Don't want to start my day being hard on myself. I love myself—Okay, I Do Not want to love myself. I had a dream I was trying to tell a couple people about a dream I had, but they wouldn't listen, probably cause I'm not white—sorry, cranky, didn't get my swim in—and in that dream I was sitting on top of a moving train, but I was somehow attached to tracks on the air, and each time the train would go under a bridge or cable lines, let's say, my body would be propelled along the tracks into air, much like a thin roller coaster—now that I think about it—but I'd be so high in the air above the surroundings and moving so fast that I was in constant fear of falling because the tracks would not appear to hold me until the last moment of propulsion, and I was so high off the ground I could never see where the tracks were under my body and I was always wondering when I'm going to splat into the ground.
But they wouldn't let me finish telling them about it, they would stop listening, and I think I was rambling a bit, too, but...
but I'm going to cut in front of so many kids!
Ah, the best part of an amusement park: getting in a long line, finding the lucky one, and staring at her over, over, and over again
I just know it, I'm going to end up in a fist fight with the parents of a fat kid. Shouldn't she be in summer school? I know she didn't get no passing grade.
Lost Children are available in Guest Relations.
I won! I won! I was the driest one on Roaring Rapids. I laughed at them, all of them. I was laughing at them, in their faces. I won! I won! I ducked a punch and said I won!
- Why are you in the kiddie line? What are you afraid of the big rides?
- You're afraid! Everyone in your family is afraid.
I wish I could just push them out of the way. I could, you know? What are they going to do, tell their moms? I'll just deny it—I'll flat out lie. Congratulations, your kid's got a brilliant imagination. You should be proud.
- You just did it again. I saw you.
- Okay, you got me on that one.
- How dare you!
- No one dared me, lady. I push kids. The park's fine with it. I've bought so many funnel cakes throughout the season, I could kick them from behind and get away with it.
- Where's my husband?
- Where's mine!
- He's going to kick your ass.
- Mine's going to kick yours.
I'm in the security office; call my parents. Turns out one of the kids had seen one too many Jackie Chan movies, highlights of a weekend spent with his beer guzzling deadbeat dad. We were at it for about an hour and a half. It's fuckin bullshit. His stupid grandmother stepped in when I got some momentum. People were booing me, but with so many heroes and villains around, it's hard to tell who's who anymore. I had a few people on my side. When security arrived, in the ensuing confusion of the scuffle, I tried but failed to land one on the grandmother.
I've had an issue with every type of family member today. Even an uncle. Where the hell did he come from? I sized up the opposition quite astutely, or so I thought. I told him I got no problem with your side of the family, but we dropped words quickly. One of his booger cookie kids slugged me while I was looking up the definition of "astute."
These kids are nothing. Nothing. You get 'em in a piledriver, they're not getting up. Fatso Alberto thinks he's tough—your partner slides in a flat steel chair underneath, and you hit him with another one. And what's next for him, the fatso Alberto? The Infirmary, that's what.
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