On my morning walk I saw the rides on the Santa Monica Pier and it reminded me of the time when I was about 8 years old and my mother and sister and I went to Magic Mountain and we went on this torture chamber ride called THE ROTOR where you climb in this GIGANTOR drum type thing and when they flip the switch the ENTIRE cauldron starts spinning REALLY REALLY fast —- like Chuck Yeager breaking sound barrier fast, like so fast that the bottom DROPS out from under you and what’s supposed to happen is the entire whirring metal monstrosity and centrifugal force take over and you STICK to the sides of the barrel like chickens in a tornado.
To recap: You’re screaming and dizzy and terrified and disoriented and the bottom drops out and your body PLASTERS itself to the spinning gas chamber “ride”. But what happened to ME was back in those days I weighed about forty pounds so as everyone else stuck to the sides like smashed flies I started to drip down the side of the Rotor like honey oozing out of that little bottle that looks like a bear and my mom grabbed hold of my hand and I was SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER at the top of my lungs as I slipped farther down toward the bottom of this spinning guillotine and JUST as I was convinced that I was going to die and my feet were going to get lopped off —-as my mother got stuck to the sides more and went higher and my sister stayed stuck but was slipping just the same and I was losing touch of my mom’s sweaty hand they stopped the ride and the bottom came rising up and saved me from being pulled into the bowels of the Rotor forever.
I swear to all that’s holy I don’t know how I survived.
When In Doubt, Don’t,
Skinny Bones Jones