FROM THE FAR LEFT OF THE BRAIN
Preferring my torture to be delivered by more intimate means that either gravity or centrifugal force, I have never ridden any amusement park ride more physically invasive that Space Mountain at Disneyland, and, mercifully, I am now at an age where no peer pressure could lure me onto one of those new generation of monster roller coasters that have names like The Mangler or The Vomit-Ripper. I did wonder, however, while watching a Six Flags commercial, why parks didn’t give/sell badges or medals to those who have undergone such an ordeal and completed the ride. They could then be collected and worn like campaign ribbons, demonstrating to the world what a desperate and hardened sensation-seeker one really is. I consider this a really good idea and will be home if any amusement park operating corp wants to stop by and hand me a million in small bills for the idea. But, then again, why should they? In my needy pursuit of self-expression I have already given it away for free. Which may be a telling summation of both my condition and character.

The secret word is Irrelevant