Some childhood ranting

As I was looking through various rides from different amusement parks, nostalgia hit me when I saw a roller coaster that looked very similar to one from another park back in Moscow. Similarly retarded.

HURR

I was too little to get on it at the time, but the expression on its face always managed to make me laugh.
Missing the good ol' motherland, I decided to check on how the park was doing. The Gorky Park or Park Gorkovo, was located near the Moskva river and I remember it being pretty small back then, having less than 10 rides total, and holy shit did it grow.
Its site left much to be desired, but the ammount of rides increased 3 times, at least. I remember a specific one that always looked like an accident waiting to happen. It was one of those swinging chairs rides, but it was RIGHT next to the river. Maybe it was just me, but I always pictured those thin chains holding the chairs in the air suddenly snapping in half and throwing people into the water. Or maybe I'm a little crazy. Just an irrational fear I still have.

YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE HAHAHA

  

As I was looking through them, I saw one that stood out. I saw one that brought some repressed memories back home, fully unwelcome. I present to you, the Condor.

AKA Childhood Rapist '95

Now it may not look like much, but it was my fucking Everest back then. Keep in mind I was probably 6 years old last time I went. Not only did it look incredibly tall for me, but the way the ride worked fucking terrified me as well. That thing in the top spun, then the fucking thingies with the birds spun and then the fucking birds moved left and right as it all spun in a swirling hail of madness and brutality. It would stop at one point, just like most rides of this type, perhaps to give you a sense of relief, maybe to give you a false sense of safety. You'd think it'd be all over, that it was about to get back down, BUT NO, THE WHOLE THING BEGAN ANEW, WITH A RENEWED NEED FOR HUMAN SOULS.

Each time we went to the park, my dad would prod me into going on the ride with him. I always denied such suggestions, and he would proceed to act like he is disappointed and yadda yadda. This became like a father and son thing for us. He would try to talk me into getting on that death machine, I would say no, he would sulk and call me a girl. Good times.

At one point though, I manned up. I don't know what was wrong with me that day, but I finally agreed to get on the doomsday device. I rode the fucking Condor.

Now I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn't add the my-dad-makes-things-worse factor. He would shake the fucking bird we were sitting on, making the whole experience about a billion times worse, all while shouting THIS IS AWESOME.

So thanks, Dad and Condor. You're probably the reason why I suffer from height vertigo this day.