The taxi that Kuni and I took to Magic Mountain must have been where Pepe (the driver) kept his family's pigs during the off season. Kuni said that it smelled so bad that he was going to puke, but it turned out that the reason it DID smell bad was because he already did puke. It was one of those space-time things that's always bugged me.

The cab had no working seat belts, and unfortunately this ride was the first in my entire life in which I really needed one. Pepe was everywhere on the road at once. He could weave in and out of traffic like a baboon on speed. And he was flicking people off left and right (sometimes at the same time) as we ran them off the road. Kuni thought that we were in a movie in the middle of the car chase sequence (I was going to get him to jump out the door to the top of the car next to us, just like in The Road Warrior, but he wussed out and started begging for his stunt man with tears in his eyes). Pepe then turned on the radio and I was delighted to hear Howard Stern on the box! It had been years since I visited New York last and was able to listen to the god of all audio entertainment (yes, I know that I'd been in LA for the past five summers, but I was always too lazy to turn on the radio myself to find out if he was on). I was so pleased that I stopped trying to push Kuni from the moving vehicle and just sat back and listened. On the Stern Show that day was that chick from King of Queens who's totally into Scientology (which fit in perfectly with what I had experienced just the other day! Ironic ain't it?). Howie was awesome. He kept making fun of her beliefs and putting her down for following a religion that made people sculpt clay in order to "see the light". Then they just had Baba Booie laugh at her as Hank the Drunken and Angry Dwarf pissed on her leg and bit her kneecap off. After that Beetlejuice and Hank got into a huge fight and one of them died. I don't remember which one, but at that point we had arrived at the amusement park so it didn't matter anyway.

At first I was jizzed off that the brochure for the park lied. It said that two new coasters would be open in the Spring!! They were not. The roller coasters in question basically just had land cleared away for them with a few pieces of heavy industrial equipment lying around while the teamsters scratched their sacks while eating fried puppies and drinking Rueben's Tequila. I joined them for a while (hell, Rueben's T is better than any attraction I've ever been on.... well, except for Lisa Burchardt in the 12th grade), but they threw me out of the construction zone for riding the crane.

After that Kuni and I kept meeting the same Puerto Ricans in line for different rides again and again. They thought that they were so damn cool and awesome for flicking off the 'height requirement' signs as they passed them at the entrance to all the dangerous ones. We also ran into a guy named "Andy" a few times too... Well, he never actually told us his name, I just gave him that one cause he looked like Andy Dick. He was pretty messed up and he really wanted to see the Olsen twins turn 18 so that they could do porn. He said that they had gorgeous feet too. Kuni pimp slapped him a few times and then we ran purely out of fear.

I insisted on getting on the oldest steel coaster that Magic Mountain had next, so we cut in line and got front seats pretty quickly. Of course that was the time that the cars got stuck on the second big hill and we had to resort to cannibalism in order to stay alive. I gutted the dude in the seat in front of us and was about to start a fire to cook his heart when we were told by a female ride expert person over a hidden speaker (Kuni thought it was Athena, goddess of wisdom) that the technical difficulty would be fixed in less than two minutes. In that time we were able to steal any identification from the pudgy fellow passenger that I slaughtered just in case the park officials took offense to what we did (I think we had an open and shut case myself, but I ain't no lawyer).
That day we spent 8 glorious hours riding the same 8 roller coasters over and over and over again until my screwed up amigo threw up the corndog that I spotted him for. Goddammit! A corndog in an amusement park in California costs as much as a year of private schooling in New Hampshire! I wasn't about to sit next to the rank dude (as he was) on the cab ride back to the hotel, so I pushed him overboard on the log flume ride and let the bacteria filled green water rinse him decently clean (well, cleaner than he ever was). He got wind-blown dried on the flying swings ride and then we headed back to the main gate to meet our cab.