As if spending the night in jail, narrowly avoiding death by leprechaun, and having my digestive system percolating at the hands of a confection named after one of my best friend's nads wasn't enough to get me thinking that American sitcom writers were justified in their slamming of maple leaf land, the hotel where we had reservations vanished. That's right. It just wasn't there. I asked directions from the most reputable alien on the street that I could find, but outside of repeatedly telling me that the Niagara Falls Alien Wax Museum was "out of this world," I could get no information out of him. We wandered around the streets for the better part of the next six hours, sweaty, hauling suitcases, and covered in an increasingly thick layer of flying Niagara River funk, searching with growing desperation for the Oakes Inn on Buchanan Avenue. Marcus: Are you sure you're reading the map correctly? Amanda: Okay, this "map" that you got from the alien only has like, four streets on it, and the only thing that's labeled on it is the Niagara Falls Alien Wax Museum. Marcus: Look, I asked the alien, a dinosaur, and two different Frankensteins where Buchanan Avenue is, and they all just looked at me stupid and told me to go to their respective wax museums. Maybe it's a riddle! Amanda: Maybe you're a moron. < Back   Next > All content © 1999-2007 misinformer.com.   Riddle me this, moron.