Jungle Fun can kiss our alabaster ass too!

It’s a pretty mixed bag of nuts over here at the Cerebral Itch offices. To say we have a typical employee would be like saying there is a typical penis (wait, not that I’d know). We got your bouncy perky fitness club types and your bitter sardonic Paxil popping Xbox 360 playing geeks. It’s a lively bunch that always keeps the rumor mill and Human Resources hopping.

So one of our favorite employees, a Brit if you must know, came back yesterday from a family vacation. With his wife and three kids in tow, they did the historic east coast colonial tour. First off, color us shocked when we all found out this chap had a wife much less kids. Secondly, he had the funniest goddamn story from his trip that we had to share it with our readers. He sent it to me in an email this morning and like all good or really bad emails, they go way past their intended recipients

From: Geoff
Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2008
To: The Boss
Subject: Jungle Fun can kiss my alabaster ass

Last Thursday it’s pissing rain in Pennsylvania and we’re trapped in our hotel room. The wife said she’d watch our boy, who’s got more energy than a f’kin’ OPEC nation, so I said I’d help out and take the two girls off her hands in the hope she might return the favor later by perhaps pruning me ol’ twig and berries if you get my drift. My plan was to take the girls to an indoor playground called Jungle Fun, which I saw as a perfect name for a strip joint, but that’s just me. My thought process was focused on grabbing a newspaper, a bloody huge cup of coffee and getting to this ring of hell where I would waste an hour reading about the world whilst forcing some caffeine into my bloodstream while my girls scream and bounce around like crazed banshees.

Due to lack of parking, I abandoned the car on a patch of grass adjacent to the parking lot, grabbed the tots and struck out in the inclement weather for the gleaming Jungle Fun entrance. When I entered the Jungle Fun foyer if you will, we were smacked with a downright rapacious admission fee. Not only that, but the twits had a sign blaring “No outside food or drinks allowed” right next to another saying “we sell Starbucks coffee” – bastards! Holding my own just-purchased Starbucks, the fellow behind the counter yells “no drinks….see!” and points to the sign.

Now if he had been courteous I would have been fine, but I kept my mouth shut (hard for me) and proceeded to enjoy my coffee in the Jungle Fun foyer. He then insisted that I drink it outside in the cold. That was the last f’kin straw, I yelled back at the nancy-boy, “What am I supposed to do; take my girls outside in the cold whilst I down my coffee, or leave them inside on their own?” So fine, I take this cock-up of a minimum wage worker’s advice and stand outside with the door wide open enjoying my coffee. He then yells at me to close the door. This is the point I decide I am not spending any money on their jungle shite. So as me and the girls turn to leave, some manager comes running out and threatens to call the police. I said “go ahead ya’ wee-puss of a man! – what are ya’ going to tell the 911 dispatcher 'please come quick, someone is drinking coffee next to a sign that says he shouldn’t'”. He then rushes in to get a clipboard to scratch down my license number at which point I gladly point out that I was parked illegally too. I have not been kicked out of a bar since college, but I am now banned from Jungle Fun for life.

Boo-f’kin-hoo.