Hotdoglandia, Churroville and a Roadhouse joke.
I’ve been staring at a blank screen for the past three days now. Just staring and trying to figure out what to write. Well, not just that, since I’ve also been thinking up plans for how I’m going to set up my own magical Funland of sorts. Not the crappy McDonald’s kind with the stupid sweaty plastic tubes and slides that kids get stuck on and they don’t let in anyone over the age of ten. No, I’m going to go all out with a real Funland, complete with ponies and cotton candy and squirrels and hotdog concession stands and hotdog vendors and hotdogs and even hotdog buns and a hotdog palace and no seagulls who will come and steal anyone’s hotdogs. I’ll have a few robotic ones that will steal Patrick Swayze’s hotdogs though, because he participated in the world’s most abhorrent cinematic travesty: Roadhouse.
It took three long, arduous days of staring at the empty screen to realize that I don’t like hotdogs and that the hotdog theme of my magical Funland would have to change. It’s churro-centric now; deep fryers on every corner. The waterslides will be the same color as churros, and have the same ridges along the outside. Children will be delighted to dress up in churro costumes and run about the magical Funland in search of cinnamon to complete their outfits. My highly trained corps of churro-clad sentries will keep out rabble the likes of Patrick Swayze, and winged robotic churros will drop churro bombs on him after the sentries take him out back to the parking lot and beat him with churro-shaped whoopage sticks. Any hotdogs smuggled in by visitors will be confiscated and fed to him while he rots in his cell which will have bars that look like churros.
On second thought, the churro shaped bars could cheer him up. They’ll be made of razor wire wrapped around broken glass. Old hotdog water will be thrown by the bucketful into the cell, and the air conditioning will be turned on full blast in order to give him pneumonia. It is my goal to turn his mind into a black, malleable puddle of goo, then release him into the jungle, or possibly a set of subway rails, enjoying the blank look on his face as I leave him and his survival instincts to try to save him.
Speaking of blank looks, did I mention that I spent the last three days staring at an empty computer screen? It seems that it’s necessary to turn the computer on before you can do anything with it. Silly me.
It took three long, arduous days of staring at the empty screen to realize that I don’t like hotdogs and that the hotdog theme of my magical Funland would have to change. It’s churro-centric now; deep fryers on every corner. The waterslides will be the same color as churros, and have the same ridges along the outside. Children will be delighted to dress up in churro costumes and run about the magical Funland in search of cinnamon to complete their outfits. My highly trained corps of churro-clad sentries will keep out rabble the likes of Patrick Swayze, and winged robotic churros will drop churro bombs on him after the sentries take him out back to the parking lot and beat him with churro-shaped whoopage sticks. Any hotdogs smuggled in by visitors will be confiscated and fed to him while he rots in his cell which will have bars that look like churros.
On second thought, the churro shaped bars could cheer him up. They’ll be made of razor wire wrapped around broken glass. Old hotdog water will be thrown by the bucketful into the cell, and the air conditioning will be turned on full blast in order to give him pneumonia. It is my goal to turn his mind into a black, malleable puddle of goo, then release him into the jungle, or possibly a set of subway rails, enjoying the blank look on his face as I leave him and his survival instincts to try to save him.
Speaking of blank looks, did I mention that I spent the last three days staring at an empty computer screen? It seems that it’s necessary to turn the computer on before you can do anything with it. Silly me.