Disney Dreams Deferred

What is Valentine's day really all about? Even when I have someone in my life to share the day with, we usually end up wanting to celebrate some sort of anti-valentine's day. Has anyone ever really taken the time to notice how pathetic those people look? You know, the ones in line at the supermarket the night before buying the wilted flowers and cheap boxes of chocolate; the chocolate that shouldn't even pass for chocolate in the first place? You know who you are because I'm one of those people too. We'd all like to be the type of person who puts thought and time and effort into Valentine's day gifts, but we don't. We scoff at it and secretly want the other person to forget so that we can hold up our five dollar flowers in a guilt-induced declaration in hopes that we get to call the shots in the relationship for the entire subsequent week. Even now, as I sit here at Disneyland, supposedly the "happiest place on earth," all I want to do is hit the next princess I see on the snout and beat the shit out of her prince. Which brings to mind a question: if the two of those diabetes inducing assholes ended up happily ever after, why are they never out walking the park together? You never see them holding hands and bursting into spontaneous song; no, she's always alone under two pounds of cakey makeup surrounded by deluded little girls all hoping for their own happy-ever-after endings. So where are the fucking guys? The ones who fight dragons and witches and evil family members all for "true love?" I'll tell you where they are, they're off in some seedy underground speakeasy hidden within the bowels of the magic kingdom playing video games and drinking hard liqour while porn plays in the background.

They've shed their tights for comfortable jeans, worn t-shirts that have their "Neverland University" alma matter etched on the front. They're playing poker, making jokes and laughing at their own farts while the princesses they "saved" are off keeping up the pristine squeaky clean Taylor Swift image so as not to scare the kiddies. You know what I say to to that? Fuck. That. Shit. Uh-uh. That is not for me. Pass the Jack because I'm no fucking princess. I'm no prince either. What? So when the thrill of the hunt is gone, when there are no more innocent dragons to slay or stepmothers to vanquish they can just start distancing themselves from the pastel-loving princess until they absolutely have to make a quick apearance in the fucking parade you can't even see because of all the damn kids sitting on their father's shoulders? Hey, some of us adults actually want to watch that shit too.

No, if you want to find me I'll be hanging with Cruella, Hook, and my all time favorite villain, Malificent. Incidentally, I'd be pissed too if I didn't get an invite to the party just because I have a bit of a dark side. That's just as bad as being racist, that's being Villainist. They may be evil motherfuckers but at least they tell it like it is. No sugar coated shit here. So after we go over to the Pansy Prince Gentleman's Club, beat the shit out of them with their own plastic swords (which won't be hard cause you know princes can't fight worth shit), and steal their liquour (daddy can afford to buy them more), we'll head down to New Orleans Square and get pissed while listening to jazz. All characters allowed except for those deemed as "royalty." And after we all jump in the river and stop singing "Heal the World" we can toilette paper the castles and throw bags of shit at the entrance (thanks Pluto). Snow White's evil stepmother can brew up some bad ass hangover cure and in the morning, we can do it all over again.... Now that's Disney.

By the way, there was one Prince signing autographs alongside his lady love: Aladdin. That's because he's not a cowardly little pansy raised with money. Boy grew up on the streets and had to actually try to earn her love. Jasmine's OK too since she fell in love with him when he was poor. Guess there are exceptions.... But you'll still find me drunk with that darker side of Disney.