Jon and Nightcrawler: We're going to Dizz Knee Land, uh huh

Finally, we were near the Pit Stop at the Disneyland Resort Hotel lobby. Nightcrawler and I both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I am glad to be done with that,” I said to Nightcrawler. “I am never coming here again, that’s for sure.”

“I know vhat you mean, mein freunde,” Nightcrawler agreed. “I am glad ve are close to our Pit Stop. Look, it’s only about 100 meters away!”

Before that, it felt like it had been hours as we sat in the little room. The test administrator harrumphed and tapped his foot while waiting for us to answer the final question.

“Last name?” He growled once again.

“I—I don’t know,” I answered in exasperation. “I don’t remember!”

“Ah… Wagner!” Nightcrawler yelled triumphantly. “My last name ist Wagner!”

The administrator let out a breath of air and calculated our answers. “Jon, according to the test, you suffered a 25% dip in intelligence.”

“That sucks,” I answered. “It’s like you dropped a nukiller bomb on my brain. Now I gotta to go to the li-barry to smarten up. You think they have books with them Little Ponies? I’m askin’ for my daughter, uh, you know whut’s ‘er name.”

“Right,” the administrator said. “Nightcrawler, your score was better, only a 14% drop.”

“Woo hooo!” Nightcrawler jumped up and down. “Come on, let’s wrassle!”

Prior to that, I sat in the seat of the ride sweating. Try as I might, I just couldn’t stun myself with my weapon. Nightcrawler was still out of it, he would most likely remain knocked out for the duration of the challenge.

(It’s a small world after all…)

Just before that, Nightcrawler was yelling at me.

(It’s a small, small world…)

“I can’t take it!” he howled. “Just knock me out! Knock me out already!”

(It’s a small world after all…)

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

(It’s a small world after all…)

“Just do it!” Nightcrawler grabbed my arm and punched the buttons on the Wristcomm until a sonic blast erupted forth and hit him square in the head. The furry mutant collapsed unconscious back into his seat. A smile of relief just barely crept across his face.

(It’s a small, small, world…)

Preceding that though, we were deciding on which challenge to take.

“We can just wear these costumes,” I said holding up a Goofy. “The kids will love our capering, it’ll be easy.”

“I can’t do this,” Nightcrawler answered while looking over a Pluto. “Do you smell this costume? If I put this on, I’ll never get the stench out of my fur.”

I took a careful sniff of the inside of my Goofy.

“Ugh!” I made a disgusted face. “Whoever wore this last must have been sweating out cabbage and rotten fish or something. This is horrid.”

“Jah,” Nightcrawler agreed. “I guess that leaves us no choice…”

We both looked up at the Small World ride. There was dread in our hearts. Somewhere, I could swear that I heard deep, maniacal laughter.

Just before that, we were in the Mork and Mindy ride. I couldn’t believe all the stuff they had showing.

“Look, that’s from the short-lived cartoon show.” I pointed to screens of the cartoon playing. “Wow, that’s bad.”

“Jah. Sehr schlecht.”

“OK, so we’re supposed to get a secret phrase from R2D2,” I said. “Since that feisty little droid probably won’t be on this ride, how will we know when we see it?”

“Wow, did you see that picture of Robin Williams?” Nightcrawler asked. “And I thought that I was furry.”

“Look, there.” I pointed. “That looks like a sign. I can’t quite read it, though. Does that say Na-nu na-nu?”

“No it says….”

“'Keep on trucking?' What the frell is that there for?”

“Jah, zat is a stupid secret phrase. Vhat is vith zis place?”

Earlier, we were looking at the entrance to the Star Wars ride. Unfortunate for us, there was yellow tape in front of it.

“Sorry, can’t let you in,” said a man in brown coveralls.

“Yeah but we’re in the Amazing Mutant Race,” I said. “It’s one of our challenges.”

“Sorry, bud, but it’s a mess in there,” the maintenance worker shrugged.

“Vhat happened?” Nightcrawler asked.

“Someone dressed in white armor was just in there with some kind of a laser gun,” he answered. “He went nuts and shot the whole place up. There’s burnt plastic and exposed wiring everywhere. I tell ya, only in California.”

“Well what do we do now?” I asked.

“Well, you got two choices,” the man shrugged again. “There’s the Battlestar Galactica Ride or the Mork and Mindy Ride.”

“New Galactica or old?” I asked.

“Old.”

“Aww, that stupid Mormon Star Wars rip-off,” I groaned. “Lousy, stupid, cheesey.”

“Stupid Mormon?” Nightcrawler tried to hush me. “Vhat are you talking about.”

“Glen Larson is a Mormon,” I explained. “He based a lot of the show on Mormon beliefs.”

“So?” Nightcrawler answered. “Are you going to take on all of the world’s major religions on zis show?”

“No,” I answered gruffly. Then I mumbled “Lousy Martin Luther and his Lousy 95 Theses.”

“Anything in Mork and Mindy zhat you don’t like?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I thought it was lame when Mork visited Fonzie, but I thought it was a pretty funny show on its own.”

“Zhen let’s go.” The fuzzy elf dragged me towards the ride.

Just before these events, we were at the Raccoon City train station trying to get tickets to California. We were having a difficult time understanding the station attendant.

“Take the 3:15 West to California,” the agent said.

“I don’t understand him,” I shrugged to Nightcrawler. “Is he speaking French?”

“Or is it Italian?” my mutant friend answered.

“Or perhaps… Fritalian,” I suggested.

“That is the lamest thing I’ve ever heard,” the agent yelled at us. “Nobody appreciates your attempt at pop culture relevancy by quoting well-known commercial jingles!”

“Hey, don’t get mad,” I tried to placate him. “You deserve a break today.”

“Jah,” agreed Nightcrawler. “Have a Coke and a smile.”

“Just get on that train!” the man bellowed.

The train squeaked to a halt at the station and the conductor poked his head out of a car.

“Three-Fifteen West heading to Anaheim, Azusa, and Cuuuuu-camonga,” he announced.

“Zhat’s our train, let’s go!” We quickly hopped on board for the ride.