Tales from the Vacation Part 2 of Too Many
by the Juice
I’m not gonna recap here folks. If you didn’t read Part 1, then it’s your fault that you can’t follow along with the bouncin’ ball.
So, after survivin’ the flight with my fragile sanity still intact, we picked up our rented mini van at the airport. I gotta tell ya, I thought I was a genius rentin’ a van. For once in my pathetic existence, I would be the master of my destiny. I refused to be at the whim of the capable Walt Disney World transportation system. I would be King of my vacation! I would take advantage of the free parking at the Resorts for on campus guests! I would run over many lizards as possible! THIS WOULD BE THE GRANDEST VACATION EVER! Or so I thought.
We arrived at Walt Disney World late in the afternoon. Now, as you all are aware, I’m a big fan of hotels. I loves ‘em. Makes me feel high and mighty. Unfortunately for me, though, we stayed at the Fort Wilderness Campground and Resort. Now, don’t let the name of the “resort” fool ya…Fort Wilderness is a campground. And believe you me, I ain’t no camper. Me in a tent? Ha! I got 3 words for ya: Fuck you. I know, I know. It seems a bit of an oxy-moron. Me, being who I am, and not likin’ campin’. My mama always says I got champagne dreams on a Schlitz budget. Know what I say? FUCK HER. Never to face, though. I like my skin on my skeleton, where it belongs.
Don't be fooled...it ain't really a resort
The missus, who booked us at this non-hotel "resort", was somewhat smart at least. She booked us in a cabin, not at the campground. But don’t get all happy for me. The thing is, this ain’t no real cabin made of wood and all. This was a modified cabin. Which reminded me an awful lot like the ol’ homestead. And that to me ain’t no vacation. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t bad. It’s still Disney World. It ain’t like Six Flags over Ukraine or anything. I just prefer the non-commitment of a hotel room when I’m on vacation.
The view from the "cabin"
The real bugger of the resort wasn’t so much the campground aspect, but the fuckin’ size of the place. It’s a mile and some change big! You don’t realize how big that is, until you’re in the middle of walkin’ it. The dang resort is so big that they rent golf carts to get to and fro. Which, I thought was pretty cool. I don’t mind drivin’ a golf cart recklessly for pure entertainment. Shit, it’s one of my dreams. Turns out, though, said golf carts rent for $45 a day! $45 DOLLARS A DAY!!! Since I had already rented the van there was no way in god’s crazy earth that I was gonna rent a golf cart on top of that. Hope those little fuckers brought their walkin’ shoes
A fleet of $45/day accidents waitin' to happen
I know what you’re thinkin’ “Why do you need a golf cart anyway, Juice, if you got the van?” Well, I’ll tell ya why. It’s cause there ain’t no place to park your car, except outside your cabin. No parkin’! No parkin’ on the dance floor! Nada. No thing. I understand your confusion. ‘Cause your confusion was my confusion. Especially when I rolled up to the Settlement Trading Post (the souvenir shop in the middle resort) to get some milk for the boy, Lucifer. God forbid junior does get his milky! But, guess what? No car parkin’! None! Zero! Fucking Zilch! Oh, there was plenty of room to park your dang golf cart, but nowhere for my rented car. Nice! Picture this if you might, I got Lucifer screamin’ his head off in the back of the van, the missus bitchin’ off my ear and the rest of the kids raisin’ all kinds of bloody hell. And, and, and no place to park. So, what did I do? I slammed on the brakes, dropped the missus off at the shop and searched for a spot to park. Know where I found one? Right back at the cabin. Big deal, right? So what? That’s what I thought. What I didn’t realize though is that my cabin was a quarter of a mile from the fuck souvenir shop. Big deal again, right? I can walk that right? Big man that I am. Wrong, sir! Wrong! Not only did I have to push Lucifer in his forsaken stroller but drag the other boy, Jethro, along to. Oh, the fun I had. The fun! I did eventually catch up with the pissed off missus. We had a great blow out in the middle of Peacock Pass.
The Juice relaxin' in the trailer...er...cabin
And the best fuck part? No one had eaten since breakfast 7:00 in the morning. By the time of the blow out with the missus it was well after 5 pm! Don’t worry, though. There’s a happy ending, though. We eventually ate. No one died of starvation!
Part 3: I have allergies?
I’m not gonna recap here folks. If you didn’t read Part 1, then it’s your fault that you can’t follow along with the bouncin’ ball.
So, after survivin’ the flight with my fragile sanity still intact, we picked up our rented mini van at the airport. I gotta tell ya, I thought I was a genius rentin’ a van. For once in my pathetic existence, I would be the master of my destiny. I refused to be at the whim of the capable Walt Disney World transportation system. I would be King of my vacation! I would take advantage of the free parking at the Resorts for on campus guests! I would run over many lizards as possible! THIS WOULD BE THE GRANDEST VACATION EVER! Or so I thought.
We arrived at Walt Disney World late in the afternoon. Now, as you all are aware, I’m a big fan of hotels. I loves ‘em. Makes me feel high and mighty. Unfortunately for me, though, we stayed at the Fort Wilderness Campground and Resort. Now, don’t let the name of the “resort” fool ya…Fort Wilderness is a campground. And believe you me, I ain’t no camper. Me in a tent? Ha! I got 3 words for ya: Fuck you. I know, I know. It seems a bit of an oxy-moron. Me, being who I am, and not likin’ campin’. My mama always says I got champagne dreams on a Schlitz budget. Know what I say? FUCK HER. Never to face, though. I like my skin on my skeleton, where it belongs.
The missus, who booked us at this non-hotel "resort", was somewhat smart at least. She booked us in a cabin, not at the campground. But don’t get all happy for me. The thing is, this ain’t no real cabin made of wood and all. This was a modified cabin. Which reminded me an awful lot like the ol’ homestead. And that to me ain’t no vacation. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t bad. It’s still Disney World. It ain’t like Six Flags over Ukraine or anything. I just prefer the non-commitment of a hotel room when I’m on vacation.
The real bugger of the resort wasn’t so much the campground aspect, but the fuckin’ size of the place. It’s a mile and some change big! You don’t realize how big that is, until you’re in the middle of walkin’ it. The dang resort is so big that they rent golf carts to get to and fro. Which, I thought was pretty cool. I don’t mind drivin’ a golf cart recklessly for pure entertainment. Shit, it’s one of my dreams. Turns out, though, said golf carts rent for $45 a day! $45 DOLLARS A DAY!!! Since I had already rented the van there was no way in god’s crazy earth that I was gonna rent a golf cart on top of that. Hope those little fuckers brought their walkin’ shoes
I know what you’re thinkin’ “Why do you need a golf cart anyway, Juice, if you got the van?” Well, I’ll tell ya why. It’s cause there ain’t no place to park your car, except outside your cabin. No parkin’! No parkin’ on the dance floor! Nada. No thing. I understand your confusion. ‘Cause your confusion was my confusion. Especially when I rolled up to the Settlement Trading Post (the souvenir shop in the middle resort) to get some milk for the boy, Lucifer. God forbid junior does get his milky! But, guess what? No car parkin’! None! Zero! Fucking Zilch! Oh, there was plenty of room to park your dang golf cart, but nowhere for my rented car. Nice! Picture this if you might, I got Lucifer screamin’ his head off in the back of the van, the missus bitchin’ off my ear and the rest of the kids raisin’ all kinds of bloody hell. And, and, and no place to park. So, what did I do? I slammed on the brakes, dropped the missus off at the shop and searched for a spot to park. Know where I found one? Right back at the cabin. Big deal, right? So what? That’s what I thought. What I didn’t realize though is that my cabin was a quarter of a mile from the fuck souvenir shop. Big deal again, right? I can walk that right? Big man that I am. Wrong, sir! Wrong! Not only did I have to push Lucifer in his forsaken stroller but drag the other boy, Jethro, along to. Oh, the fun I had. The fun! I did eventually catch up with the pissed off missus. We had a great blow out in the middle of Peacock Pass.
And the best fuck part? No one had eaten since breakfast 7:00 in the morning. By the time of the blow out with the missus it was well after 5 pm! Don’t worry, though. There’s a happy ending, though. We eventually ate. No one died of starvation!
Part 3: I have allergies?
posted by the Juice at 12:37 AM
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