Twisted Metal
Tired of lame free-fall rides that go at the girly acceleration of gravity?  This monster hurls you from the height of a 23-story building at over 3 G’s—onto your face.

Wheel of Death
You better leave your skirt at home, because by the end of this ride you will somehow be wearing one.

The Snake Charmer
When some sissy-nerd said that “you can’t go home again,” he was probably thinking of this ride.  After tasting The Snake Charmer’s nasty twists and daring descents, you’ll find your house burned down by a park employee.

Not Your Grandma’s Coaster
There’s a pretty good chance that your grandma never rode on this recently restored old-fashioned wooden coaster.

Earthbound
Do you know how it feels to experience an emergency reentry into our atmosphere in a speeding NASA spaceship?  Neither do we.  This ride is a shaking room with different-colored flashing buttons.

The Centrifuge
Think you can withstand 14 G’s of awesome bone-crushing power?  Scientists beg to differ.

A Giant Catapult
Get ready for some surprises.

The Carousel
Circle around on a horse with a pole through it.  Did I mention that it’s a live horse? Good, because it’s actually a dead horse.

Straitjacket
You’re about to get the shit kicked out of you.

The Pain Café
Try the Extreme Manburger, the Five-Pound Chicken Wing Manbucket, or Sergeant Pulverizer’s Danger Explosion, an undercooked chili dog.

Take-a-Break Lake
While the others test the limits of their manliness, this soothing water ride gives grandpa a chance to rest his feet before killing him.

Place?:  “c” Alp!

Emirates; Irate me!

A rake, a snake: Lakes!

Camp = A bank

A go to Lebanon? – No thanks!

Paraguay!  Eat some dirt.

The next day we traded in our minivan and bought a Lamborghini.  Then we traded in the Lamborghini for a race-car.  Dad stopped going to work and just hung around the house with professional wrestlers.  Then we had to live on a glacier.

But my dad still seemed kind of depressed.  “What’s the point of all this?” he’d often ask.  And I’d have to explain the rules of Monopoly again for like the 900th time.  And he’d say “No, not that, though I still don’t really understand the rules.  I mean life.  What’s the point of life?”  So then I’d explain philosophy and religion, but before I even got to the Enlightenment he’d just shake his head and kick over the monopoly board.  He wasn’t upset or anything.  He just thinks that’s how you play the game.

At this point my mother had had enough.  The glacier had collapsed and she was trapped under 50 feet of ice.  So dad introduced me to my new mom, the Brazilian girls volleyball team.

Finally, my dad seemed happy again.  One day he told me his secret.  “You know what’s really important?” he said as he took me on his knee, “The little things… mice, babies, electrons, elephants.”  He was just kidding about the elephants.

“But is it correct, from an ethical standpoint, to allow physical force to be the deciding factor in disagreements between nations? What would Thoreau say?” It was Dough-Boy, the freckle-faced infantryman with the crooked, midwestern smile and innocent grey eyes that blinked whenever you poured pencil-shavings in them.

“Difficult to say,” the Sergeant replied, pulling a cigar stub from its wrapper. “Kant would subscribe to the deontological theory of moral imperatives.”

“Check!” interrupted Grease-Monkey, the cherub-faced mechanic and former professor of Linguistics at Cornell. “He’d want us to examine our motives in a neutral environment, not the biased circumstances of war.”

Bull, resting his muscle-bloated body on a rusted oil drum, had been shoved to the breaking point. His broad, featureless face exploded in fury as he jumped to his feet. “Talk, talk, talk … all we do is talk. Me want to clobber the enemy, not talk!” As he worked his massive mandibles the others rolled their eyes.

“Reminds me a little of Benjy, the simple-minded Christ figure in Faulkner’s The Sound and Fury,” muttered Stir-Fry, the platoon chef.

“Philistine,” said Germ-Jockey, the seasoned medic.

“Leave ‘im alone,” ordered the Sergeant. There was a long, embarrassed silence as the rage melted from Bull’s boulder-like head. “Hey, like … like me sorry me got mad,” he grumbled, like a friendly grizzly bear endowed with the miracle of human speech. “It’s just dat I didn’t do the readin’ this week.”

The platoon burst into gentle laughter as the Sergeant gave Bull a manly but affectionate kick in the head. “Hell, that all? Jesus, Bull, you can catch up. It’s only eighty pages of Flaubert and we’ll help you with the French.” The Sergeant’s words stretched a broad, moronic smile across Bull’s acre-wide face and helped the platoon temporarily forget the horrors of jungle war.

“Alright … alright,” shouted the Sergeant, shouldering his book bag, “load up and remember … no shooting. We have a moral obligation to preserve all life, regardless of the demands placed on us by an arbitrary government.”

“Even if they shoot at us first, Sarge?” asked Slim-Jim, the munitions expert and beef jerky magnate, as he unloaded his rifle. “I mean, some interpret Ghandi’s later writings as …” The Sergeant interrupted his discourse with a powerful right to the solar plexus. “I’m not takin’ any revisionist up the hill with me,” he added, turning his back on Slim-Jim’s wheezing form, “so you can sit here and stew while we’re gone.”

At the call to “fall out,” the small platoon lined up and began its rigorous but sensitive trek through the dense jungle.

“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to hold up my penis to show her that I had no diseases there. But it was too late: my penis was already gone in her body.

“Ouch! Oh! Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” she moaned, as I took her virginity and initiated the first of her many orgasms. “Oh my God,” she said, looking up into my eyes as she micro-orgasmed.

“Now it’s my turn,” I thought out loud. “Ahhhhhhhhrrrrrrggggghhhhhh!” I yelled as I seeded her. “Whoa!” I realized that my legs were weak from the exercise of sex.

“You think it’s over?” she cooed, making my erection not go away and stay really strong. I had just orgasmed but everything was still hard because I am a young man.

But before we could once again simultaneously orgasm, we were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Hello sir,” said a man in a suit. “Consider yourself served.” It looked like my estranged wife had finally decided to go through with our divorce. It turned out I didn’t have to feel guilty for sexing this woman, I thought, letting the ripples of another orgasm lap against my body from her body – the source of the orgasm ripples.

“You complete me,” I said later, sexing upstairs in the bed. “I think I may love you.”

“You mean that you love the sex we have!” she joked as I lay on top of her and entered her perpendicularly, still completely erect.

“No,” I said, pumping.

“Do you mean marriageeeeeeeeee?” she squealed, orgasming.

“I want to get married…but we can’t because you’re my sister.” Everything went quiet. I had just revealed to her that I knew she was my sister all along. It was so wrong.

“It’s okay, brother,” she said to me, her brother. She must have known all along. “I knew all along,” she said, confirming everything.

I felt my groin get hot.

*

Jenny eventually passed away from a disease, but I still think about her and the great sex we used to have.

I love you Jenny.

As any celebrity knows, there is nothing worse than a hostile public. Oh, how the harsh words of New York’s schoolchildren continue to ring in my ears! ‘Ha, ha’ they would say, ‘you must be dyslexic! Trying to go to 5th Street and 72nd Avenue! It’s the other way around, retard!’ But I was just going to New Jersey. And sometimes they would scream at me ‘Ho, ho! Those are some rags! Bet they were tailored by a deaf man!’ They didn’t care that my tailor’s speech impediment was not caused by deafness. Some children would even get up on a stage, look at me and say ‘Halloa! D’ya think anybody ‘ud love a bloke li’ you!’ Afterwards they would tell me it was just a school production of Nicholas Nickelby, but I knew the truth. Don’t these children know that I am Gary Carter, former All-Star catcher for the New York Mets? I wish the Expos had never traded me. I miss some of my former teammates. Where have you gone, Hubie Brooks? I even wrote a song for Hubie. It goes like this:

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