At Disneyland, we’re all ears … but not ALL ears


I’m back from Disneyland! I hadn’t gone to Disneyland for five years before last week. I used to go a few times a year every year since I was old enough to walk. Even though I lived in a foreign country my dad would always take us on the pilgrimage to the Mecca of façade that is Disneyland. I know that Disney is a big evil corporation or whatever but there is something so exciting and comforting about being there.

A strip-club customer told me he was from Anaheim, and I asked him if he likes going to Disneyland. (The equivalent to tourists asking us, “Do you like to gamble?”) “That place is for kids,” that sour old goat told me, with clear contempt for the place. I bet he hates life itself. And kittens. He also told me it was too expensive. He has a point but still, what a crusty and bitter old toad. I did not show him my boobs.

The place seriously warms the cockles of my heart, if in fact, my heart has cockles. That buttered popcorn and vanilla sugar scent they spray into the air, the cheesy scripts the employees must recite to customers, the $10 candied apples, and the indoor rides with the jerking animatronics pirates, I love it all.

I did go on a bit of a spending spree. I bought the annual pass, which allows me to go Disneyland pretty much all the time. It wasn’t cheap. It’s going to cost me like 15 lap dances. I suppose all that dancing will help me work off the fancy expensive candy I ate while I was there. I also need to burn off a $22 sandwich. That miserly old troll wasn’t exaggerating about the place being expensive.


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