Kingdom Come
The High Art of Getting Stoned at Disneyland
Written By: ZACH SELWYN
It has always been a goal of mine to spark up a fat J at Disneyland. Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve been told that the Magic Kingdom is the best place on the planet to get stoned, and if you can successfully pull it off—and avoid ending up detained in Disney jail—you will not regret being higher than a Matterhorn goat in the “Happiest Place on Earth...”
There is one problem... Smoking a joint in Disneyland is nearly impossible.
So, I pitched a story to my editors Pam and Rob at Hiii magazine.
“I want to write about how hard it is to smoke a joint at Disneyland,” I said.
Their eyes lit up almost immediately. Rob recalled the time Robert Downey Jr. got caught smoking a spliff on a gondola as a teenager. (RDJ later apologized to the Disney corporation—although the $300 billion he has made them probably didn’t hurt either.) Pam mentioned that actors Ryan Gosling and Andrew Garfield were allegedly caught “elevated” on Space Mountain a while back... Snoop Dogg is apparently never allowed back inside the gates. Even former President Barack Obama revealed that he had been caught smoking on the same gondola as Downey, although Obama claimed he was only smoking a cigarette. But c’mon, chief...
“That is a terrific idea... find the best place to smoke, but do me one favor,” Pam said.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t get arrested.”
As the self-proclaimed “Happiest Place on Earth,” Disneyland to a stoner might feel like anything but... After all, any type of illegal drug intake inside the park—including cannabis—is strictly forbidden. And, almost everybody I spoke to who grew up in Southern California had a high school “grad night” story from Disneyland where one of their fellow students got tossed off of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride for toking up.
But, as any weed magazine writer knows, journalism demands sacrifice. And I was determined to go to Disneyland for this article and somehow get higher than a herd of flying Dumbos—all without being detected.
Nearly all of my friends and family, however, had concerns.
“Dude, they have cameras everywhere,” one friend said. “You won’t make it past the Tea Cups.”
“Disney will banish you forever,” my mother advised.
“Bro, even the cast members are trained to look out for weed,” another pal mentioned.
“Why—is Goofy like a drug-sniffing DEA dog now?” I asked.
As this story was unfolding, the discussion amongst my friends turned to the more convenient options of edibles and vaping. Those with more “theme park experience” claimed that edibles and vape pens were the easiest ways to enjoy Disneyland while stoned... They were shocked that I would actually try and light up actual flower inside the gates... Some called it stupid and not necessary. A drinking buddy said it was akin to “breaking into a prison.”
But I knew what my mission was: To defy the laws and smoke a joint inside the Kingdom. Prove them wrong... Avoid arrest and do my best to avoid hitting on the woman dressed in the Elsa costume… I had to pay a fine last time.
Meanwhile, my brother, a longtime Disneyland fan, mentioned that he actually had a “secret smoking location” in Adventureland. He claimed it was private and “bust-proof.” Apparently, he had long ago calculated the proper angles and wind resistance in the location to successfully avert any billowing weed plumes from leaving this exact spot.
“Dude, it’s a blind spot that circumvents all of the Disney security,” he offered. “It’s ironclad.”
There is one issue: it’s in a bathroom.
“Make sure that you go to the third stall from the left near the small gift shop,” he advised. “Then, be careful to blow the smoke out into the toilet at the exact same time that you are flushing it...”
“Jesus, this is like learning how to crack a safe,” I said.
“It’s harder,” he said.
My brother actually drew out a rough sketch to his secret “Kush Commode” that resembled a treasure map drawn by a dying man on a desert island. I thanked him and placed it in my daughter’s Moana fanny pack, which I was wearing so I would easily “blend in.” The bathroom would be my last resort, I figured... In my mind, I’d be smoking in a more romantic location—like on the Jungle Cruise or high above that crazy Adventureland treehouse... I refused to smoke in a bathroom stall, no matter how bulletproof it was.
For my little adventure, the Hiii editors actually secured me a couple of Disney-inspired pre-rolls. Disneyland OG was recommended for insomnia sufferers. Disney Blue, from Greenleaf Genetics, claimed it was creative and energy-boosting. I decided to start the day with the Disney Blue and finish strong with the OG during the Main Street Electrical Parade...
So, armed with my pre-rolls and my brother’s crude hand-drawn map, I paid $40 to park and arrived at the obscenely crowded Donald Duck Roof Parking Lot. I briefly contemplated smoking in my car to avoid getting caught within the gates... but my assignment was to partake inside, and walk in the footsteps of those who came before me: Downey, Gosling... Obama.
After passing through Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, I began looking for the perfect spot to light up. As it turns out, this was MUCH harder than I had expected. First of all, going to Disneyland alone as a middle-aged man means that you immediately fall into one of two categories:
Psychotic Disney Obsessed Adult... or Total Perverted Creep.
As I began walking through the crowds, secretly cradling the J in my hand, everybody suddenly began to look like a narc. Couples in Mickey Mouse jerseys caught my eye as I flicked my lighter... Churro salesmen were sizing me up suspiciously from behind their carts... Even the Stormtroopers in Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge seemed to be mad-dogging me... For whatever reason, I became super paranoid.
Finally, I decided to go smoke where my heroes had smoked before me: the Robert Downey Jr. Gondola. (Not the attraction’s official name.)
There was one problem: I looked up in the air. No gondolas. I looked at the map. No gondolas. I approached a young park employee and asked where the gondolas were... He chuckled and looked me over as if I was joking.
“The gondolas haven’t been active since 1994, silly,” he told me.
Looks like it was time to find a different location.
Using my brother’s map, I was able to locate his secret bathroom where I attempted to follow his instructions. I waited patiently for the third stall to become available, but it seemed to be constantly filled. Were others aware of this hidden pot portal? Were there other copies of this map floating around? What was happening? Whatever the case, it was not an easy task. All of the other stalls were full... Nothing was enclosed and the bathroom did not seem as smoke-friendly as advertised. Smoking in here was going to be like hot-boxing in a snow globe. I bailed.
I stumbled back through hordes of people, beginning to think that this mission might be an epic failure. Eventually, I arrived back in the Star Wars area, where surprisingly, half of the best rides were closed down. This actually offered some wide open space and a much smaller crowd, so I decided that this was my best opportunity. My heart was racing as if I was about to commit some sort of performance art... After all, this had become a true challenge. I had a soda cup with me serving as a makeshift ashtray. I positioned myself next to a trash can. After a few frightened minutes, I finally stuck my head in my backpack like a fentanyl addict on Hollywood Boulevard and ripped two solid pulls off the joint...
All of a sudden, the smoke billowed around me like those purple clouds that form in a swimming pool when you pee in it. I suddenly became very aware of how obvious it was that I was getting high in Disneyland... In my mind, I was a criminal... a degenerate reefer addict loitering on the outskirts of a Tatooine flea market, surrounded by kids in strollers and dads who had regretfully drained their 401(k)s for the afternoon...
I awaited my imminent arrest. Amazingly, it never came.
After tossing the soda cup in the trash and realizing that I had actually pulled it off, I put on my Meta Sunglasses and started walking. Suddenly the skies seemed bluer... the rides became alive and electric and everybody was just... happy. I was perfectly Disney-stoned. Like, really stoned... So stoned that I had to go sit down and drink water in Frontierland for 30 minutes.
This was an actual text message that I sent to my brother:
Holy fuck I am so Goddamn stoned RN I can’t fucking function out here. All I’m doing is playing the Frontierland rifle shooting game and gobbling up churros.
And, yes, I dropped 20 bucks into the Shooting Gallery. And I wandered around fully convinced that everybody knew I was high. At one point I hid out on the Mark Twain Riverboat like a stowaway in the 1840s afraid for my safety. I ate multiple churros and washed them down with mint chip ice cream.
For my final meal I ate something called the Loaded Bar-Be-Cue Brisket Tots from the Hungry Bear Restaurant in Critter Country... I don’t recommend them.
Walking around supremely high at Disneyland also makes you notice that there are a surprising number of people at the park wearing “couples costumes.” My favorite was a girl wearing a T-shirt that read:
I WANTED THE D...
She was standing next to her boyfriend whose shirt read:
I GAVE HER THE D.
(The D was the iconic “D” from the Disney logo.)
Classy.
I also realized that there are hundreds of specific fan clubs dedicated to the Disney experience. They range from the Goth Disney Crew—who celebrate something called “BATS DAY”—to the Sons of Anakin (Star Wars superfans). There are even clubs like The Neverlanders, who use rockers and back patches to declare their loyalty to Disneyland like they're members of the Mongols Motorcycle Club in the ‘50s. For a moment I thought of starting Dopers for Disney but realized that my club would most likely be denied Disney-approved sponsorship.
At that point, I decided that I needed to get on some rides.
I started on Pirates of the Caribbean, but our boat got stuck for 35 minutes right by that one drunk buccaneer drinking liquor in the pig pen. The Indiana Jones Adventure had a 75-minute wait time... Riding Space Mountain triggered a dark childhood memory, the time I rode it 21 times on a teen tour in 1991, before accidentally burping in my crush Ali Rosen’s mouth. As the sun began sinking, I decided that I just wanted to sit down on a bench and people-watch.
After observing the smiles on the kids' faces, the laughter amongst the families and the overall mid-week energy of the Magic Kingdom, I suddenly had a thought:
Disneyland doesn’t really need weed. Disneyland is weed.
No drug on earth can truly compete with the level of raw fantasy and illusion that Walt Disney built here back in 1955. I came to this conclusion: The Magic Kingdom is a perfectly engineered, nostalgic, and heady sativa buzz that makes everybody feel like a kid again. It is a true fantasy land. An escape. A place where you aren’t thinking about bills or the government or responsibilities. It provides the sort of feeling that we often turn to weed for.
It also made me realize why the Disney folks have banned cannabis use in the park... you truly don’t need it.
Although, if you are able to pull off smoking a J at Disneyland, I can offer up only one solid piece of advice:
Avoid the Loaded Bar-Be-Cue Brisket Tots.
