Mediocre Adventure

We got the gang together and went to Six Flags in New Jersey, the place of many a happy memory as a child ("Dad, put down the gun"). The Salad loves to be thrown this way and that at high speeds by unreliable machinery -- and the Salad also needed a severe fucking break after the fiery inferno of last week's work-slash-personal imbroglio.

We bust ass out of the city at first light to make the gates as dey open -- and the sumbitches at Six Flags have already taken the liberty of closing three marquee rides for the day, including the rocket-to-hell called Kingda Ka (above). Slam. Shut. Close. Wham. What the fuck? A Friday in the dead center of a steamy July, and they have the baulce to turn rides off?

And it only got worse. As the threat of showers drew closer to the park at various hours of the day, they grounded the entire park to all visitors, leaving the people who ponied up 50 Yanqui dollar to either sit on their hands or eat ice cream gravel (and I'm not complaining about the latter). The final score was: Us - 11 rides; Six Flags - $300, at very least. No refunds, bitches.

The highlight for me was a bone-grinding ride on El Toro (above), the largest wooden roller coaster dealie in the world. Motherfucker was fast, and all squeezing-the-blood-out-my-brain and making-me-see-stars and shit. It was almost worth the cash to get good and fucked up like that.