Hallo-Fun Nights: Part 2

Shit got real once the sun went down at Knoebel’s….

…REAL DARK. OH!

And that’s when some of the rides went from being normal to OMGHAUNTED. Like the antique cars. They were closed all day long in preparation of the sun setting, and I was excited to ride those boring things because they had haunted scenes set up, which Chooch and I could see every time we ascended the inaugural hill of the Phoenix. On the Hallo-Fun brochure, there was a warning that the seasonally-haunted cars might be too scary for kids under 13, but from what we could see, it was your typical VFW-caliber haunted house decorating.

Kitschy and adorable.

However, people started standing in line before the ride even opened, and the line was LONG, so we never got to ride it. Because HENRY was all, “You will never have time to ride this.”

So Chooch and I entertained ourselves by taking selfies on basically every ride that we went on, because we’re Those People.  One of our favorite rides is the Cosmotron, which is essentially just the Music Express but inside a DOME and they TURN OFF THE LIGHTS and then what happens next is an epileptic’s cautionary tale. I was amused because We the Kings was playing while Chooch and I were on it and I have never hear WTK outside of Warped Tour. I don’t particularly care for them, but they’re well-suited to soundtrack the Cosmotron.

We exited on other side of the building, which Henry wasn’t prepared for. When we came back around, I spotted Henry with his back toward us, waiting for us to come out of a different exit. The compulsive hider in me grabbed Chooch’s arm and tugged him behind a bush before Henry had a chance to spot us. “Let’s sneak up on daddy,” I whispered giddily and then Chooch as usual tried to hijack my well-crafted plans of sneak-uppery by attempting to creep from a different direction until I yanked him back my way, which involved walking around a building and coming at Henry from the opposite direction of the Cosmotron. I’m sure we didn’t look suspicious at all.

But then stupid Henry was waiting for us because he has a fucking sixth sense when it comes to our presence and was fully prepared for the sneak attack. I blame Chooch. Henry probably saw him when he tried to deviate from the course.

The Looper. What a piece of shit this ride is. Chooch and I struggled with it when we were there last there, so this time I flat out asked the ride operators what the secret is to get the fucking thing to flip all the way around, because I saw other unevenly-weighted pairs succeeding so I knew that there had to be a way to conquer this bitch in spite of the weight imbalance. The two guys were like “blah blah blah” and I thought that I understood what they said, it sounded simple, but then the ride started and it only worked once! Chooch was livid and kept screaming at the guys to help us and I was like, “THEY’RE NOT GOING TO HELP US WHILE THE RIDE IS MOVING, GOD!” And then Chooch was making me feel incompetent but I fucking swear I was doing it right! By the time the ride stopped, the muscles in my legs were on fire from me trying to use my body to physically flip the cage. WHAT DID YOU DO TO HELP, CHOOCH?! Nothing but run your mouth, that’s what!

 

Here, Chooch was mad. He wanted a caramel apple or something. Apple cider? No! A restroom. He had to pee. So Henry was like, “Erin, go take him to the bathroom while I buy stuff for myself to eat because it’s Henry Time.”

Henry’s tone implied that taking my son to the bathroom was something that A Real Mom could pull off effortlessly, therefore he was fully prepared for me to fail.

And…I did. Almost.

We headed the direction that Henry thumbed us, but I just can’t get a good grasp on the layout of Knoebel’s! This was only my second time there and it’s just confusing, OK? Chooch and I were trying to consult a map, and then we thought that we found a restroom but it was some fake-log cabin thing that was closed. So then Chooch became mad because he thought he might piss his pants, and I became panicked and started to shut down, which is what happens to me in those Rise to the Occasion moments, where Real Moms are lifting cars off of toddlers and getting out stains with nothing other than their own spit, and I’m just standing there, stock-still and comatose, while the world moves around me.

WE ARE LOST. WE ARE SO FUCKING LOST. WE ARE SO FUCKED! is what I kept muttering over and over again while Chooch flipped the map upside down and then tilted his head to a right angle in an effort to crack the code.

Tilt-a-Whirl, motherfuckers!

I’m not sure what was going on in this shooting gallery, but Chooch keeps better at it because Henry taught him how to aim but he won’t teach me, god forbid, so now I don’t even bother to ask for quarters because WHY BOTHER.

A cob-webbed Santa, my favorite kind!

This thing.

If I thought I had any friends who loved me enough to drive 5 hours in my honor, I would totally have my birthday party beneath the birthday cake pavilion at Knoebel’s next year. That thing makes me feel so festive.

Ugh, Chooch and I went on the Satellite, which we had at Kennywood way back in the day and everyone called them the salt and pepper shakers but I feel like that wasn’t the real name. Anyway, if you ever ride this son of a bitch, you’ll understand why people called it the salt and pepper shakers because it’s literally like you’re a fucking grain of salt and some fucking giant is furiously trying to shake you out onto his disgusting bowl of giant slop. This ride is terrifying and painful and I rammed my shoulder so hard against the cage that I kept waking up in the middle of the night thinking I had rolled over onto a rock but NO it was just the BRUISE on my shoulder. Chooch found this endlessly humorous, because he’s my son, and we’re both dicks.

Anyway, that picture up there is a view from when we were stuck in the air while new people were being herding into the cage below.

Creepy Henry, watching us have fun without him on the Whipper. Fuck you, Henry.

 

I don’t know how this started, but Chooch and I suddenly have a tradition of screaming SELFIE!!! every time we’re whipped around the corner. I’m sure we don’t sound like obnoxious pricks AT ALL.

 

Henry could have rode this with us but I guess $1.25 in tickets isn’t worth being smashed in a rounded car with two screaming assholes.

 

I was supposed to share this with Henry, so what I did was eat all of the whipped cream and caramel first and then I left him two apple slices.

This picture is kind of gross. Did the chef just splooge all over that apple and now he’s watching it drip down into an ejaculatory peak? I mean, look at that self-satisfying smirk on his face! Stop jutting your ass out!

Also: Why have I never considered using an ax to cut my apples?

The Downdraft is basically the bastard son of that No-Named Yellow Piece of Shit that sometimes makes an appearance at the Westmoreland County Fair. I thought that I knew what I was getting myself into but then the fucking started before I was ready for it to start, and I don’t mean that they engine kicked on and then the ride slowly started up. No, I mean there was literally no warning, it just fucking shot out into the air and my head snapped back in the same sort of inhuman angle reserved for exorcism movies, so that felt great.

I dubbed this the Bowel Loosener.

Henry actually bought this hat for Chooch which was crazy because Henry never buys anything for us at amusement parks, except for food because he knows better than to not feed us.

All in all, it was a great time. The only time I got super angry was when we went into the arcade to have our way with the photobooth, but some ridiculous hipster couple kept hogging it because they were consistently unhappy with their photos and kept going back in for more. Seriously? Perhaps photo booths are to advanced for you then. Maybe stick with iPhone selfies? Or better yet: go to Urban Outfitters and hog THEIR photo booth. Hipster douchebags.