Park County Fair
Welcome to ancient Egypt. It’s a sunny Wednesday circa 1250 BC. You’re an Israelite enslaved to Ramesses II, and man, he’s been a real dick lately. What with plagues, the battle of Kadesh, and like a hundred some kids, this pharaoh is about to make you take a terrifying ride on a boat thingy-sure to make your funnel cake reappear.
Pharaoh’s Fury starts with an ascension up some aluminum steps, along a sticky handrail, and finally on a ramp doodad with worn treads. The captain tells you where to sit. You’ll choose a seat as close to the outside of the ride as possible, because you’re cool and edgy. The guy comes by, slams the janky guard down on your lap, and then the nightmare begins.
The air is hot and smelly. All you can hear is ‘Bangarang’ on repeat, and the screams coming from the other rides. The vessel begins to sway forward and back. You’re smiling. You think this is fun. You think Ramesses II chose for you to randomly stop carving limestone blocks and enjoy yourself. Silly slave.
The raft of death picks up speed, and before you know it, you’re staring straight at the inner bowels of this machine some 40 feet below you. Back and forth at the speed of light for what seems like an eternity. Your smile is gone. Nausea creeps in. It is at this exact moment you begin to wish creeping death itself would slay you. Here it comes. Here comes the corn dog you pounded with four gallons of limeade. Dummy. You thought you’d be the exception. You thought you’d stroll right through this hell. Maybe even take a selfie or two. Now you cling to the lap restraint, all clammy and pukey.
Then it happens. Like the hope and freedom of a parting Red Sea, the torture swing begins to slow. Will you make it? You’re swallowing repeatedly to keep the vomit from spraying the way a fire hydrant does when its hit by a car, but can you keep it down? Slower. Slower still. Then……stop. It’s over.
You wipe away the tears. You’ve been delivered from the clutches of Pharaoh’s Fury. You exit the ride, kiss the ground pope-style, throw the rest of your ride tickets away-shred your wristband.
You saunter home in a daze, cry in the shower, and pass out-anxious to make more carnival mistakes tomorrow.