Poll for non-entrants here
A. Derplingtons
The Line.
Purpose, redemption. Garbage Mountain was not a ride, it was mecca. Salvation for your dump of a life.
A billion Volcoino couldnât help now, even if you still had your mortgage. Delay after delay, close after close, you stayed in The Line. Garbage was your bed, your home. Your skin. Your soul.
You wonder if they grew up ok, if he had found someone else. If you never won tickets. If they had stayed. You grimace. It was for the best.
...is someone cutting The Line?
'Hey-'
You're instantly crushed by the bindlestocking.
'Oh sweet, jawbruiser. 50k meat!'
B. potatolimerance
It was a bright and sunny, albeit, smelly day in Dinseyland. I was visiting my favorite pirates during their lunch hours as I frequently do. My friend was running late so I went for a ride on Barf Mountain. Unexpectedly, I'm mistaken for a garbage tourist by some adventurer hauling an accordion? Next I'm getting my ass kicked and quickly thrown down a maintenance shoot. I survive and make my way out. I believe the kiss of a kind tourist might free me from my visage as a lumpy pile of garbage, but who would kiss such a stinky mess?
C. SirStabsaLot
I've always loved Retchey Rat. Watching those old black & white cartoons of him and Pete Puke make me thing of happier days...not necessarily the days when the cartoons were made, but days when i was just too short to ride barf mountain, and dad would wait in line for hours to get me a food cone. Dad might be gone, but I'm finally tall enough to ride the rides we couldn't ride together! Who needs to grow up in Dinseyland? The lines might seem long, i can't even see the front, but don't worry dad i'll get there eventually!
D. Grimmy
the line for this ride MUST be worth it, i said to myself.
despite he unbearable heat.
after twelve hours, I have become sticky and wet, but I REFUSE to leave my spot. Even as the hot winds blow garbage that has been dropped by uncaring guests and find themselves stuck to my body, i remain adamant about keeping my place in line. The filth of all this dirt flying around and sticking to the junk being pasted to be by passerbys who think im here to advertise thier scams, I REFUSE to lose my spot in line.
Worth It!
E. Zanthia
The legend of the Disneyland Waif, whispered by the employees after dark.
They say she was once a dancer, a bright-eyed hopeful fresh off the bus from some forgotten corner of the Kingdom.
Her dreams were as big as Sleeping Beauty's castle.
She landed a job, one of the twirling folk on the Toxic Teacups.
But the magic faded. Injuries mounted.
Slowly, she began to unravel.
She scavenged discarded churros, half-eaten corn dogs, garbage becoming her sustenance.
Layers of discarded park maps, soggy popcorn boxes, and deflated balloons clung to her, mirroring the refuse that had collected in her soul.
F. Rishi Sunak
You're talking to me! Wow! Someone actually...
I've lived my whole life here. My parents "forgot" me after I had fallen in the toxic waste. Disney looked out for me occasionally before he went cryonic. After that, I survived by scamming tourists, eating foreign snacks, and looting waste bins. They never let me hand out snacks, because I always ate them myself. For a while I was the mascot and pretended to have fun. No-one believed it of course. So now I just get beaten up in the queue. Why? Well, It's a living.
Hey, the ride is there. Enjoy!
G. Son of Slim Shady
They came for me in the dead of the night.
Those urges. 'Go someplace,' they said. ''Have fun,' they said.
So I fought off another night of sleep, packing my bags with my few possessions.
That morning, I boarded the first available flight to Dinseyland. I invested in every gimmick I could. Yet, the other consumers laughed at my penniless self. Eventually, I sat crying in an alley, convinced I was trash.
And soon, I WAS trash.
I rose up with my newfound strength, roared at the "Adventurers" until they ran for the planes, screaming in terror.
They're still running.
H. amoebalady
Millicent Majorica-Kent knew what she wanted. And Millicent Majorica-Kent *always* got what she wanted. It was with unwavering determination that she wrested control of Felgsparizzo, Inc, seated atop the desiccated careers of those who objected. So when she overheard an underling *dare* to suggest she was *incapable* of relaxing she could not let that slide. She immediately traveled to a—no—*THE* quintessential vacation spot—Dinseyland! Sights set on reaching the mountain, she settled in to wait—eyes focused only on the goal as time ticked on, the sun beat down, and swirling trash began to catch in her clothes.
I. Alesthos
"In piles of junk, I make my bed,
With plastic bags to rest my head.
I ride the Stench Express with glee,
Laughing as flocks of seagulls flee.
Life is grand in Dinseyland,
Between the rats and flies I stand.
Even though... wait, something's amiss, my destiny can't be just this!
Here I stand in line, ignored,
Only my rats to call me lord.
Dinseyland's filth is my buffet,
Gilded with flies, I'll have my way.
Waiting, scheming, clutching bags,
One day they'll bow to my trash-rags!
My turn to board the Stench Express,
Ascension nears...
Name? Take a guess."
J. Tyberos
Who was she? She barely remembered, who she was now she belonged to the filth. Once, so long ago she had those that called her mother. A husband who called her wife. She remembered the tender embraces of her children, the loving kisses of her husband. But the day they entered dinseyland was the day it all changed. Her children fell first, to the gators living in the paddleboat rides. Her husband, to the lack of tangible food within this horrid place. She survived somehow. And as she looked up at the adventurer she hoped he would bring her peace.
K. Funrmunt
The garbageperson looks at you with an expression like she's meeting an old friend.
"Well that... that's an interesting question. I came here on vacation four years ago with my son." She motions to a small, breathing pile of rubbish next to her, "We got in line for Barf Mountain, getting in between the last person and some rubbish. The rubbish protested, surprisingly. It was a person! Crazy, right? Anyway, she told us that it all started when she and her son had been here on vacation."
You and your son leave the crazy garbageperson, eager to continue your vacation.
L. Fargblabble
Standing in line and assailed by a smell
belched from the foulest depths of hell
gripped with dread, a Black Sabbath tune comes to me
"what is this that stands before me"
covered in shit and ready to die
a sad fecal excuse, a human horse-pie
The pile stirs! It rises to its feet
With gnarled claw it beckons as our eyes meet
"I'll tell you a tale of grief and woe
if only you'd suck upon my big toe."
I politely decline, but the brute insists!
And now I'm stuck here, sucking pus from his cysts
Worst. Vacation. Ever.
M. Chadomancer
Horace Burdledorp is an avid stamp collector. One day, while in Oblong, Illinois, after having consumed a rather enigmatic hotdog, Horace was about to drop the greasy remainder into the bin when he noticed something peculiar: the Canadian Tiddles 15c Cyan, one of the rarest stamps in the world, affixed to an unsettlingly soggy envelope. It was then that he got inspired to search the bins of the world in search of such carelessly disregarded treasure, often carrying potentially fruitfull refuse around with him. Now, here he stands before you, in the greatest place for careless waste in the kingdom.
N. Painterguy
Lost in the sauce.
The ever-consuming sauce of Dinseyland, with tourists covered in garbage, filth, and cheap merchandise. How did I get here? Why am I covered in stench?
I spun in the Toxic Teacups. Around and around we go!
Indulged myself in grogpagne while seeing the Pirates of the Garbage Barges.
Enjoyed the rustic music from the mascots in Uncle Gator's.
And even rode in Barf Mountain! Even snagged some meat from a carefree tourist.
Once, I was a mere fan but now I'm consumed by the Dinsey Spirit. It was too late... I am one with the sludge.
O. KoL Miners Daughter
Gertrude McLean was incredibly clean.
No speck of dust was allowed near her.
She skimped and she saved.
"Oh, vacation!" She raved,
until Dinsey was, alas, sure.
A spilled drink in line,
a wind-blown paper against her:
things they tried to disturb.
Yet her enthusiasm didn't curb.
Her will would not taper.
Such a trash-strewn scene!
Everything here was a mess!
Herself she soon found
in a growing trash mound.
"But the line will progress!"
"This will be fine!"
She said with a stoic face,
"I'll ride! Be blown clean
away from this scene!"
Then an adventurer cut in place.
P. bum3
I trembled in fear as I approached the lines; hid behind my parents anytime the Garbage Barge pirates walked by; plugged my ears when Uncle Gator’s jamboree started playing. My parents bought me a hazmat helmet so I would feel safe, and brave, enough to attempt Barf Mountain. I finished off my Dinsey food-cone just before strapping into the ride. I faced my fears, barfed the food-cone in my helmet and just threw it on the ground. Enthralled by the excitement, I returned to the line. To forever chase the high of that first ride, getting Angrier by the adventure.
Q. Kame Crush
Life can be brutal in the horrid, horrid plains of Dinseyland, where the stench, oh the stench, is an unbearable "object" if it can be considered AS one. Tourists, don't get me started on them. What filthy, despicable adventurers within the kingdom, even though the council specifically told them to NOT go anywhere near the airport. Now I sit upon my mighty throne, compiled of worthless gewgaws, knickknacks and other random baloney, as I witness them either die exploring, or brave ones who don't know how to give up. They always come back, hungry for more, and more. Craving it...
R. Nannachi
"The Life of a Dinsey Adult."
Glory! Happiness! Money!
Spend your life at Dinsey.
Glory! Happiness! Money!
Those 3 promises were given.
Glory! Happiness! Money!
I was 18, ready to grasp the life ahead of me.
Glory! Happiness! Money!
Cheery. Innocent. Smart... or so I thought.
Glory. Happiness. Money!
1 year. 2 years. 10. 20. 40.
Glory? Happiness? Money.
What do those words even mean.
Glory. Happiness. Some Money.
Who am I? What have I Become?
No Glory. No Happiness. Meats.
I can't leave. I am one with the Ride.
... ... ...
Sorry Mom.
... ... ...
I gave it my all.
Nothing. Sadness. Garbage
S. Arashmin
I used to look forward to waking up.
I'm Dinseybound, as the costume gives away. I've been Doofy, Grongald, Snigger, Spinny, even Icky! Worked my way up.
Things are no longer the same. Not since Porktober, year 47. We had our share of rowdiness and cleanliness issues before then, of course. Yet, when those flights started coming in... They came with their strange swords bearing UPC codes, attack animals with pasta collars, singing eerie songs about carving flesh and raiding... It broke us.
Each day, we run, hide, try to drown out the screams.
Anyway kid, you want a photo?
T. Pasztot
Waiting in the line for the next thrill
Another chance to feel alive
But I know I will not get my fill
I lost my joy, I lost my drive
Always waiting to be merry
My whole life spent standing in the line
As if future is a fairy
Who will grant my wish of feeling fine
So the question I fling:
If I want to be happy, how?
All the future can bring
Is always just more of the now
And so present I faced
To learn how to truly live
To this trash, this garbage, waste
I give
U. Borntoclubseals
"You remind me of my past self. I was a tourist too, despised the garbage, but still kept coming back. Then one day, the garbage called me, and I couldn't resist becoming one with it. How could I, there's all this fresh, crisp garbage, all day, everyday! Sure, the stink is initially a turn off, but don't let it distract you from the *sniff* invigorating atmosphere! It's awful when people run away from me, but a nice swim in the landfill cheers me up. Hey hey, why don't you join me? Bet you'll love it. Wait, why are you running..."
V. NotSoFastKiddo
Memories of my Proud ancestors, songs of their prowess fills me with determination, to be the first in line, the guardian bred from long line of the keepers of the mountain. Long have we stood in vigilance in the bottom of the sacred peak. The duty have shaped our bloodline to be formidable guardians all invaders fear, our long white coat has become legendary. It always kept us impervious to strikes. Our senses sharpened to intense sensory acuity... Halt... What is this smell, it's hurting my nostrils, is it puke? And urine?! those noises, something dragged... Oh what t- *BONK
W. Marge
My name is Louise. I thought, "Hey, you're going to Dinseylandfill! Get dressed up! Wear that foil dress you wore for that New Year's Eve party that you thought you'd never get to wear again! Look chic!" Little did I know it would become a garbage magnet, like seriously magnetized and all the damned garbage would stick to me. Every night the custodians try to put me in the bin. My life has become an endless stream of concession rides and garbage, more and more garbage. I don't know how it can end. Hey! Watch out! There's a person here!
X. TurtlesPhi
Reaching the end of the line of the last ride in Dinseylandfill, Barf Mountain, a pile of garbage shouts in a muffled voice “Hey! Can you help me outta here?.” Thinking stench fumes must have gotten to your brain, you equip a perfumed bandana and start walking away. “Please! I’ve been trapped 10 years here, and have a husband and kids– Just kidding. I have a 9-5 job and a jail cell of garbage, but Help me out!.” You dig through the trash finding… a speaker and remote controlled arms. The staff start laughing at you: “Sucker! Fell for it!”
Y. JoeSaxx
Angela worked the rollercoaster. Twelve years, three uniforms, two sprained ankles.
Then Dinsey fired her. She returned anyway, as guest! And she never left. A one-day ticket was all she could afford.
She camped near the Barf Mountain queue, giving out snacks and cheap sunglasses to strangers, and leashes to parents. She even taught tourists how to avoid scams.
Park security asked her to leave. She cried. They let her stay.
She watches the lines now. Unofficially but faithfully, gathering daily bags of park garbage.
Because though Dinsey may fire her, she is still clocked in. Somewhere in her heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment