Slip 'em a Mickey

I’m not what you would call a “pickle” guy. Sure, I like pickles as much as the next person. I’ll enjoy them with a sandwich, or on a sandwich, or even right from the jar if I’m hungry for a salty snack and there’s a lack of better choices. But I would never use “pickle” in a list of favorites, let alone to describe my tastes. Also, I can’t recall a single conversation, from my 30 years, when someone said to me, “I love pickles” or “I think the pickle is the best damn thing in the world. I think I’ll marry pickle and conceive human-pickle babies.”
No, I have never heard that.

But somehow, by some ethereal sorcery, when everyday people cross the threshold of the Disneyland barrier, they not only want pickles, but they want them so bad they’re willing to pay exorbitant sums of money to obtain one.
“Is that a pickle?” Joe Tourist will ask. “I want a pickle. Nay, I need a pickle! I must have pickle!! How much is pickle? Thirty-six dollars? That’s totally reasonable. Give me one.”

However, the spell Walt has over every person who dares enter his world holds no sway over me. For me, Walt’s domain (which I call Mordor) lost it’s magic in the summer of 1990 when I got kicked out (on my birthday) for nothing more than a few trumped up charges of assault and battery. I was taken behind the scenes to Disneyland “security” and it was there that I was first exposed to the dark underbelly of what was universally touted as “The Happiest Place on Earth.” Dwarves were smoking, ducks and dogs were gambling, and fairy-tale princesses were prostituting themselves for nothing more than a meal. During my short stay, before my official ejection from the park, I focused my senses and became an astute observer. It was there that I saw, firsthand, the puppet strings and learned the Wizard of Oz was just a man behind a curtain.

I saw the canisters, filled with various smells, (vanilla, buttered popcorn, etc.), which were systematically sprayed over the crowd as they walk past the corresponding food shops. I saw the cages where the Disney characters are kept at night. I witnessed an official Disney song recording session in progress where seemingly innocent Disney songs like “It’s a small world” and “A Pirates Life” are laced with subliminal messages that encourage over-spending, over-eating, the purchasing of ridiculous souvenirs, and promote teen promiscuity, binge drinking, communism, Celine Dion, and white supremacy.

Despite the blatancy of it all, no one is the wiser. The world has collectively been slipped a giant Mickey and it won’t wake up. It’s like the town of Stepford, but instead of robotic wives they’ve given us little robotic minorities who chant about laughter and cheer whilst brainwashing us into mindless disciples.

The most alarming thing I discovered was found in the journal of Walt Disney himself. How I stumbled upon said journal is unimportant. From the journal I learned that the capitalistic abuses of Disney Inc. and it’s subsidiaries are for one purpose and one purpose only. To secure Walt’s empire preliminary to the second coming. Not the Second Coming of Jesus, (I would have used CAPITALS to specify that one) but the second coming of Walt Disney himself.

A few excerpts from his prophetic timeline read as follows;
2012: The United States of America becomes The United States of Disney when Disney Inc. pays off the national deficit.
2013: World War 3 breaks out when the entire band of Franz Ferdinand is assassinated at the Mtv Music Awards hosted in Sarajevo.
2021: The United States of Disney emerges victories and declares world domination.
2022: A secret society named The Illuminati of Mickey thaws Walt Disney from his cryogenic status to full vitality thus facilitating his “second coming.”
2022: Walt Disney assumes his position as Supreme Ruler of the World and governs from the highest tower of the Disneyland Castle.

In case you’re considering visiting The Black Magic Kingdom on your next vacation, let me tell you what you should expect to spend.
Entrance Fee: $66 ($56 for kids 3 – 9)
Pickle: $36
Churro: $72
Burger: $85
20 oz. drink: $98
T-shirt: $153
Yarmulka w/ plastic discs stapled to it (a.k.a. Mickey Ears): $379
Giant Turkey Leg: $586
Glow-in-the-dark crap for post sunset: $1,105 (when I say "crap" I mean stuff. It's not an actual glow-in-the-dark terd. You get those at San Diego Zoo.)
Tiara: $2163
The look on your child’s face when they realize the full magic of Disneyland, try to beat you because of it,

and then collapse from heat stroke:

Priceless.

I wasn’t willing to pay full price for my turkey leg, but I was willing to tear it from the hands of a screaming 6-year-old and hide in the bushes while I ate it.

Signs You’re Subconsciously Ready To Quit Your Teaching Job

Your students know more about Texas Hold’em than History.

When you come across a fight in the hall, instead of breaking it up you prefer to take bets.

When you get caught in the bathroom smoking, you refuse to remove the cigarette from your lips before you tell the principle to “bite me!”

You love to teach the kids of the “good ol’ days” by constant use of corporal punishment.

You can lecture for hours on the qualities of navel lint whilst extracting samples along the way.

Your favorite object lesson includes Nazi uniforms, the parking lot, and a giant pile of burning books.

When a parent comes to talk to you about why their child is doing poorly the only explanation you can muster is, “Well, stupidity breeds stupidity.”

Your way of “preparing kids for the real world” is by administering the occasional sucker punch, and stealing their lunch money.

You stopped bothering to learn names long ago and now just refer to all your students as “Numb-Nuts”.

In a year end self evaluation, you give yourself an F.

For A Good Time...

I made this with my friend, Jeff Blake. He's the handsome one.

Leap Yeah!

Where I come from we have this tradition and deep seeded religious belief that February 29th, the extra day of every leap year, is very special. Like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Arbor Day, February 29th is accompanied by it’s own set of mystical beliefs, and outré traditions. The belief is that on the 29th the eyes of heaven are closed and the people of the world are unattended and basically unaccountable for anything they do that day. Needless to say the 29th soon became a day of revelry, lasciviousness, gluttony, horseplay, tomfoolery, bally-hoo, hijinks, buffoonery, capers, shenanigans, and overall unwonted behavior.

Now, some people would argue that bad, or immoral behavior deterred only by fear of the stick, is callow, and is at the lowest level of self-governance. While some would say, that righteousness due to external incentives is not righteousness, Others would say, “No ones watching?! YAHOO!!”

If you were previously unaware of this unique holiday allow me to illustrate just what you’ve been missing out on.

In 1980, when I was two, and still a bit of a novice, I pulled off my diaper, unbeknownst to my parents, and crapped myself silly. Looking back, it seems more like a vicious prank on myself as much as anyone else.
1984; Some other first graders and I took a carton of eggs and a balloon launcher and shot eggs at cars on the freeway. Unfortunately four people lost their lives that day. Fortunately, they were all pretty old and on their way out anyway.
1988; I joined a PETA youth group and helped them burn down a facility that was doing medical tests on animals. The screams that came from the animals that we forgot to un-cage still haunt my dreams.
1992; I leaked a story to the LA Times that the 29th of February had been moved to the 29th of April. Some uninformed Americans still believe that the LA riots were a result of the acquittal of the white police officers that beat Rodney King like a piñata, instead of the truth, which is, they were just enjoying the regular celebratory rights of the 29th.
1996; I verbally supported Bill Clinton all day.
2000; I went to Vegas, got a job, and danced with the Chippendales for the whole night. Financially it was time well spent because, aside from my wages, I made $68.94 in tips. (Admittedly, it’s a little awkward dancing with 94 cents clinking around in the sling area of one’s Speedo.)
2004; I had a hard time enjoying the 29th that year because, unlike previous years, I was married to someone who cracks an even bigger whip than the Man upstairs. So, it was pretty much a let down.
This year I reclaimed my independence. I got up, took off my son’s diaper, and then left for work. I later found out from my wife that he’s doing his part to carry on my legacy.

I hope you all had an eventful 29th. Only four more years ‘till we get to do it again.

High School-isms

The Following are actual questions and comments from a few of my high school students. Names have been changed to protect the ignorant.


Paige: “If I were French, I think I would hate American food.”
Sara: “Whatever. I love our food. French Fries are awesome.”
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Jacob: “You don’t know how long it took Columbus to get here? I thought you were a history teacher.”
Me: “Well, I know when he got here. Do you?”
Jacob: “Ya. Like 1944.”
Adam: “It was way before that you idiot. It was like the 1830’s.”
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Me: Who would you like to follow around and observe for a day, and why? It can be anybody; dead or alive.
(I get a variety of answers. People from history, politics, religion, pop culture, family, etc.)
Me: Jennifer, how about you?
Jennifer: I’d like to follow my dad while he was fighting in Vietnam.
Me: Oh, your dad was in Vietnam? (joking wryly) What side did he fight for?
Jennifer: You know what, I’m not sure.
Me: Well, is your dad Vietnamese? (Jennifer is obviously Caucasian.)
Jennifer: I don’t know. I’ve never asked him.
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Trina: “Is England in the United States?”

Valentine To Self

My good friend, Garrett Batty from Three Coin Productions, did all the filming, directing, and editing.

To find this on YouTube type in "Valentine to self." It should be near the top.

Love It

I’d like to kick this month off right by dedicating my first post to a subject very close to my heart. So close, in fact, that it’s right inside my heart; Love. Because, all you need is love.

Well, unless you’re homeless. Then all you need is love, and someplace to sleep where you won’t freeze to death. Other than that, I guess, all you need is love.

Now that I think about it, what about hitchhikers? Forget love. I’ll bet they’d just settle for a ride. Also, I would say amputees’ need more than love. They probably need some kind of major surgery, physical therapy, and then some prosthesis. And as long as I’m brain storming here, what about diabetics? Are you trying to tell me that when their blood sugar plummets that a shot of love is going to save their butts? H no! Best case scenario; their feet get the axe, then they need prosthesis too. Worst case; a fat shot of insulin fast or they're tits up in an hour. And what about drowning victims? Do you think any of them are under water struggling for love? OXYGEN, PEOPLE! That’s all they need! And what about the obese? Don’t try and tell me it’s the lack of love that’s fueling their gluttony. I think they’ve received too much love, and not enough tough-love. What they need is a taskmaster to crack the whip, and knock the Twinkies from their chubby fingered grip when they succumb to temptation, and to push them outdoors and then have them chased through a park by wild, starving dogs. After that, then maybe we’ll talk about some normal love. And don’t get me started on Asian child sweatshop laborers. Do you think any of them are thinking, “Now that all my needs are being met, I could use some love.”? Answer; NO, THEY'RE NOT! They’re going to need a butt-load more than love to make it to adulthood. As their collective legal representative I demand that they receive, 1) Regular workplace safety inspections, 2) A minimum wage equal to that in the U.S., 3) Clothes appropriate for the weather and working conditions, 4) Regular meals where all the four food groups are represented, 5) Dessert, sometimes. 6) Bi-weekly employee socials and mixers where they can meet and mingle and possibly spark a romantic relationship. When these needs are met, the Asian Child Sweatshop Laborers Civil Liberties Union will drop it’s case.

You know what, now that I think about it, The Beatles were naïve, mindless nincompoops. The world needs a lot more than love. My new mantra is as follows; All you need is a warm bed, a ride, exercise, prosthesis, oxygen, minimum wage, and insulin.