I took Preston and his friend Connor to Six Flags in Vallejo on Friday and got my junk crushed.

Well, not permanently or anything.

There's a roller coaster called Kong and it's the type where you're suspended beneath the track, your feet dangling in the open air. All these rides have impressive restraints, and Kong was no exception. There's a leg divider on the seat and you're kind of pitched back on a slight angle. Sitting in my seat, I brought the overhead restraint down and felt certain I had it firmly in place.

Then the attendant, a rather apathetic 20-something came along to inspect everyone, and he gave my overhead restraint an extra crunch downward, and that's when the junk crushing occurred.

I almost yelled out, "Watch the fucking package, willya?"

That's the whole story. The ride was okay, but I'll have this particular memory forever.

Thanks, Six Flags!