Crappy Cartoon Theatre By Jirr Burns: Don't Feed A Goat Ice Cream Then Walk It Through A Haunted House

If you don't know about the Russian Sex Geckos that went into space, then you probably have a life outside of the internet, unlike myself.

For Bartolome de las Casas Day (because Christopher Columbus was an asshole), Skippy and I went to a haunted house/ mini carnival going on down the road. Tickets included access to their three haunted houses and a go around the brightest-ass ferris wheel ever constructed. Las Vegas glows like a candle compared to that bitch.

We decided to hit that first then walk through the houses. Getting on this thing gave us flashbacks to the Brazilian Spongebob Circus.

I am for serious. I'm not sure what has more layers, a puff pastry or that prison with all of its barbed wire fences. You could trap a dinosaur in that mess.

I'm kind of glad the ferris wheel was brighter than the sun because it concealed all the flashing coming from our iphones as we snapped pictures of the hundred something inmates out in the yard. There was one guy lifting some giant weights.

Moving on. I'm going to teach you a very important lesson. If it is lower than 75' out, do not go outside immediately after eating ice cream.

I'm sure this happens to a lot of people, but when I eat ice cream, I shiver. My innards get all cold. Another thing I was not expecting it to do that particular night was give me a whopping case of the farts. Not high octane or anything, just heavily pressurized. On top of that, I was absolutely exhausted despite the frequent popping of the midol because, well, nature sucks.

So all of my systems are doing back flips and my gas baby's growing at rapid speed. There weren't too many people around since it was a Monday, so I let the trumpets get their solo whenever I could.

Then we got in line for the last house.

You know how when you hold anything in, your body kind of crumples in itself? That was me in line. I am shivering from the ice cream, the dirty bubble is in my stomach just laughing at me and my knees are buckled.

To the scare-actors roaming the grounds, I had become their prey. They were the wolves and they found the sick goat.

I felt eyes watching me. These people were waiting for the moment to creep up and scream at the back of my head. What they did not realize is that my gland that produces all the fucks had to be shut down for the next hour or two.

I didn't say the Ford part.

He offered to cut Skippy open like a tauntaun so I could at least get lukewarm inside. I was ready to crawl into a hole and die so I was like "Yes. I'm game. Just do it."

He didn't. No balls.

After standing in line for an hour (because ???) I was feeling slightly better. It was odd how none of the other houses had lines except this one. Whatevs. I had time to release some pressure and I could actually stand upright when we got to the door.

Now, everyone has their own way of reacting to something that scares them. The common response is running. Some freeze up. Now me, I freeze. I don't call my reaction "deer in the headlights". No. I get goat legs.

I am a fainting goat when it comes to getting scared.