautionary tale so that you may understand the depths of madness that sometimes infest our daily lives.

Okay, there will almost certainly be violent and sexual content packed in too. Because that’s how we roll.

Anyways, on to the recounting of our trip to the Mouth of Hell.
——
The letter that came was, even before it was opened, an ominous portent. Even though there was what appeared to be the Disney logo on the back, the letters looked…odd. Reversed maybe. The envelope itself was ragged around the edges and there was a brown, leaky stain in the lower left-hand corner. When it was opened, the paper ripped with nearly no effort required and four asymmetrical chunks of paper and a creased sticky note fell out. The note read as such (naturally [sic] applies):

“Congrates! Yu an ur famly ur frens ar invted too bee spehshell gests at thee furst universery selleebrayshun of Dosneyworl! Heer ar for tikets fur u. Com on March 20, 20_year. Yu get thre gests. Bring moneies.

(signed)

(something unintelligible and probably racist)”

It was…a concern. Something definitely smelled fishy and it wasn’t even the leaky stain (which eventually was determined to be Kentucky Fried Chicken gravy). None of us (us being myself, Superfly, Pred3000, and Raybestos) had ever had any direct interaction with Disney but we came to the conclusion that would could reasonably assume that they wouldn’t send such shoddy quality material. At least not since Walt went in the freezer, at least.

Our opinions were split. Superfly and Raybestos thought it would be funny to give it a shot, while Pred3000 and I were more interested in not being abducted, raped, and our kidneys being sold for crack money. Finally, we came to an agreement: we would go but we would apply for and get open carry licenses first, just to be safe.

After each getting comfortable with our respective weapons (Raybestos and Pred3000 chose 9mms, Superfly got a .22, and I went all out with a Desert Eagle), we hopped in Raybestos’ car (another requirement for going was that I was allowed to be drunk and not having to drive) and set off for Puerto de la Muerte, Florida. Yes, you read that correctly – Port of Death. Not Orlando – although I suppose it could have an alternate name.

The drive was long and boring and I was starting to nod off from a combination of the rhythmic hum of the car and the half a bottle of Jameson I had killed on the drive when the car slammed to a halt, only to start up again at a very slow speed.

“What the hell was that?” I grumbled as I felt the car make a turn and finally stop.

“We’re…here?” Raybestos said, the question in his response worrying, even through the whiskey fog. We all unbuckled and got out of the car (I admit that I had a bit of trouble with the seatbelt, but I’m allowed). Blinking my eyes, I peered at what stood in front of us. It was…troubling.

The park itself seemed to span a couple acres of land but we couldn’t quite tell. A giant red and blue sign welded to a telephone pole read “Welcum too Dosneyworl” and flashed rapidly every few seconds. If any of us had been epileptic, it would have been dangerous. As it stood, it just added a “carnival of the damned” feel to the whole experience. We looked further ahead of us as we walked. Behind a very tall chain-link fence, complete with barbed wire rolls at the top, we were able to view what were ostensibly rides. I could pick out a roller coaster, merry-go-round, Ferris wheel, and various other attractions you would expect to see at an amusement park. For whatever reason, that actually frightened me more. But we had made it this far. We couldn’t go back now. As we walked to the front gate, the ticket-taker glared at us, surprise and resentment in his eyes. I don’t think he wanted us to be there. That made five of us.

He growled at us when we reached him. “‘kits, now.” We handed him the ragged scraps of paper and he tossed them in the garbage. With a sigh, he pressed a button, shifting the large steel doors apart. “Park closes at 7. Don’t be late. Seriously.” We scurried in, all checking our watches. We had four hours to spend in there. We all agreed we’d spend three at most, just to be safe. Bad things come at night.

The ‘road’ beneath our feet was a mixture of gravel and sawdust and kicked up little clouds with every step we took. A wooden sign nailed to a lamppost nearby read “Man Stret Yousa”, scribbled in the same retard patois that the invitation was written in. It was about this time that I really started to regret not eating lunch. I made this fact clear to the group and, fearing that any puking in this tortured land would invite its denizens to feed on our souls, they hustled me to the nearest food cart to get something greasy and delicious in my stomach.

Let me tell you. Nothing changes your “I have to puke” status than realizing that your other option is choking down a ‘befstik’ or ‘shulsie’. I just got a glass of water and even then it took all I had to kick it back. It was tap water but that was comforting since I was expecting bleach or something.

“So what do you guys want to do first?” Raybestos asked, trying to keep up a brave face.

“You mean besides go home?” Pred3000 muttered, already sulking in fear.

We wandered the streets of the park, only occasionally seeing a handful of other people, all with the same unsure looks on their faces. We passed the ‘Fast-circly-go’, the ‘Spiny-tal-circle’, a tea-cup ride that looked more like a human-sized centrifuge, and what looked to be a haunted house. Yeah. We sure as shit weren’t going to go in there. We kept wandering and and were about ready to mercifully leave when the 5 PM Parade started.

Have you ever seen madness walking? Like upright and walking? You lucky bastard. You never saw the mascots then. Let me give you the rundown.

First up was Mackey and Mornie Moose. Giant towering moose creatures with gloves on their hooves, pendulous hanging breasts and genitalia, and fur that looked to be at least half-mange, if not more. Instead of the charming “Ho ho!” that Mickey would always give, whoever developed these outfits really went all out to nail the sound of an angry, horny moose. The gronking and howling was beyond unsettling. I think that was the point that I realized that I had unsnapped the holster on my gun. Unconsciously, mind you.

Next up was Gorfy. You know that look in the face when something just isn’t…right in the head? Like the glossy, unfocused eyes, the slack jaw, the aggressive stance. Yeah. Gorfy had that. He also decided to stuff a live chicken through the mouth hole while right in front of us, so all we could hear for the next couple minutes as he ran around in pain were agonized screams and clucking.

Then we had Ronald Pigeon. I won’t say much about this one but you know how birds shit EVERYWHERE when they’re startled? Yeah. Gorfy startled Ronald Pigeon. I’ll leave that to your imagination.

I can’t really say what all happened next. All I know is that one of us – probably Pred3000 – started firing into the crowd and, well, we’re not going to leave our buddy out to dry. Did you know that guns can overheat if you pull the trigger too fast? I sure didn’t!

To cut a long story short, we’re not allowed to enter the state of Florida for the next ten years, we had to spend a week in firearm responsibility training, and I have a moose head mounted above my fireplace.

All that being said, would I call it the worst Spring Break ever?

Nah. I mean, have you SEEN Panama City Beach?
——
(Ending on a punchline. How classy of you. – ed.)

Shut up, Ed. Sometimes you can create gold, sometimes you can just be happy with creating lead.

(I don’t think that’s accurate. – ed.)

I don’t think you’re accurate! Deuces!