Jeff Wysaski
Uh, hello? Pardon me, Mr. Carnie man. I don’t mean to question the integrity of your fine traveling carnival here, but I’m going to have to go ahead and inform you that the Tunnel of Love is broken.
No, our little boat made it through the water just fine. And the displays of cupid, the wedding ceremony, and the hot men holding puppies were all in perfect working order. It’s just that, well, I just went through a Tunnel of Love, and I am very unhappy to report that my date gave me ABSOLUTELY NO LOVE!
I mean, I don’t know what your definition of “love” is, but what I got in there certainly was not it! Because a cold shoulder and an awkward conversation about the weather is not what I expect from a Tunnel of Love.
What did I expect? Some sort of physical contact, that’s for sure. I mean, bare minimum, an HJ. But I got absolutely NOTHING while I was in there. No cuddling. No smooching. Not even an “accidental” boob graze.
She was on guard the entire time! And I know it has to be your ride that’s the problem, because I did my part. I bought her a corn dog for dinner. I got dressed up in my classiest cut-off shorts. And I am virtually swimming in Stetson cologne! The pump was primed, baby! THE PUMP WAS PRIMED!
I don’t know, maybe if you added a sepia filter to the whole ride. Chicks dig sepia tones. Or, maybe instead of pleasant harp music, you could pipe in some grunts and moans of people making love. That’s pretty sexy, right?
I mean, sure, I’ll admit there’s some pretty romantic stuff in there. The rose petals in the water, the animatronic frogs on the bicycle built for two, and the dancing teddy bear holding the box of chocolates were all nice touches. But SOMETHING in there needs fixing, because I pulled my little guy out in plain view and everything, and my date wouldn’t even LOOK at it, let alone touch it!
Look, I know I’m no prize pig. The balding hair, pudgy physique and flipper hands don’t exactly work in my favor. That’s why I use someone else’s photo on my eHarmony profile. But for Christ’s sake, if you call a ride the goddamn Tunnel of Love, you better deliver some goddamn love!
Which is why I’m going to have to go ahead and ask for my two carnival tickets back. Why? Because I was unsatisfied with the ride, that’s why. I mean, the Tunnel of Love? Come on, that’s false advertising. You know what you should call it instead? The Tunnel of Revulsion. Because that’s the emotion that was written all over my date’s face right before she threw herself from the still moving boat and ran screaming into the countryside.
You’re not going to give me my tickets back? Well too bad, buddy, because I ain’t leaving until I’m happy! Which means you either give me my two tickets back, or you give me an HJ. The choice is yours.
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