The happiest place on earth...FOR DEATH

Ok, I've been holding out on you. The weekend preceding my birthday I took a little trip with my brother and his girlfriend. I've been hesitating admitting to this, because I wasn't sure if I could EVER hope to recount in vivid enough detail the pallid, puffy extravaganza of neo gothic/industrial nerdery that filled Disneyland on what is known amongst certain acne prone circles as….BATS DAY (Minor Chord Struck Violently on a rusty pipe organ).

On a day that I assume holds some sort of celestial importance for being prone to gay paradox, my brother, myself, and his girlfriend, all clad in summertime pastels and shorts. Found ourselves in the Happiest Place on earth surrounded by unhealthy looking people in makeup and leather.

Behold! Herr Spritz! Master of darkness! And the most homoertically charged teenage boy ever to don a military uniform. Kindly note the grim stares of his eeeevil wenches as they pose by the drug induced portrait of ALICE!


Despite the obvious retardation and futility of wearing a leather corset in 100 degree weather, and then riding on splash mountain, or the fact that your makeup tends to run when you sweat like a hog in line to big thunder mountain. What was truly freakish wasn't so much the goth/industrial teens running (They don't really run do they? Moping? Is that the word? Lurching Perhaps?) around the park, but the horrible clash of cultures when older Goths who had bred, met face to face with the other freakishly clad families from the Midwest.

Picture with me, 200lb momma, 200lb Poppa, and their eight year old twin boys weighing in at a Buck fifty each. Wearing shorts, mouse ears, and NASCAR Tees. Now watch as they wait in Line next to 200 lb Momma in a schoolgirl outfit, 50lb Poppa in Neo's Outfit from the matrix, and their infant Gothling sportin a Mohawk, and black fingernail polish at the ripe age of two. To me, equally grotesque and chilling examples of people who never really grew out of a phase. Whatever the case, here we were all three groups at Disneyland. All of us laughing, spending money, and having a happy wholesome time at the happiest place on Earth. Kudos to the Disney company for achieving such inclusiveness at the risk of alienating the lame.

As for my nerdy, puffy, pasty, lords of darkness. The pierced, studded, chained, sickly, needy denizens of satan. You may be my mortal enemies on the outside, but in the line to Space Mountain, we are all six year olds standing on our tiptoes making sure we are tall enough to ride.