They said you had to be a big man to ride The Wild Walrus down at the pier, where the carnies were uglier than a pack of dogs crammed into a burlap sack and the sodas were spiked with strychnine because the governor said it improved the children's morale to be mildly poisoned. The Wild Walrus was a rollercoaster only in the most charitable sense of the term. It had cars and a track and it went fast. The cars were repurposed trolley cars from the old line that used to run down to The Giggle Factory before it was closed down for dabbling with the Black Arts. You'd probably suppose that the track was also from the trolley line previously mentioned, but it was, in fact, repurposed from the sewer line which used to serve Mortimer's Rancho Deluxe, before that was closed down for failure to pay its sewer bills.
But The Wild Walrus certainly did go fast. The carnies achieved this by the judicious use of lard and lax safety protocols. Some people whispered that the Black Arts were also involved, but the carnies swore up and down that they were good, God-fearing folk who would never, and that was good enough for the governor.
One time, Merton Frink rode The Wild Walrus and when he came out, his hair was pure white. When he went in, his hair was pure white. So you might think that nothing had happened, but what had actually happened was that Merton Frink's hair had turned pure white in the moments leading up to his decision to brave The Wild Walrus. Such was the power of fear. Merton Frink swore off drink and moved to Lhasa to become a monk, but he flunked out of the academy and returned home, tail between his legs, to his wife and five children, who hadn't noticed he was missing.
One time, Hilda Greene-Wyznowski walked past The Wild Walrus and spontaneously gave birth. She hadn't been pregnant before she went down to the pier, and while folks whispered about the degeneracy of the carnies, they swore up and down that they were good, God-fearing folk who would never, and anyway, Hilda was 87 years old and the baby to whom she gave birth was a cocker spaniel, so it was rather miraculous on a number of levels. Such was the power of fear. Or possibly walruses. Hilda named the baby Walter, which seemed apt, and three days later Walter graduated junior college and became a chiropractor.
You may doubt these tales of The Wild Walrus' power, but they were among the many reasons why they said you had to be a big man to ride The Wild Walrus. I'm not entirely sure why the size of the man was relevant, or why the carnies insisted at the gate. It seemed rather bigoted to me, as a small child who wasn't particularly big.
When I got older, I sued the pier for discriminatory practices and got them to amend their requirements to, "You've got to be a big doofus to ride The Wild Walrus," which I felt was more fitting, since The Wild Walrus maimed and killed hundreds of people every year, most of them having sneaked onto the ride to circumvent the discriminatory requirements previously mentioned. Maybe they should have worn safety belts. I don't know. I don't make the rules.
Well, actually, I do. Hi, I'm Greg Reginald, owner and operator of The Happy Funtime Pier Extravaganza: Now With Fewer Carnie Bites! Come on down. You'd have to be a big doofus to miss out on the newly revamped Wild Walrus, now with safety belts! Also, vote for me for governor!
