Easily my favorite ride EVER. This is the Krustyland ride at Universal Studios, also known as 'The Simpsons Ride.' It's a motion simulator ride where you sit in a car with a huge screen in front of you. It also has water, smell and smoke effects and mimics the feeling of g-force.
The entire area of the ride (inside, out and around) is made to look like you're in the Simpsons. Even the ATM! While you're in line you watch a video leading up to the events of the ride. In short, Krusty opens his amusement park and Sideshow Bob shows up to kill the Simpsons (and you).
Very old watch that I found in my junk drawer. I got this when I was a kid at Burger King! The watch has two buttons, one is to set the time ( of course) and the other has the kids saying "Are we there yet?" and Homer saying "No" it repeats it twice before shutting off. I haven't seen this watch in years and I cant believe the Battery is still good. I don't plan on wearing it due to it being so fat maybe I'll hang is somewhere.
So after looking online I found out they came out in 2002 so I was in High school.
Ah, it all looks so tame now, but back then we were HOT! It's the early '80's on the lower East side of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Being an ArtPunk kid wasn't that easy this far from London. It took some doing. David Bowie helped as the King of Whiteboy Cool, while Michael Jackson resurrected himself from that hyperactive kid with a squeeky voice to master innovator and the brander of Black Hip. New-wave looks and music was starting to take hold. My iron-spiked choker fashion statement was in actuality, a dog collar. Sprung from doggy dominance games via the canine section of Ben Franklin's Pet Department, it was a favored look. I was called Miss V. V., and I'm about twenty-three years of age here. My brother-in-arms, Mo Meyer, (Performance Artist Extraordinaire and the best Master's grant writer in the universe,) and I are hanging at my drug dealer's. Waiting on a bit of white-powder weighing. Perms, sadly, are in; along with skin-tight leggings, spiked heels, exposed midriffs (thank you Madonna,) and the ubiquitous black leather jacket. We feasted extra-special on peyote buttons and mushrooms along with continuous infusions of art, music, vodka, and nose-candy. We were two Magicians; practitioners in Western Magicks and bonded at the hip. Members of 'The Builder's of the Adytum;' (a Mystery School spun from the writings of Master Occultist, Paul Foster Case,) and dabblers in the astral realms. We cast our fates in multiples of realities. Here, Bruce Springsteen urged us to run while we cooled our heels. We posed, scowled, and waited some more; hoping to make it out of there before we died of boredom, or broke through the windows looking for the exit.