The Cruisiest Place on Earth
I have been to Disneyland just twice, despite living less than 25 miles away from the self-proclaimed “Happiest Place on Earth”. The last time was three years ago with an online trick who worked there and got us in for free. We made out in the Haunted House.
The first time was 10 years ago with my ex. We had flown to California from Cleveland so he could compete on Jeopardy (read all about it!) and thought “hey, who knows when we’ll be in California again, so let’s visit Disneyland!”
Five years later, we both ended up moving to San Diego, but that’s another blog entry.
Jimmy, the ex, cuts a pretty striking figure when he’s in a crowd. First off, he’s 5’11”, but thanks to a bodybuilder’s 260+ lb. frame, it ends up looking more like he’s 7’35”. Combine this with a love of wearing string tank tops and tight demin tucked into 10-year old yellow construction boots no matter what, and you’ve got a guy people are going to notice. I mean, visit his blog and check out that pic. He looks like a gay member of the Montana Freeman Compound.
Quite literally within mere minutes of entering the Magic Kingdom, Jimmy and I were accosted by a Disney “Tour Guide” named Eric. Eric was in his early twenties, blond haired, blue eyed, super lean and super flaming. Basically a big fat zero on the Jimmy and Johnny sexual attraction scale.
“Hiiiiiiii, guys, and welcome to Disneyland!” he squealed. “Where are you frommm?”
“Cleveland,” I answered politely.
“OHHHH, OHIO! How awesome! Is this your first time to California? Do you guys need any help finding your way around the park? Do you guys need a map? Do you guys need to know about any of our restaurants or attractions? Do you guys need some company on your visit?”
“Well, we just walked in,” I responded, “so I think we’re just going to wander around for a while and see where the park takes us. But, thank you!”
“OHHHH, YOU ARE WELCOME! If you need anything…ANYTHING…ask for Eric.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent avoiding Eric. Wherever we walked, Eric seemed to appear out of thin air, much like a faggy apparition, a gay ghost, a swishy spectre, pouncing upon us, asking us if we needed any help, any tourist advice, blah blah peep peep. At one point, Jimmy saw Eric coming in the distance down Main Street and said, “Quick, cross to the other side!” which we did.
So did Eric, nearly running up to us.
“Are you guys trying to avoid me??!?” he smiled. Gee, Sherlock, what the fuck do you think?
Eric absolutely ruined our Disneyland experience. So much so, we decided to leave the Magic Kingdom after spending a total of 2 and a half hours there. And sure enough, just as we were heading towards the main exit, Eric appeared in front of us.
“You guys are leaving??? Really?”
“Yep, we’ve pretty much seen it all. There’s not a lot to do here if you don’t have kids, really.”
“OHHHH, well, where are you guys staying? I’d love to take you both out to dinner tonight if you want.”
Points for balls, I’ll give him that. Jimmy and I just kind of looked at each other. Eric focused on Jimmy’s frame.
“Wow, you are big. You are a big guy. I mean, your arms are huge! Just look at that chest, too. Do you work out?”
Retard.
“How many days a week do you work out?” Eric queried, queerly.
“Five or six,” Jimmy answered.
“Wow,” Eric exclaimed. “You can really tell. I mean, just look at you.”
Having sufficiently buttered up Jimmy, Eric then turned to me.
“And I can see you try, too!”
Bye, Eric.
The first time was 10 years ago with my ex. We had flown to California from Cleveland so he could compete on Jeopardy (read all about it!) and thought “hey, who knows when we’ll be in California again, so let’s visit Disneyland!”
Five years later, we both ended up moving to San Diego, but that’s another blog entry.
Jimmy, the ex, cuts a pretty striking figure when he’s in a crowd. First off, he’s 5’11”, but thanks to a bodybuilder’s 260+ lb. frame, it ends up looking more like he’s 7’35”. Combine this with a love of wearing string tank tops and tight demin tucked into 10-year old yellow construction boots no matter what, and you’ve got a guy people are going to notice. I mean, visit his blog and check out that pic. He looks like a gay member of the Montana Freeman Compound.
Quite literally within mere minutes of entering the Magic Kingdom, Jimmy and I were accosted by a Disney “Tour Guide” named Eric. Eric was in his early twenties, blond haired, blue eyed, super lean and super flaming. Basically a big fat zero on the Jimmy and Johnny sexual attraction scale.
“Hiiiiiiii, guys, and welcome to Disneyland!” he squealed. “Where are you frommm?”
“Cleveland,” I answered politely.
“OHHHH, OHIO! How awesome! Is this your first time to California? Do you guys need any help finding your way around the park? Do you guys need a map? Do you guys need to know about any of our restaurants or attractions? Do you guys need some company on your visit?”
“Well, we just walked in,” I responded, “so I think we’re just going to wander around for a while and see where the park takes us. But, thank you!”
“OHHHH, YOU ARE WELCOME! If you need anything…ANYTHING…ask for Eric.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent avoiding Eric. Wherever we walked, Eric seemed to appear out of thin air, much like a faggy apparition, a gay ghost, a swishy spectre, pouncing upon us, asking us if we needed any help, any tourist advice, blah blah peep peep. At one point, Jimmy saw Eric coming in the distance down Main Street and said, “Quick, cross to the other side!” which we did.
So did Eric, nearly running up to us.
“Are you guys trying to avoid me??!?” he smiled. Gee, Sherlock, what the fuck do you think?
Eric absolutely ruined our Disneyland experience. So much so, we decided to leave the Magic Kingdom after spending a total of 2 and a half hours there. And sure enough, just as we were heading towards the main exit, Eric appeared in front of us.
“You guys are leaving??? Really?”
“Yep, we’ve pretty much seen it all. There’s not a lot to do here if you don’t have kids, really.”
“OHHHH, well, where are you guys staying? I’d love to take you both out to dinner tonight if you want.”
Points for balls, I’ll give him that. Jimmy and I just kind of looked at each other. Eric focused on Jimmy’s frame.
“Wow, you are big. You are a big guy. I mean, your arms are huge! Just look at that chest, too. Do you work out?”
Retard.
“How many days a week do you work out?” Eric queried, queerly.
“Five or six,” Jimmy answered.
“Wow,” Eric exclaimed. “You can really tell. I mean, just look at you.”
Having sufficiently buttered up Jimmy, Eric then turned to me.
“And I can see you try, too!”
Bye, Eric.
