It's A Small World After All

I'd like to tell you a story that I've never told anyone before.

When I was eight years old, my parents took my sister and I to Disney World in Florida, and we had a great fucking time. If you're a kid or have them, I recommend the experience to you.

I was a pretty independent kid, so if I wanted a hot dog or some other artery-clogging deliciousness, my folks thought nothing of letting me go by myself. After all, I had memorized actual pounds of Watergate testimony four years earlier, so nobody thought that the line at the Orange Julius would be all that much of a challenge for me, even back then.

Anyhow, I was standing there, waiting my turn, when none other than Snow White approached me. She sure was beautiful, and I couldn't have been more excited when she took me by the hand and offered to take me to a magical place.

I went willingly, hoping that Barry Gibb would be there. 1978 was the height of the Bee Gees era, and I always thought the he looked like Jesus and could maybe tell me the secrets of life. Perhaps he could show me how to use my walk in such a way that would let people know that I'm a woman's man, with no time to talk, which I already knew to be the secret to stayin' alive. Or maybe I could exact my revenge on John Dean for ruining my favorite president.

But I wasn't scared. After all, it was Snow White, right?

Well, we ended up in a loading dock, which was empty that late in the afternoon. Snow White pushed me against a wall, feel to her knees, undid my shorts and pulled down my Spiderman Underoos. Not for nothing, she was awfully impressed because I was mightily hung for an eight year old.

Snow White took my proud girth in her mouth and, at some point, slid her finger up my ass. After about 90 minutes, she got what she needed, stood up and straightened out her dress. As she wiped her mouth with the back off her hand, she told me that what I had given her is what keeps her the fairest of them all.

It was the first time that I ever felt that I had truly contributed to something magical. And I know that she was telling the truth, too. If you go to Disney World today, Snow White looks exactly as she did 32 years ago. No need to thank me.

My special childhood memory is why I'm so sad and depressed by this story.

A Pennsylvania woman has charged that she was molested at Disney World. The culprit? No it was not one of the usual suspects: the Pirates of the Caribbean or Yosemite Sam or Pepé Le Pew. It was Donald Duck who allegedly groped her breast when she sought his autograph.

To make matters worse, Donald Duck reportedly feigned exaggerated guilt that he had done something wrong after groping the woman who was at Epcot with her children and fiancé in May 2008.

She has now filed a lawsuit for negligence, battery, and infliction of emotional distress, and is seeking in excess of $50,000 in damages. Disney is seeking a transfer to federal court — presumably under a diversity claim.

The woman claims to have suffered “severe physical injury, emotional anguish and distress including, but not limited to post-traumatic stress disorder.”

As you might expect, my inner child is terribly upset right now. Doesn't this crazy bitch know the magic of Disney? I did, and I was only eight years old. When called to service, I did my job! And not for me the tawdry lawsuits of this Pennsylvania shrew. Oh no. I actually cherish my service to the Magical Kingdom.

Sure, everybody needs Donald Duck, but nobody stops to consider that Donald might need something, too. How do you expect him to live? I really used to think more of unmarried women with kids, but my illusions are finally shattered.

Things sure have changed since the 1970s. And not for the better.


Story ruthlessly stolen from Jonathan Turley.