Disney 3D, Part Two (a.k.a., The Force Sucks Ass)

Posted: March 13, 2008 in kids, parenting, vacation


Yesterday, I walked through FOUR POINTS of hatred for Disney.

Today, you get two more.

Huzzah!!

Enjoy them.

Because I sure as Hell didn’t.

5) People cannot control their children.

Yet another reason to hate people.

(Like I really needed one more)

Welcome to Disney…

Where, here, we see kids being dragged around on f*cking LEASHES..

Leashes.

Really?

You couldn’t find a kennel for your child?


I actually ENJOY seeing this…

As I walk past the small child being dragged by this stupid f*cking harness, I point and say loudly:

Me: “Hey kids! Look at the cute puppy!”

(my children rush to pat the child-dog…but FIRST letting it sniff their hands to make sure it’s friendly)

The parent walking their child does not look amused.

This, however, makes me smile.

Hey – I’ve spent, like, six grand for this trip…

…let me have SOME fun at someone else’s expense.


Meanwhile, all the other little sh*ts are going in and out of the lines…

…jumping around in an ADD “Ritalin-free” frenzy.

These little pukes are running around…

…rattling the ropes in the ride lines…

…climbing on other people…

…all kinds of crazy sh*t.

Meanwhile, mom or dad stands there grinning at them daftly in a Momosa-induced blitz.


Hey…mommy:

If you do NOT control your child, I will find it my God-given duty to bend down and tell them the following:

a) Santa is not real

(This only applicable to Christians. Jews can substitute Santa for “The Hannukah Aardvark,” Muslims can use “Achmed, the Holy Camel,” and Buddhists can use, “Yeti”)

b) I am their real father

(this may be potentially true)

Seriously.

Calm them the f*ck down.

Maybe you should put them on a f*cking leash.


6) I’m a Jedi by proxy.

That last point happened at the Hollywood studio park.

Where they have a new thing called “Jedi Training Camp” there.

While my wife was with my daughter at the “High School Musical” show, I took my son over to the Jedi Training Camp.

I’m holding a bit of a grudge here because my son doesn’t like High School Musical (read: not gay)

…but, because of this, I missed out on a show with bosomy girls in cheerleader outfits.

Oh well…I can always do this myself during my Thursday “dress-up night.”


Anyway….

In Jedi training, kids are picked from the audience to train as a Jedi ON STAGE and then…

…they get to fight DARTH VADER.

No sh*t.

Darth. F*cking. Vader.

Cool.


My son didn’t get picked the first time.

Dammit.

He was upset.

VERY upset.


But we sat through the whole show and watched the other kids do it.

Keep in mind, this show is TWENTY MINUTES LONG.

So, we went back for a SECOND show.

This time, my daughter came along.

Guess what?

Yeah…you guessed it.

My daughter got picked.

And you know what’s coming next…

My son didn’t get picked.

Oh. No.

He was devastated…completely.


I felt horrible…

…as now I was forced to watch this show A SECOND F*CKING TIME because my daughter was in it.

Dammit.

What pissed me off even more is that my daughter got picked to do stuff during the High School Musical thing…

(luckily, taking naked pictures in a hot tub was not on the agenda for the show)

…so I tried to get her to switch with him as she was climbing on the Jedi stage.

HOWEVER, the stupid old bitch resembling Bea Arthur who was doing the “crowd control” wouldn’t let us.


I WAS PISSED.

I believe I flipped her off and mouthed “You bitch” to her in front of an audience of children.

(park security once again drops by to say, “hi”)


Luckily, the stage director saw and told us to come back for another show, and my son would definitely be picked.

We went back for a third time, and sure as sh*t, he went up FIRST.

Awesome…he was PUMPED.

Me?

Not so much.

As now I had to sit through a THIRD F*CKING VIEWING of this thing…

…and could now pretty much recite everything that was said.


And, after all of this…

…I didn’t get a goddamn diploma, a certificate, or even a friggin’ rim job from Darth Vader.

(I believe the Jedi “Tossed Salad” award is an option if you sit through four shows)


I’m writing Disney to bitch.

Once I finish paying off these park tickets and thirty dollar f*cking rain ponchos…

…cuz right now, even a stamp is out of my budget.

Now…

Where’s that f*cking rat poison?

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