I went to Disneyland yesterday. YES, I am almost 30, and NO, I do not have children. Why then was I there? A birthday. When it’s your birthday you get into the park free. And FREE is Someone I Know‘s favorite word. I on the other hand did not get in free, and the idea of paying $69 was out of the question. Good thing Someone I Know found a guy who knew a guy on craigslist, who met us in the back parking lot of a gas station (which is to go unnamed), to sell us a discounted ticket. YES, we scalped tickets at Disneyland. NO, there’s nothing shady about it.
Side Note: It must be one of Disney’s sneaky little perverted jokes that entrance into the park costs 69 dollars.
What I realized in my 7 hours at the park (all I could stomach), is there is a definite divide between reality and what we remember as being real from our childhoods. For instance, Space Mountain is NOT the thrill seeking adventure through a starry sky that I remember from when I was barely tall enough to peek over the “You Must be This Tall to Ride” sign. Instead, it is a terrifying, nightmarish, gut-wrenching experience that left my 29 year OLD body quivering and light-headed. The sign should read: “You Must be This Tall and/or Stupid to Ride”.Needless to say, my days on roller-coasters are over if I couldn’t even stand Disney’s weak attempt at duplicating the Corkscrew. And it wasn’t just the main attraction that did me in… Honey I Shrunk the Audience – WTF? How can it be that I nearly broke the arm of my chair, screamed like I was being gutted, and begged to leave before the show was over, while a group of toddlers sat motionless in front of me, 3-D glasses on, laughing the entire time? And don’t even get me started with Star Tours – Disney’s version of Back to the Future. I broke a sweat, became pale in the face, and was convinced I was going to vomit on the 5-year-old in front of me. Disneyland should never be referred to using the word PARK. HELL is much more accurate and offers a far better description.
To further support my theory, my assumption as a child was that Walt Disney was godlike; a Peter Pan of sorts;a kid in a grown man’s body… As I got older I realized he was more of a grown man trying to get IN kids’ bodies; simply put, white people’s precursor to Michael Jackson. But by the time I was peeling out of the parking structure, onto the I5-North, speeding back to LA, I was convinced he was much more than a pervert. He was in fact an evil entrepreneur; a masochist; a sick freak who spent his time on earth playing with and exploiting the fears of the masses to make billions. It’s terrifying to think he may one day be thawed out, able to then build more Disneylands and sodomize our youth in his free time. Come to think of it, Walt’s life-story could be a new thrilling attraction at his own park – You wait in line for 13 hours because you can’t figure out how in the hell to use a FastPass, only to find out that the ride consists of animating little boys with phallic noses, taking it in the ass from some overweight, carni-looking billionaire, and being trapped in an ice-locker for eternity. Uhhh… I think I’ll stick with Space Mountain.
My experience begs another question: How do teens, frat boys and even some of my friends in their thirties eat pounds of magic brownies, inhale peanut butter and shroom sandwiches, and take large pulls from even larger bongs just seconds before entering the park? How is this even humanly possibly?
If I wanted to piss myself while riding Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, I would just do so. I know the 3-year-old, whom I heard being reprimanded by his father for peeing his pants on It’s A Small World, would appreciate the gesture. Can you blame him? That ride is extremely long – no one can hold it that long – and disturbing, especially the tour through Asia.
I definitely don’t need to be apprehended by Disney Security because I was caught, stripped down naked, diving from my boat at Pirates of the Caribbean, into the swampy waters, dodging bullets being shot at me by plastic Johnny Depp lookalikes.
These are the things that would happen if I were on drugs at Disneyland. I wasn’t even able to do it sober. It’s all fun and games until someone gets shipped off to the Mental Ward.
All in all, it was a fun day (I was paid to say that), but let it be known right now, on this blog, if my children ever see the inside of a theme park, it will NOT be with their mother.