when i catch a fish, i put it in the fridge

Lagoon. It's what fun is...? Ok sure.

Ride 1: Lets start big. With Colossus. Anxiously we waited, ready to loop and whirl and rearrange our internal organs. But then a delay- as Lagoon worker walked past and yelled to his fellow employee "that sure was a close one!". We then watched another lagooner, this one rubber-gloved, pour sawdust, sweep, spray lysol, and walk away with a white bucket.

"Plush must remain with a non-rider", reads a sign. "Plush?" we asked. But not long after it hit us- plush is prized. Plush is the reward for "spilling the milk", "wacking the mole", or winning the "plop plop" (ha). Small children could be seen hauling plush twice the size of their own body. A plush Pimp sat on a bunch, guarding a giant banana, shark, and baseball bat while his offspring rode Dracula's Castle. Not going to lie, had he not been sitting there, I might have swiped the shark. It would have been nice to finally be respected by the other lagoon patrons.

We ate $9 chicken fingers for lunch. They were not delicious. Also, the southwestern fry sauce, which was 70 cents extra, had no semblance of the south or the west.

It turns out that Spencer is not a fan of heights. A good friend would forgo any ride that might induce terror. But a good friend I am not, so we insisted he join us. Just as soon as the lap guard came down, his eyes closed. As we shot upward at an alarming speed, he made a sound something like "aaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhheeeeeeerrrrrrrrnnnnnnnoooooooo", followed by "This is the worst thing that has ever happened. I hate you both."

3 is an odd number. As in strange. Because most rides are built for 2. So when we faced this dilemma with the Jet Star 2 (we don't know what happened to Jet Star 1), the ride attendant insisted that 3 in one seat was better than 1. 3 full-grown people squoze into a compartment snug for 2 children. No matter, we thought. The pain won't last long, no ride exceeds 2 minutes. Should have known better. It was either our extra person or the girl behind us who had a donut for breakfast that made the ride stop. For a while. Until we got a push start. And finished the ride 20 minutes later. You know how you feel after horse back riding? Worse.

We spent the remainder of the evening regretting the chicken fingers and realizing that kids are made of rubber and iron stomaches, and that getting old bites.

As we exited, we saw another unfortunate soul pour sawdust over a post Centennial Screamer episode. Bookends.

Editor's note: I learned how to spell "pour".