On my morning walk I passed that bright pink house that looks like Disneyland and it reminded me of that time when I was ten and my mom and sister and I got stuck in the middle of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. I remember it happened in the worst possible point it could have — in the middle of the water in between where the pirate ships are shooting cannons at each other—this is where our boat stalled and everyone started screaming and I remember feeling so scared that I thought I was going to die and as we escaped our lifeless boat and sloshed through the pirate water that I imagined was filled with pirate urine I had the fleeting thought that instead of calling Disneyland The Happiest Place on Earth they should call it The Biggest Fucking Nightmare You’ll Ever Endure.
I swear to Dumbo I don’t know how I made it through that without pooping my pants.
Help,
The Drowners
I cried at Disney when I was 47.
I saw Cary Grant there once.
Only you would suspect (and I assume correctly) at such a young age that the pirate water was filled with pirate urine. Not to mention other pirate bodily fluids.
There must be a God because I never thought outside the pirate pee-pee box. Thinking of additional fluids would surely have done me in.