America's Scandals are (Literally) Cartoonish

In the United States it never seems to fail that someone somewhere is involved in some kind of sex scandal. Bad enough when a president, senator, or congressperson gets called on the carpet for errant peccadilloes, but things are getting really out of hand when the law suits start piling up against cartoon characters.

Now, I am not talking about people who are in cartoons, like Pee Wee, or Bozo, or name that legislator.  I am talking about bonafide, died-in-the-wool, cartoon characters, like Donald Duck. It seems that said Mr. Duck did in fact fondle a parade viewer while passing by during a character parade at Disney’s Epcot Center theme park.  Don’t believe me? Go Google it yourself; this is after all the USofA where the illogical and unlikely occur with abandon.

Apparently the woman took the initial nudging in stride, choosing to laugh about it instead of making it a Federal case.  After all, said Duck has no visible source of income, and it is highly unlikely that a civil suit would be appropriate against a cartoon.

But little did the victim suspect that the encounter would leave her with post-traumatic stress.  She began to have nightmares of Donald pursuing her through the open fields and round and round the inside of the geodesic dome that is the very symbol of Epcot. Such nightly events stoked up her stomach and more ailments began to arise. Some of those ailments, apparently, have become permanent injuries.

Initially content to let bygones be bygones, the victim then found out that lo and behold Disney has been covering up all sorts of fondling incidents involving Disney cartoon characters.  This one, involving the fun loving and glib talking Donald, she found out, is merely another in a long series of such complaints.

While reading this missive on the Internet the other day, it awakened in my subconscious another time when such fondling involving one of my sons and none less than the great Mickey Mouse himself.  I know, some of you are thinking I just want in on this to make it a class action suit, but let me assure you nothing could be farther from the truth.

How well I remember the events of that day.  We, my whole family, had been wandering around Disney World proper all day. We had been looking for any characters we could find, and only had enough luck to find some of the lesser players in the Disney cast’s undercard. We saw Huey, Dewey, and Louie, a host of Fairy God Mothers, and a veritable menagerie of creatures great and small that have adorned Disney shows ad infinitum (without end). But we had had no luck with the bigger named characters until very near the end of our excursion.

That’s when everything started to go South or Southwest or in the wrong direction.  We noticed a huge line of people.  They were lined up in ones, twos, threes, and big clumps of family.  Here, I reasoned, has to be the domicile of one of the great Disney characters. Here must be a Goofy or a Donald or a Tigger or even just a Pooh Bear.  Secretly, I thought it might be Mickey, because the number of people waiting in line seemed absolutely stupendous.  No one, I thought, other than perhaps Lindsay Lohan leaving the Betty Ford Clinic, could command such a crowd.

How exhilarating it is to find that one is right in an assumption.  No, it wasn’t Lindsay, but it was indeed Mickey.  We opted to wait out the line and have our two boys get up close and personal with the big-mouth Mickey.  Needless to say, we were on pins and needles just waiting for that moment when we could enter the door to his abode and rest our tired eyes on the Mick! You would have been excited too, admit it.

Once inside, we realized that we had almost as long to wait as we had already waited, since the queue ran completely around the room twice before actually getting near the mouse.  By the time we got up to him, the boys were antsy and we were ready to get it over with and head out to escape Disney World and find solace in our hotel room.

We waited as the line dwindled.  Inside, you had a much better idea of how quickly people were getting a hug from Mickey and moving on down the road. Suddenly, like a tsunami, we were about to meet Mickey arm-and-arm.  But things did not go as planned. In fact, my oldest son, 10 at the time, almost immediately started to scream.  At first, I just thought it was nerves. But it quickly became obvious the Big Mickey had pulled my son’s hair.  Certainly, nothing I did could have caused that high sounding caterwaul to issue forth from young tender child’s lips?

I was aghast, to say the least.  The memory of that day, now that I have been reminded of it, haunts me still.  I find it hard to eat or drink or sleep. Currently, I am running a full week with no sleep.  Certainly, surely as God’s presence, this must be because of Mickey. It probably isn’t helping these notes that I still haven’t had a nod or a wink nor even a snore since then.

But reading this other account, and realizing how bad those other Disney characters have been in the past, I am sure I can tag my experience along with this other suitor and drive full force to a satisfactory conclusion without even having to meet in court?

Heck, if that doesn’t work there’s always another PowerBall experience coming down the road.  I wonder if I could make a case against them for leaving me alone at the altar so often?