"You're the real Mickey Mouse. It's not a costume."
What do you say to that? Tell the kid the truth? I did what any mouse in my position would do. I lied, through my front incisors. What else am I supposed to do? I’m on the payroll, sure. But I am not the Man. I’m the mouse. I didn’t build the empire, I only work here. I don’t own shinola – not even my own copyright. It’s not Mickeyland, it’s Disney World. My name isn’t even Mickey. That mother changed it. Like he elongated my snout, made me wear clothes, drive a car, drink Martinis, put my girlfriend in stupid shoes, get a regular job, a sub-prime mortgage, and before you know it, you wipe up in Disney World and everyone thinks you’re a fraud and knows you’re a failure…
Uncle Walter can go kiss my skinny tail. Maybe I should show the kid everything.
“What if I am, kid? What did you expect? Some S.O.B. paying his way thru’ college. Strapping on a furry costume in 75 degrees Farenheit of Florida humidity for minimum wage plus tips is a gas, kid. Real laugh a minute.” “Fun is what my folks paid for. This is America. You can buy everything.”
“Mother freakin’ donut suckers. Leave me be. Go annoy Goofy.”
“He don’t speak to me.”
“Cos he’s a stoner.”
“He ain’t real like you.”
“Are you yanking my tail? You think anything that butt ugly could be anything but real. You been watchin’ too much Disney Channel, kid.”
“Pluto ain’t a real dog.”
“Planet, kid. Ain’t a real planet… Lemme tell you, when you smell his mangy hide, and feel his sloppy bazoo slurping up your chops, believe you me, kid, that is a dog. Throw him a bone, watch him pick at it. That ain’t no outta work actor. He’s the real deal. Mean, look the size those balls. Been a while, dude…”
“What’s been a while?
"........................................."
"Where’s Minnie, Mickey?”
“Reckon you oughta go find your folks, now.”
“They’re over there. See.”
“The couple in the inflatable Sumos?”
“They’re not costumes.”
“………………………………”
“Are you the real Mickey Mouse?"
"Sure, kid. I am an over-sized monster rodent, plucked off the cartoon page, juiced up on steroids, and like so much jell-O, pumped into a man-size Mickey Mouse suit!"
" .................................."
"I am talking to you, for Chrissake. This is not a squeak. This is American English."
"But the real Mickey speaks American."
"The real Mickey. There you go again. What does that even mean?"
"It's an asteroid."
"Pluto ain't real. It's an asteroid, not a planet. Like this isn't Disneyland. It's only Disney World. So you cannot be the real Mickey Mouse, cos he lives in California. That's why you're not so happy."
" ....................."
"I gotta go."
" What you gonna tell your folks?"
"I'm gonna tell 'em I met an unhappy man in a dumb mouse costume. You're fake news, Mickey Mouse!"
"Sure, kid. Now, scram, vamoose.
Boy, that was close. It's the tail, man. They see an extra tail popping out, they get real suspicious. Tape up the tail. How many mother freakin' donuts can one human eat, dude? God, I need another hit...
"Hey Pluto. Good dog. Go see if Goofy got any reefer. K boy? Mary Jane. Attaboy. Pluto."
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