The cannons, before they were disarmed, could fire more than 9 miles. Tampa Bay Times reporter Christopher Spata takes a photo of his father Doug Spata on a replica machine gun in the lobby of Tank America in Orlando. My dad lifted an M-16 off the rack and handed me his phone to take a picture. I realized it was aimed directly at the woman working the front desk, which, frankly, felt rude, so I got up. I took a seat behind a large (fake) machine gun mounted on a bipod with a long chain of (fake) ammunition and looked through the scope. On arrival, we entered the main building, labeled “forward operating base.” We signed waivers and browsed the military decor, which included a rack of extremely realistic replica assault rifles labeled “please touch.” The attraction moved to Orlando in late 2022 after a few years on the Space Coast. In an industrial corner of the city well beyond the theme parks and outlet malls, Tank America occupies 14 wooded acres between a sheet metal factory, a barbed-wired tow lot and an elementary school. It would certainly be more novel than another fishing trip or outing to a driving range. My dad, who is 59 and semiretired, wholeheartedly agreed. ![]() I’d immediately asked if they’d let me bring my dad to test it out in the name of journalism. A news release landed in my inbox last month promoting Tank America’s Father’s Day special: Drive a tank over some cars in some smash smash, vroom vroom father-offspring bonding at a special rate of $450 instead of $600.
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