Fun Houses

When I was a little kid, I'd go to the town fair and they would always have either a really crazy looking fun house or a terrifying one. The first time I entered inside a fun house, I got trapped in this tumbler kind of thing that spun you up and over, round and round (like a clothes dryer) until you received a concussion or fractured elbow. Loads of fun. This was back in the late 60's and early 70's where they didn't give much thought to safety issues. Then there would be the claustrophobic mirror rooms to contend with. I'd walk into mirrors, almost in tears, trying to get the fuck out. I almost had a seizure from the panic attacks endured, trapped in those rooms. Luckily, I wasn't scarred for life having been exposed to that shit. Just a few years.

On the subject of fun houses, this seems to be the kind of house that would be fun to live in.

What's that nursery rhyme about the old woman that lived in an over sized shoe, had so many children, she didn't know quite what to do-- so she let the government foot the bill, keeping the rugrats fed, schooled and clothed while her vagina steadily grew to the size of a fun house?

Yeah, you know the one. I think she lived here, in the fun house pictured below. After awhile, the woman, a human vending machine, didn't bother going through labor or pushing down hard to get the bloody little bundle of joy out of her ever-widening gaping clam. She needn't try. Often times, she'd bend over to pick up a lit cigarette that fell out of her blubbery mouth or a dropped, halfway drunken can of beer and the lil' cutie would just kind of plop out onto the roach-infested floor.

The old woman (who just looked old because she was a meth addict) wouldn't know she had given birth until she stumbled back and tripped over the infant, causing it to cry out, cursing it's very existence into this world and the fact that it's mother was a drug addled whore with festering sores covering 80% of her body. Luckily, the kid rolled out of the way, onto a bed of dead rats, before it could be crushed by the stinking behemoth.

Later, the darling little baby couldn't tell whether it was sucking on a nipple, during breast feeding or a pus-filled skin ulcer that reminded one of a strange, nightmarish teat.

Otherwise, it was a nice house. Friendly neighborhood, too.

The next pic isn't so much of a house as it is a photo of a building. But it would make a nice house. Sure, it's been through a couple earthquakes, but hey, no house is perfect.

This next one is a bounce house. They call these things fun houses, too. People buy and rent these "civil lawsuits in the making" for their kids' parties. It's supposed to keep the kids occupied. They jump all around in these big inflatable enclosed rooms, cracking their heads and bones together, causing each other to scream and cry and have all kinds of related fun.

All I see, when I look at one of these things, is the end result. Someone always manages to get hurt and bloodied. Yes, indeed, nothing says "party time", more adequately, than one of these plastic, injury-causing monstrosities. Good luck with one of these fuckers at your next kiddiefest!

At least this next "fun house" has a sense of humor. Sure, the neighborhood kids, your offspring and their rabble of pals will sustain multiple broken bones, chipped teeth and contusions, but at least they'll be able to come tumbling out of a rabbit's asshole, eventually. Gotta look on the bright side!

This next shot is for an establishment that is a kind of "fun house" for grown ups. This fun house is a bar and grill in my general area. I've wanted to take a picture of this sign forever, but didn't do it until a month ago. "Hummers" is a really nice name for a bar, isn't it? Big red lips, right there on the sign for the place. Great piece of advertising, that is. A place you can go, get sloshed and meet that special someone.

Someone that's just perfect for giving you a hummer, hence the name.

After getting your hummer for the night, why not make a stop at this next fun house. At this fun house, you can eat all the doughnuts you desire, while the doughnuts busily soak up all the alcohol in your belly. Afterwards, if you haven't thrown up all the doughnuts in the toilet bowl in the back room, you may decide to make a return visit to Hummers and do it all over again.

And wouldn't that be fun?