I Hate the Happiest Place on Earth

Exhausted by the heat, his 100 pound costume and countless shrieking children, the teenager in the Mickey Mouse get-up stumbles forward. The unmistakable sound of splattering vomit and the accompanying stench issues forth from the costume.

Forbidden by theme park law, the young man cannot remove his Mickey head under any circumstances. It’s certainly a fireable offense, and may be punishable by death. At the very least, revealing that he is not the “real” Mickey Mouse would surely put him in the stocks between Sleeping Beauty’s Castle and the Dumbo ride. Bowing clumsily to the assembled crowd of confused Japanese tourists, he retreats, out of sight, to clean himself up. I hate the happiest place on Earth. I really do.

“How,” you may be asking yourself, “can this be? Has he no soul? No sense of fun and adventure?”

Well, no, not really. What am I, Indiana Jones? I think not.

Perhaps the issue is best illustrated in story problem format. If you add: a three minute ride, a two hour wait in line and 100 degrees on the thermometer, what do you get? Fun? Again, I think not. This equation gets only more confusing when you consider the variables of crying children, complaining elderly and dancing characters.

For one thing, I don’t like being hugged by strangers on the street. I have a sneaking suspicion that most people don’t either. What makes Disney think that I won’t mind being molested if it’s by someone in a Goofy costume? Please. There are conventions for that; I don’t need it at Disneyland, too.

Vacationing in any one of the Magic Kingdoms has lost the allure of childhood. No longer do I consider it a trip to visit my personal friends Chip and Dale or the Seven Dwarfs. Rather, it has become an exhausting hassle; theme parks seemed designed to suck any trace of originality or soul out of their visitors.

For example, strolling the grounds of Disneyland, one is sure to notice the “Photo Opportunity” signs, brought to you by Kodak. “This,” they inform the public, “is a good place to take a picture.” Apparently anyone stupid enough to go to a Disney park also needs to been told when and where to take pictures to remember their pitiful vacation.

These are the same people that don’t notice how oddly out of date Tomorrow Land has become. Visitors can dine in futuristic cafÈs that look suspiciously similar to ranch houses circa 1955. Futuristic inventions such as home food refrigeration devices and bread toasting machines fill the Museum of the Future.

Tomorrow Land’s sole redeeming attraction, Captain EO, starring a dated, pre-blackendectomy Michael Jackson, has been removed from the park altogether after parents reported it frightened their children.

Not even Disneyland has remained unscathed by the sword of political correctness that has sliced through the rest of the world. Pirates of the Caribbean, the only ride worth standing in line for, has undergone minor redesigns to alleviate the discomfort of militant lesbians and other radical feminists.

In one classic scene, a leering robotic pirate chases a feisty wench around a dimly lit tavern. However, the robot lass has beenmodified — now there is a tray with a mug of ale on it attached to her hand. Now the pirate is chasing the liquor instead of the woman. Apparently alcohol abuse is preferable to a lonely man looking for a little female companionship. I would prefer that Disneyland be recognized for what it is: a hotbed of conspiracies. For example, working much like the Gestapo, Disney’s own “Imagineers” are likely behind the University’s countless confusing e-mail servers. University Housing sometimes uses Daisy, while other departments have access to the Donald server. Even the undergraduate server is Gladstone, Donald’s lucky cousin. And let’s not forget Darkwing, cleverly named after a Disney superhero.

I’ll let you in on another secret: You know our mascot? That’s Donald Duck. Sure, he’s been cleverly disguised by the removal of his trademark sailor suit — but it’s him. Has nobody noticed that the University is slowly being transformed? Sooner or later, our beloved EMU Amphitheater will be the center of Disney Northwest, as the the chain of parks consumes this campus. Tourists and children alike will wander down Main Street (formerly 13th Avenue) stopping to snap a picture of the friendly Hob-Knoblin that guards the EMU, or go on Mr. Frog’s Wild Ride.

Bambi-like deer will be released in the new Wildlife Magic attraction between Villard and Allen Halls. Visitors to the campus will ride on the famous It’s An Unfair World ride, where tiny robotic protesters will sing in front of Asian factories and picket sweatshops around the world in many languages. Everything will be even more crowded, and good luck finding a job after graduating from Disney Northwest.

But this doesn’t have to happen. There is the potential to generate, using everyone on campus, an incredible amount of hate. Strangely, it has been directed mistakenly toward the good people of Nike instead of our silent, but ever present, Disney overlords. I’d like to encourage everyone to avoid the Disney parks at all costs.

This legacy of suckage and conspiracy is, sadly, not confined to the North American Continent. Euro-Disney barely stays afloat, ensnaring American tourists dazed by jet lag and too much wine as they wander the streets of Paris. On the other side of the globe, the minions at Tokyo Disneyland have resorted to crude mind control tricks.

Upon entering the gates of the Eastern World’s Magic Empire, I found myself overwhelmed by an a somewhat familiar odor, albeit one that I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t until I was safely back in the United States that I realized what had happened. Tokyo Disneyland smells like cum. Oh, it’s a clever plot. The wily Imagineers prowling around their tunnels and computer centers deep beneath the Main Street Electrical Parade have managed to forever link Tokyo Disneyland to orgasm. Masses of Japanese citizens are forgoing their post-coital cigarettes, rushing instead to their already overcrowded public transportation systems, racing toward Disneyland. Orgasm in Japan leads to an uncontrollable urge to plummet down Sprash Mountain.

Yes, things are pretty dismal at Disneyland. But it seems unfair to criticize and critique such an American institution without offering some ideas for improvement. For one, the park operates on the mistaken assumption that all visitors are young children, or at least mentally handicapped adults.

For the rest of us, I suggest the creation of new “lands.” Move over Adventure Land, and make way for “Penicill-Land!” That’s right, an area of the park reserved exclusively for adults. Free admission and a complimentary dose of penicillin (just in case) upon leaving would be sure to attract the elusive 18-49 year old male demographic. Such attractions as Madam Minnie’s Good Time Brothel would easily make this the most popular place in the Magic Kingdom. Or maybe a small add-on to one of the theme parks, say Disney Presents Li’l Tijuana. A magical place, Li’l Tijuana would be home to some of the more forgettable Disney characters. Visitors could relax in a bar, kept company by the wicked stepsisters and the recently separated Prince Charming. After a few shots of tequila, patrons could stumble around to mariachi music and catch a donkey sex show starring none other than Winnie the Pooh’s friend Eeyore.

As Disneyland approaches its fiftieth birthday, it would be a good idea to steer clear of California, Florida, Paris and Tokyo altogether. It’s just safer that way.

The Disney organization is likely poised to thaw the body of Walt Disney himself, frozen and waiting since 1966 to be returned to life. Now is his chance. The technology to create the robotic characters inhabiting the rides will easily be adapted to reanimate Disney’s corpse. With the promise of eternal life beckoning, the elderly will flock in record numbers to Disneyland, crowding the streets and filling every line. Rides will be out of commission for hours at a time, as geriatric patrons are evacuated after breaking their hips on Space Mountain. The dangers are clear. Disneyland offers nothing but pain and sorrow. Nothing in the park is as fun as you remember. The Magic Kingdom is powered largely by smoke, mirrors and robots.

The next time you find yourself with some vacation time and money to burn, try Knott’s Berry Farm. Not only do they have no plans to wake the dead, you can buy some great jelly there too.