Taking a page out of Muppets for Justice's book, I am going to provide you with a personal account of a recent event because I'm sapped of creativity at the moment.
What was supposed to be a delightful addition to a Saturday night turned out to be, well, pretty lousy. This isn't a particular interesting account, just another event in my relatively mediocre life.
Saturday, October 12
We’ve safely arrived at the Abington Zombie Apocalypse, an interactive zombie killing experience in an unintentionally post-apocalyptic-looking warehouse. We’ve procured our VIP tickets online, bought at the price of a regular ticket due to a limited time promotion. We arrive at the warehouse and take in the sight of 2,000 hormonal teenagers, 1,000 heavy-diapered toddlers, and about 14 adults. We find that the VIP line is 10 times longer than the regular line. After some deliberation, we decide to secure our position in the VIP line despite the vast difference in length.
I'd sacrifice my PEZ collection, if I could feel an ounce of the amusement
these people are radiating (Image Source).
The line has branched off into three different segments. The ability to form a straight line was an attribute that humans abandoned approximately 7,000 years ago to make room for the socially acceptable trait of spitting on sidewalks. A member of the staff attempts to correct the issue. Against all odds, the staff member manages to gain the attention of approximately 1,000 reluctant, well-oiled teenagers and form a relatively strait line. However, we’re now further from the entrance.
We’ve been waiting an hour with not much progress, but we’ve been here an hour; no sense in abandoning our progress now.
The first siting of a woman, under the influence of LSD, PCP, ABC, or 123 occurs. She is arguing with a male companion who is ineffectively attempting to cool her jets. It is apparent that this discussion is riddled with intelligent discussions of “fake-ass bitches,” her distaste of said male companion, and her want—no—need of a veggie burger. The discussion ends in the male companion receiving a hearty slap to the face, obviously well-deserved due to his lack of a veggie burger.
We’ve been waiting 2 hours with not much progress, but we’ve been here 2 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.
Second siting of the woman occurs. It is obvious she has not fulfilled her desire for a veggie burger, but the male companion assures her, her husband will arrive any minute with the veggie burger. She hugs him in response. The crowd goes wild. She deserts the hug out of embarrassment and slaps the male companion for the second (?) time.
We’ve been waiting 3 hours with only moderate progress, but we’ve been here 3 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.
We notice two unfamiliar faces ahead of us in line. These two foreign males are immediately deemed line-cutters. While they are sitting on some cinderblocks in line, we take turns farting on them. They remain steadfast. It isn’t until later that their parents come to pick them up. Justice prevails.
We see some of the zombie extras leaving the facility. We begin floundering in an expanding puddle of doubt. Shortly following this discouraging sight, one of the staff members alerts the crowd that the 15 minute attraction will henceforth be only 8 minutes.
The third, and as we came to find out, last sighting of the veggie burger woman. A cloud of mist spirals in
the distance about 20
feet away. We come to find out that the mist was the result of the veggie
burger woman’s husband being maced in the face. Apparently, the veggie burger
woman’s violent actions toward the staff got her husband maced to death.
Cops carry away the Bonnie and Clyde-like duo in handcuffs.
We’ve been waiting 4 hours with noticeable progress, but we’ve been here 4 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.
Entertain ourselves with shadow puppets on the ceiling of the tent. The inevitable middle finger of a vagrant teenager puts a stop to the show.
We’ve been waiting 5 hours with a lot of progress. We’ve been here 5 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.
Enter the building to find that there’s another line, but at least there’s a TV showing the Red Sox game.
Finally enter the zombie-killing field. It was a pretty fun 8 minutes, despite having waited over 5 hours and notwithstanding the lack of zombies considering the departure of half their extras earlier on in the night.
Go home feeling relatively unsatisfied and having wasted a Saturday night.