Crazy Carl�s Column O Stuff
Thoughts by Crazy Carl
Disclaimer: I promise to never dance on stage again
Once again I seem to be bored with my hobby. The chemistry set was fun for all ages, but it wasn�t fun forever. I developed a new strain of lettuce that waters itself and also discovered the cure for �Close Talkers�. I call that a �stun gun�.
Well, I was bored for a while when I was given a great idea from the muses. I hadn�t been to Disneyland in a long, long time. I believe the last time was when I was about fourteen and was kicked out for �abusing the mouse�. As far as I am concerned that damn mouse deserved it.
It all happened when I was wandering around the park. My journeys had led me to the back area of �Toon Town� where I had found an odd door. It wasn�t labeled �Employees only� like all the other doors I had tried to get into that day, so I felt no regret opening the door and entering. There I saw the damn mouse in his magical sparkling hemp field enjoy that year�s harvest. I was young, and the Drug Free advertisements that plagued my morning cartoons had a profound effect on me. I was torn apart to see my childhood hero in such a manner. The rage inside of me escalated, and I could not control myself. I went for the mascot miscreant brandishing my favorite weapon of those days, a 1954 pig hair toothbrush.
The mouse learned the true meaning of dental enema that day. I pummeled him for about an hour when his buddies, the duck and the dog, came and shipped me off to security. The verdict was quick and final, I was to be banished from the mystical land of Disney for 20 years. The mouse wanted his revenge, but the people who decided my fate did not allow it. I left that day, saddened; I would never again be allowed the pleasure of riding on the various mountains in that mystical land. You might say, but it was only 20 years! But at that time I had a deep inner notion that the magical land would not survive the rapture that was surely to come at the turn of the century.
Now back to the present. The twenty years have past and I decide to return and fill the empty spot in my heart left unfulfilled by my premature ejaculation from the park so many years ago. So I set my imps to the task of packing for the trip and setting up reservations under my pseudonym in the public world � Sir Duke Ellington of Saltcoatshire.
The trip to the park was pleasant; my plane had just been refurnished in a Victorian era motif and the colors kept me fascinated for the entire voyage. The bar was also fully stocked with all my favorite vices � ether and mashed potatoes. I arrived in New Canada, (the new settlement of all the Canadians after Canada was taken over by the Quebecois Republic, all English-speaking Canadians were forced out of the country. They moved to California and renamed it. The United States had no problem with this, as they were tired of the trendy Californian styles. All Californians moved to Mexico where they immediately cultivated the deserts into hip coffee shops and grape fields.), between the hours of six and nine pm, I do not know the exact time because of my otherworldly state. The imps took me to my hotel where I promptly set up shop and took to my bed.
I entered the whimsical land the next day, where I immediately noticed a poster with my fourteen year old mug was displayed. It was old and tattered; they had not taken the time to remove it as I was officially allowed back in three days ago. I got the proper items needed to go on the rides and such, but first I had something to take care of. I needed to clear up this whole mess with the mouse.
I found the mouse in his house, with a fox in a box that was eating green eggs and ham. I told the mouse, � Sorry I am, with the brush I did ram�� The mouse did look puzzled and asked me when, I could ever, never do this thing to him. I told the rat, who was looking fat, be it a score years and three days ago. To me, he did reply,� Ah twas another guy�. �Cool�, said I, �where might that man be?� �Ah�, said the mouse,� he be dead from too much THC�.
Did I ever mention that I hate talking to mascots? The conversations always seem to be full of rhyme and prose. Well I left that mouse in his shack, never to go back.... Wait I have to stop that. I enjoyed my day riding all the rides and taking in the shows. It was all enjoyable until I discovered my new hobby.
The damn creatures snuck up on me. They were all dizzy and giddy from Mr. Toad�s Wild Ride and they were looking for trouble. They had to run into me. They harassed my imps and me and the rage once again raised in me. I unleashed the fury with my favorite weapon... the truth. �There is no Santa, the tooth fairy is fake, your mother never made you that birthday cake!� The poor group of seven year olds was reeling from the things I said, so to finish them off I kicked them in the head. DAMMIT there I go again.
You see seven is a perfect age for this. They are tall enough for a good kick in the melon, and still live in a world of fantasy. I found that I rather enjoy initiating them into the real world. The parents of the kids never found Sir Duke of Saltcoatshire, and I returned to my humble cave on my island all aglow with the discovery of my newfound hobby. As for now, I have a date with an elementary school on the mainland. I am going in disguised as a clown; I hope that amplifies the crushing blow to those little brats.
Copyright Tyler Saunders (2000)