Sundrop asks this puzzler:
Why do we pay money to ride a roller coaster that makes us dizzy the rest of the day?
No, roller coasters for this kid, nohow, noway!
Once, m-a-n-y years ago (long enough ago that I was still allowing myself to be convinced to do something by a person I was dating!), I attended a carnival. Oh, but he wanted to go on that ride - I don't even know what it's called - that looks like a big drum that spins, rises into the air, and then tilts sideways. The centrifugal force keeps the riders pressed against the inner side of the drum!
Well, I timed the ride (three minutes, fifteen seconds - I could do that). I watched the ride for evidence of leaking oil, loose bolts, electric sparking (all good - the safety department should have hired me!). I observed the people getting off the ride (no one looked ill or as if a seizure was imminent).
OK, I'll go.
We climbed aboard, snapped ourselves into the compartment, and the ride started to spin. During the 7 years I was trapped in that diabolical chamber of centrifugal torture, the only thing I heard (besides the thundering of my heart as it threatened to depart from my chest) was my date, CHATTING UP THE GIRL ON HIS OTHER SIDE.
Never again. Never again to cylindrical drum carnival rides or other forms of fast-moving, terror-inducing "entertainment." Never again to agreeing to something my body still shakes at the thought of doing! And, in retrospect, I should have said "never again" to the jerk on the ride with me!
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