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had a choice: Fall off and drown, or walk around in circles until the claws' return.
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across the entire park, all the way to a patch of mysterious, undeveloped land, where there was one large, elevated lake with a small square of grass in the middle. Our hero looked up, and up, and up, as a giant pair of claws-fuck, like the ones at an amusement park claw-drop game-hurtled toward him. The handymen and janitors had seemingly been fired, so no one kept the rides from crashing or the speckled puke from dotting the vast patch of grass that was now Bumbly Beach. A woman walked up to to Rock F., identified herself as Diana P., said Snooki’s Big Jersey Rager was too intense for her, and hurled on the ground in front of him. The food and drinks stands-Vin Diesel’s Drinks Stall, Bill Belichick’s Popcorn Stall-were all gone, too. All the paths had suddenly vanished, along with the bathrooms. Like a scene from Alien Invaders.īumbly Beach's guests were darting around, much faster than usual, bouncing aimlessly. (Katherine Heigl’s Nightmare.) When he walked back outside, his eyes readjusting from the nearly pitch-black, likely abestos-ridden interior, Bumbly Beach looked.
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wrapped up, figuring it was finally time to grab some fries and begin to ask himself some questions (W ill I die here? Can I die? Why don't I have a full last name?), he tested his nerves in the haunted house. (Chad Kroeger's Canadian Cinema.) He liked it so much that he stayed for Mouse Tails. Then the lil' guy caught a matinee of Alien Invaders at the 3D cinema. got lost for a moment there, stuttering back and forth. (Brody Jenner's Bumper Boats.) One of those cornfield mazes you see in the movies. For the first time in his short (or long?) life, I bet he was happy. How could he fit a five-foot-long umbrella in the pocket of his khaki pants?Īs I started adding more rides, Bumbly Beach became a near-utopia for Rock F.'s low nausea tolerance. In his pocket, forever, was a map, a beach umbrella, and $58.50. Or, why he was outfitted with the same clothes-the blue shirt, khaki pants, and brown shoes he was born into this life wearing. couldn't leave, even if he wanted to.īack in those early days, his head echoed with thoughts, cravings, feelings. It was solely inhabited by a hundred lost souls, pacing back and forth on concrete paths because Guy Fieri’s Revenge was too intense for them.
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His first memory was strolling the border of the park, the patch of skin where his ears are supposed to be taking in its ominous, twinkly jingle, the low roar of screams and artificial joy. Probably feeling some unchecked angst from the past five months, I decided to ruin the life of one lucky guest: Rock F., who visited Bumbly Beach on a sunny afternoon-and never came back. When I fired up RollerCoaster Tycoon and chose Bumbly Beach as my first park to revive, I remembered that the game provides oddly detailed descriptions of what park guests are thinking at all times. (All things this game designed for children lets you do!) The goal? Fill it with rides and happy guests, and try not to send anyone careening off an unfinished roller coaster or drown your guests in lakes. So, I decided to revisit an old friend for my yearly fix of funnel cakes and death traps: RollerCoaster Tycoon, the 1999 sandbox classic, where you can build the theme park of your dreams. As much as I love theme parks, a cocktail of sweat and the coronavirus doesn't sound too great right now. Amusement parks, too-though those are still kind of open, which will probably-definitely get a whole bunch of people sick. All the summer staples, such as sunny afternoons at the ballpark, rooftop drinking, and concerts? Kaput. I Met the Cold Man I'd Become in 'NFL Head Coach'