I'm incredibly certain the following never happened. But if it did, it would've happened as thus:

I was home for a weekend and wanted to bum around for another day.

Dave says, "why don't you stay the week and go with us to Hershey next weekend?"

I agreed, and not being one to back down from a drunken boast, I agreed again the next morning and did not leave New York City.

I alternately languished and ate food at Columbia with Dave, Trevor, and/or some others in various combinations. By Tuesday night Eugene came over to watch Gidget the Midget in a porn. I got used to sleeping on the floor.

On Wednesday I snuck back to Port to see Viv, but her dad didn't appreciate my aptitude for deceit, so I went back to Harlem late that night.

Thursday we were off to Eisenhower's interstates in Sean's Oldsmobile.

Dave and I bought beer. I found out I hate hops and got 'bitter beer face'.

We got to Hershey that night and found the scariest motel. The sign outside said 'House of Drama', which made more sense when we thought it said 'House of Death'.

Dimitri's was a terrible place to eat, with terrible food making it a terrible place to eat, for what else would you eat? Friendly's served us ice cream, but Eugene disappointed by not getting caught in a tornado like the advert implied he would.

Beer is not sold in stores in Pennsylvania. It can only be found in bars. We got two sixes for too much money.

The House of Drama had an awful lady. She cackled at Sean and me while Dave and Eugene hid in the car. She implied we were gay by asking, "one bed, or two?" At least the mints were the kind I like, but I'm sure they cast some awful spell on us.

The preface to the motel guidebook was threateningly about god and the amusement park was closed. It was a man in a gas station who laughingly explained the beer-not-sold-in-stores concept and who gave us the Hershey park lowdown.

We slept two to a bed, but we're not gay. (Though I will spank Eugene before our journey is through). Before all that Dave and I stepped out for a smoke and inspected a party in the House of Drama and the dolls without faces. In the motel office there were dolls facing the walls and covering their eyes. The mystifying part was that they had no eyes, nor other facial features. The motel in general was done up like your grandmother on speed, and seemed too happy and old fashioned not to kill you.

Friday we set off right early to Hershey World where we acquired information. A spongy old woman explained where to get the best breakfast, and we were off.

The best breakfast is only served until 11, and it being 11:05 got us quite screwed. I offered to kiss the chef, and a man at the next table advised that I wasn't in fact from this country. I agreed that I was from Turkey, and he told us where to get the second best breakfast.

The woman at Bob Evan's was friendly, and Eugene yelled at her.

All of Hershey, PA smells like manure.

The factory tour wasn't in the factory at all, but instead in a gay and half-assed mockup of what someone thought a chocolate factory might look like. We got one out of 50 trillion womanly chocolate bars that Hershey makes every year. Thanks guys, and thanks to god for seeing to it the "tour" was free. We spent money in the gift shop like suckers and took massive shits in the bathroom like excretors.

A Man Named Dallas told us all about Intercourse and accused Eugene of being a chick. Eugene was later quite proud of androgyny and accused a man and a woman of wanting him so badly. Before that Dave was ignored by two ignoble whores parading around with their tits hanging out.

Yet still before all that we entered intercourse together in mid afternoon. An Amish man was driving a truck and we went to a wine tasting. One day you'll be able to see Dave and Eugene having intercourse below the sign that bore that verbiage.

Back at the park... dooo dooo deee dooo... We almost parked for free but fucked it up. Five bucks and one dump later we were parked outside the main gate killing a wine and a six pack.


Nicely buzzed, the park was still substandard. We went on the monorail and drank more beers to the chagrin of the conductor, were he to know. The carousel proved disastrous; the ride was over for us after only a few revolutions. We still did better than the Russians, I believe.

Dejected and in high spirits we fiddled with the arcade for a while. Dave drove his monster truck with masterful aplomb, but the level with the central lake fucked him at every turn.

The journey to Boston was uneventful. Which is to say Sean only got one speeding ticket to the name of Slan and to the tune of 17 miles over the limit. Jersey cops seem to be cocks from the impression we got, so we hit Connecticut at 90 with Eugene at the wheel.

Boston is so complicated, so this story will bear no discourse regarding the machinations of automobiles with the exception of the Chicken and Pole incidents.

Dave ate a tasty sandwich and we found ourselves sleeping on the floor with the Radiologist and the Other Guy close at hand. They don't like people.

I crossed the street and an alarm rang, but before that we ate in the house of good Pain. We found out all about Euro Trash and commented on old people passing by.

A trail of fruity Fruit Squares followed us about in fake Soho. A war erupted at the First Church of Christ, Scientist. Eugene became crippled from the waist down, but undoubtedly was healed by the all mighty's reflecting pool.

Dave had his ID snatched and the police were called just because he wanted some Crème de Menthe and Cacao.

Indeed we took a dump at MIT. At MIT the retard bathroom stalls are astoundingly easy to leave compared with the normal people's sections; Eugene climbed over and Sean broke down his door. Relieved, we headed out for the streets with Giant Chicken.

GC made friends with a Wesley Willis impersonator. GC scared a woman with his astute roll. GC has his smokes conned from him by the KFC guy. GC even impatiently waited for a payphone and kicked the stand when he got frustrated. Is there anything he can't do?

Eventually we ate at Crappy's, saw the Symphony, fell in love with tapestries, and found Ben and/or Jerry's. Ben and/or Jerry don't like customers, and so we were turned away only to find refuge and illness at some other shoppe.

Dejected again we walked back to Diana's house. Diana was cleverly not mentioned until now, nearly the end of our tale.

Another night on the floor and I shot to the airport to take my absurd plane.

Dave, Eugene and Slan made it home without incident in "mild traffic", which Eugene claimed "kept us at a reasonable speed".

October 1999