Speaking of education, you should be sure to visit Epcot Center, which features exhibits sponsored by large corporations showing you how various challenges facing the human race are being met and overcome thanks to the selfless efforts of large corporations. Epcot Center also features pavilions built by various foreign nations, where you can experience an extremely realistic simulation of what life in these nations would be like if they consisted almost entirely of restaurants and souvenir stores.

One memorable Epcot night my family and I ate at the German restaurant, where I had several large beers and a traditional German delicacy called “Bloatwurst,” which is a sausage that can either be eaten or used as a tackling dummy. When we got out I felt like one of those snakes that eat a cow whole and then just lie around and digest it for a couple of months. But my son was determined to go on a new educational Epcot ride called “The Body,” wherein you sit in a compartment that simulates what it would be like if you got inside a spaceship-like vehicle and got shrunk down to the size of a gnat and got injected inside a person’s body.

I’ll tell you what it’s like: awful. You’re looking at a screen showing an extremely vivid animated simulation of the human interior, which is not the most appealing way to look at a human unless you’re attracted to white blood cells the size of motor homes. Meanwhile the entire compartment is bouncing you around violently, especially when you go through the aorta. “Never go through the aorta after eating German food,” that is my new travel motto.

What gets me is, I waited in line for an hour to do this. I could have experienced essentially the same level of enjoyment merely by sticking my finger down my throat.

Which brings me to my idea for getting rich. No doubt you have noted that, in most amusement parks, the popularity of a ride is directly proportional to how horrible it is. There’s hardly ever a line for nice, relaxing rides like the merry-go-round. But there will always be a huge crowd, mainly consisting of teenagers, waiting to go on a ride with a name like “The Dicer,” where they strap people into what is essentially a giant food processor and turn it on and then phone the paramedics.

So my idea is to open up a theme park called “Dave World,” which will have a ride called “The Fall of Death.” This will basically be a 250-foot tower. The way it will work is, you climb to the top, a trapdoor opens up, and you splat onto the asphalt below like a bushel of late-summer tomatoes.

Obviously, for legal reasons, I couldn’t let anybody actually go on this ride. There would be a big sign that said:

WARNING:

NOBODY CAN GO ON THIS RIDE.

THIS RIDE IS INVARIABLY FATAL,

THANK YOU.

But this would only make The Fall of Death more popular. Every teenager in the immediate state would come to Dave World just to stand in line for it.

Dave World would also have an attraction called “Parent Land,” which would have a sign outside that said: “Sorry, Kids! This Attraction Is for Mom ‘n’ Dad Only!” Inside would be a bar. For younger children, there would be “Soil Fantasy,” a themed play area consisting of dirt or, as a special “rainy-day” bonus, mud.

I frankly can’t see how Dave World could fail to become a huge financial success that would make me rich and enable me to spend the rest of my days traveling the world with my family. So the hell with it.

You must be very careful here. You must sneak out of Disney World in the dead of night, because the Disney people do not want you leaving the compound and spending money elsewhere. If they discover that you’re gone, cheerful uniformed employees led by Mickey Mouse’s lovable dog Pluto, who will sniff the ground in a comical manner, will track you down. And when they catch you, it’s into the Goofy suit.

So we’re talking about a major risk, but it’s worth it for some of the attractions around Disney World. The two best ones, as it happens, are right next to each other near a town called Kissimmee. One of them is the world headquarters of the Tupperware company, where you can take a guided tour that includes a Historic Food Containers Museum. I am not making this up.

I am also not making up Gatorland, which is next door. After entering Gatorland through a giant pair of pretend alligator jaws, you find yourself on walkways over a series of murky pools in which are floating a large number of alligators that appear to be recovering from severe hangovers, in the sense that they hardly ever move. You can purchase fish to feed them, but the typical Gatorland alligator will ignore a fish even if it lands directly on its head. Sometimes you’ll see an alligator, looking bored, wearing three or four rotting, fly-encrusted fish, like some kind of High Swamp Fashion headgear.

This is very entertaining, of course, but the real action at Gatorland, the event that brings even the alligators to life, is the Assault on the Dead Chickens, which is technically known as the Gator Jumparoo. I am also not making this up. The way it works is, a large crowd of tourists gathers around a central pool, over which, suspended from wires, are a number of plucked headless chicken carcasses. As the crowd, encouraged by the Gatorland announcer, cheers wildly, the alligators lunge out of the water and rip the chicken carcasses down with their jaws. Once you’ve witnessed this impressive event, you will never again wonder how America got to be the country that it is today.

And speaking of America, let’s talk about taking the children to one of this nation’s many fine:

Forget it. Your modern child is not interested in educational historic sites. Your modern child has grown up with MTV and Nintendo; he or she is not going to be enthralled by watching people in authentic uncomfortable colonial outfits demonstrate how families in 1750 used to make candles by spinning flax with a churn, or whatever the hell they did. So you should avoid this kind of activity. Also you should avoid stopping at those Historical Markers on the side of the highway that you can never read when you’re driving past because the letters are too small. Here’s what they say:

HISTORIC MARKER

This Historic Marker was erected on this site in the Year of Our Lord 1923 during the administration of Governor Rayford R. “Scooter” Grommet, Jr., to commemorate with great sadness the numerous innocent civilians who are almost definitely going to get hit by traffic when they stop their cars and get out and try to read these really tiny letters.

Traveling with teenagers is somewhat more difficult than traveling with members of the actual human race. It’s very important for you to be sensitive to the fact that, during this difficult transition from child to adult, your teenagers are undergoing intense emotional stresses that cause them, for solid psychological reasons, to regard you as the biggest geek ever to roam the planet. This is because a teenager’s life is an extremely intense, impossibly complex drama, and you cannot possibly understand the plot. All you can do is blunder around like some kind of nearsighted elephant, making a mess of everything, including the seemingly simple act of asking a passing waitress for ketchup.

YOu: Waitress, could we please have some ketchup?

YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER: Oh FATHER! How COULD you?? (Crying, she rushes from the restaurant.) YOU: What did I do? What did I do?

YOUR OTHER DAUGHTER (in the tone Of voice you might use to address an ax murderer): What did you DO? Do you realize who you just asked for ketchup? YOU: A waitress?

YOUR OTHER DAUGHTER: That was Jennifer Wienerbunker! The captain of the cheer-leading squad! You asked her for ketchup. You (raising your voice slightly): But she’s a waitress.