Mr. Six

You’ve seen him. I know that you have seen him. He is the face of American amusement; the one that determines how much fun you are having by using some sort of nonsensical “flag system" of measurement. He drives a red and white, retro-style charter bus and loves late-nineties electronica. He could easily pass for Freddy Krueger’s unburned and sharply dressed, yet still terrifying older brother. His mouth gapes widely and his eyes bulge out of his skull as he spontaneously breaks into spastic dance moves and convulsive gyrations in a furious effort to encourage us to collect more flags i.e. to have more fun. He was laid to rest in 2005. We thought he was gone, but we were sorely mistaken. In the spring of this year he joined the ranks of notorious villains such as: Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, and the previously mentioned Freddy Krueger by returning from the dead stronger, more determined, and more...evil.

Who would have thought that the song, “We Like to Party,” a one-time popular dance track by the Vengaboys, would raise my neck hairs and instill a creepy unrest inside me comparable to being awakened by the musical themes of scary movies like, “The Exorcist” or “Halloween,” mysteriously blasting out of my stereo in the middle of the night? It is a threat: A declaration of impending doom. When presented as it was originally intended for release in 1998, the lyrics to this song tell the listener that “The Vengabus” is coming and everybody’s jumping. The choice to use this particular piece of music (albeit instrumentally), with its promise of exciting party transportation and enjoyable communal exercise, works well as a sugarcoated method of misdirection that is used to distract us from knowing what is really happening and who is really coming. While the ironically upbeat dance track falsely assures me that I will be having a good time, “You-know-who’s,” face practically pops out of my television screen and forces its way into the depths of my subconscious. He is coming and I’m scared. I am, in fact, terrified. My very soul depends on my ability to have fun. Not only do I have to have fun; it has to be six flags of fun. Or else…

Who unleashed this beast? Who are the diabolical geniuses that gave this specter the keys to our living rooms? Whoever they are, they have figured it out. When it comes to deciding the appropriate place for my amusement, I have been scared straight. Nothing could encourage me to line up and pay exorbitant amounts of money on roller coasters, fried food, theater shows, and carnival games that promise the possibility of cheap prizes more than a creepy old man in a tux with thick black glasses and caked on make-up wildly dancing across the screen in front of me. Even now, I’m concerned that my flag level could be dipping below his standard. Such an event could only yield a disastrous and horrifying outcome.

I know you have seen him. He is the man whose first and middle names are surely the same as his last. He is evil. He is coming. He likes to party.