I don't feel so great today, despite all the flu shots, alcohol, and preservatives I've dumped into my body as of late, so this Freestyle Friday's theme is "copping out". Meaning you get a re-post from my long-since deleted blog, back when blogging was cool and nobody cared what I said. I guess it's good to know that some things never change.

"The Happiest Place on Earth"
Originally published September 21, 2006

Wow. Apparently even a short anecdote which eludes to me pooing is unwelcome for the bulk of my readers. (ed. note - the post I did previous to this one was about how I'm always on the toilet when my workplace decides to do a random fire drill) A somewhat surprising reaction, especially from those of you with children and/or lewd husbands. Going forward I suppose we should all just assume that I don't actually make brownie bites, instead excreting rainbows and baby pandas in a glorious arc that spreads love and happiness throughout the land.

Unfortunately, this new policy will eliminate (no pun intended) at least 50 good stories I was someday hoping to tell. Lucky for you I'm a complete jackass wherever I go, so the extent of my shame is not confined to sordid bathroom tales.

There's one in particular that came to mind for no real reason the other night, which can only mean it's destined for sharing. Let me take you back to December of 2000. America was relinquishing a year-long high from making the Y2K bug it's bitch, and you could still in good conscience take an arsenal of weapons (i.e. hair gel, nail clippers) onto any commercial flight. I was down in Florida, enjoying their relatively mild winter with some friends and hopping from theme park to theme park.

While at Disney MGM Studios I had the good fortune of being pulled from the audience to take part in the Indiana Jones live stunt show, along with 5 or 6 other people. After donning the required "Egyptian henchman" garb, they threw everyone into the middle of the show, introducing and then embarrassing us one by one in an assortment of ways.

As soon as the announcer's mic went off, she came over and split everyone into pairs, instructing us to stay within a marked circular area and to "look scared." I got paired with a younger guy named Sam, whose shorter stature was accentuated by the way he swam in his burlap robes.

The show started in a frenzy. Fireballs erupted, fake gunshots went off, dudes were throwing swords and jumping from motorcycles. Despite the distractions, Sam and I hammed it up the best we could, running around like idiots shrieking obscenities and Ha-la-ha-la's. Our finest and decidedly last moment as an acting duo was during the climax of the show.

A large explosion rocked the back of the set, launching styrofoam rocks in the direction of our circle of safety. In a bold move, I clutched Sam from the side in an act of mock terror. On top of the whole "hugging a strange man" thing, I could feel that something was out of place. He quickly turned to face me, his eyes sending a message that couldn't have been clearer -- "Is that YOUR hand squeezing MY breast?" Apparently Sam wasn't short for Samuel, and I was no longer acting the look of terror on my face.

The force at which I sprang back from her was mimicked on my left by a final series of fireballs that leapt towards the sky. With that the show was over, and I was extremely thankful for the timely extrication. I hurried towards the side of the stage to turn in my costume, but somehow wasn't quick enough. She was right there when I turned around, and the best I could come up with was, "Uh... good job out there." "You too," she said with a smile, then reached up and gave me a double purple nurple. I no longer felt so bad, though I might have had I known that would be the most action I got the entire trip.