Pushing through halls lined with trinket after useless
trinket all pettling their country theme. Into the womb of
the building: a theatre with columns of wooden bench
seating. herding families along with stone cold faces
who truly do welcome the Happiest Place on Earth.
Odors of cheap, greasy delicacies mixing with
BO and heat from grinding gears underfoot leaves
occupants gagging on their corn dogs and slimy popcorn.
One ping of that god awful banjo brings the beasts
out of slumber as they murder the ears of innocent
children and mothers, fathers defenseless to protect
their families from the wrath of automatons.
They torture their victims for just under fifteen minutes
and thirty nine seconds, until none can take the cruelty.
Pushing through doors with exit signs the torture souls burstinto a gift shop, lined with trinkets that push their theme.