WE WERE EXCITED TO GET TO THOSE DELLS: You know? All campy and chumpy and shit. And the lure of the “great tourist spirit” sucks you right in. And sure, you think you can battle it into something fun and dumb, but hell, in the end, you just sorta get beat down by cars full of sweat families, jaded townies and some skeezy punk blowing smoke in yer face, looking to score some tail.

Leigh and I gave it a shot, picking our hotel based on its signage. Always a fun roll of the dice. We ate at some Northwoods lodge thing, to lukewarm reviews. We did the “Ripley’s Believe It Or Not” and “Torture Museum” attractions. Would’ve been more fun if I was 12. But I knew that.

We scoured the tourist trinket shops for dead stock, finding a couple gems here and there. We played a round of mini golf and I should note that I FUCKING BEAT LEIGH MCKOLAY BY TWO FUCKING STROKES on that mosquito-ridden course. Fact.

Had a nice time in the Dells. Might just be our last. We tried.