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So we are back from vacation and I am brimming with blog material, good and bad. Let’s start with the stuff you all want to hear about, you wonderful, sadistic assholes.

We’re at Canada’s Wonderland, that magical place with rides that make you puke and prices that make you gag. Forget the entry fee, that’s a cost I know about up front. But inside the gates, the refreshment stands await with their big cartoony signs ready to fuck you and your pocketbook right up the ass like an upside-down waffle cone. Well that’s not very refreshing at all, refreshment people.

I bought Max a custard cone for $5.25. Just a plain ol’ vanilla cone. No homemade ice cream, no marijuana sprinkles. The same cone they give you at Boyd Vincent’s Ultramar. The kind Wonder-folk gave me the option of paying with my first-born, but as I was slinging the Savage Patch Kid across the counter I realized there’d be nobody to eat the ice cream, so what was the point? I’ll keep him. And the cone. And here’s my money, you wretched bastards! I shout defiantly as I shake my fist at Wonder Mountain where the stakeholders of this fine establishment surely must dwell, watching and cackling at us poor saps through cracks in the clay. (The dude who dives off there thrice daily is probably just trying to escape the giant wallet-fucking waffle cone.)

I can appreciate a little playful transparency, so I’ve written a few new names and slogans for their treat shops and refreshment stands.

REGRET ON RYE: Shoulda Packed a Lunch, Dumbass.

GOOD MOMMY’S REFRESHMENTS: Your Kid Looks Dehydrated. For Shame. Here’s Some Water. That’ll Be One Million Dollars.

PRICEY PIZZA: Family Fun is Priceless So Fork It Over, Beyotch

SHAMELESS SAL’S: Our Prices Are Shameless And So Are Your Short Shorts

When they check your backpack at the entrance, they’re not looking for guns and knives. (Unless it’s a knife you plan to cut a kiwi with – gasp!) They’re looking for homemade sandwiches and self-bagged trail mix! God forbid we try and save a few bucks for – oh I don’t know – groceries, diapers and college funds.

This sno-cone cost me $18.

Okay that’s a lie. It cost me $7. 18 sounded better but, come on, 7 is still atrocious. It’s ice! With a couple squirts of Smurf piss! Good grief, for seven dollars I could have bought a Happy Meal and a cheeseburger on the side, or a cheap-night movie ticket and a chocolate bar, or a Duckworth Street hand-job.

Dudes – at least add a couple shots of vodka to mommy’s side of the thing. How are we parents supposed to survive in this overpriced world? I need a second job just to pay for all the ice cream that goes into this child. Turbo Ginger runs on sugar. Hmmm… Any job openings on Duckworth, I wonder? That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.

 

 

 

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