Budgie’s Disney Triple-Feature
Disney has not given permission for these stories to be posted, nor have they been asked. They also have not acknowledged Budgie Bigelow as a writer of any kind, even though he wrote them the definitive sequel to Frozen.
The Disney Breakroom
Andy Mullins sat in the Disney World employee breakroom. The head of his Sophia The First costume sat on the table next to his ham and cheese sandwich. Jon entered next, removing the head of his Dale costume and tossing it onto a nearby chair.
“Fuckin’ rash,” Jon said, scratching his crotch.
“You alright?” Andy asked.
“Yeah,” Jon replied, “but there’s an Ariel in the park who needs to get herself checked.”
Andy ignored the comment, continuing to eat his lunch.
“I have a system,” Jon said. “Check this out.” He pulled his left arm into the torso of his chipmunk costume, letting the sleeve and hand hang dead. “I’m scratching myself right now, and nobody knows!”
“I know,” Andy said. “Plus, I can see the costume moving where your hand is.”
“But it’s genius, right?” Jon said. “I just have to use my right hand to sign Dale’s autograph and shit.”
“Congrats,” Andy said. “You’ve devised a method to be constantly touching yourself while being hugged by children.”
“It’s not like I’m Clyde or anything,” Jon said. He sat down near Andy and looked around. “Hi Kyle.”
Andy had to suppress a cringe. He had ignored the fact that Kyle had been in the breakroom with him. The last thing he wanted was to be drawn into a conversation.
Kyle nodded. He was one of the operators of Splash Mountain, and he had been told numerous times to keep his opinions on the inside while around park guests, and Andy wished he did the same around the employees. Luckily, Kyle had been quiet.
“What’s on your mind?” Jon asked, not bothering to hide his growing smile. Andy sighed, knowing what was coming.
“Did you see the new Snow White they got working up by the Tea Cups?” Kyle asked in his southern drawl. “Damn half-spook. Snow White is supposed to be pure. It’s in her name for God’s sake!”
“Preach!” Jon exclaimed.
“Please don’t,” Andy muttered, wishing he had gone to a different breakroom. This never happened in the one in Tomorrowland.
“I’m not trying to be racist,” Kyle continued. “I’m just sayin’ they should stick to their own model.”
Jon laughed as Andy ate his sandwich, intent to ignore what was going on around him.
“And don’t get me started on all the race mixers in the park!” Kyle shouted, slamming a fist on the table.
“Oh, let’s get you started,” Jon said.
Andy nearly got up and left when Jackie entered the breakroom, still dressed as Cinderella. Andy had always had a crush on her, so he stayed. He looked at her, hoping to be drawn into a conversation with her while Jon and Kyle discussed race mixing.
“Fuckin’ horny-ass fucks!” Jackie exclaimed. “Some lame-ass dad just told me he wants to finger me!”
“No shit?!” Jon said, turning away from Kyle to become engaged in what was a more worthwhile endeavor. “You serious?”
“Yeah!” Jackie said, sitting down hard near him and Andy. “His daughter was right there too. He tried to brag about some book he wrote about Cinderella and a demon.”
“Really?” Jon asked. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” Jackie said. “Pudgy something. You should’ve seen his wife, eye-ballin’ me like a salt lick.”
“Damn,” Andy said.
“Fuckin’ pervs,” Jackie said. “This shit happens three times a week, I swear.”
“How’s the acting gig going?” Andy asked, hoping to get her mind off of the dad who asked to finger her.
“Shitty,” Jackie said, crossing her arms. “I’m here all the fuckin’ time, acting like Cinderella with no Prince Charming to dog-fuck me in a pumpkin carriage. Maybe I can ask to be Sleeping Beauty. I can do it realistically if they just let me nap in that fake castle.”
“I bet guys would try to kiss you awake,” Andy said, trying to be funny.
“I bet that pervert dad would slip his dick in your mouth while you slept,” Jon said.
“Hey!” Jackie said, slapping Jon’s shoulder. She was laughing, and Andy felt the familiar pang of jealousy. He just hoped he wouldn’t see her scratching whatever Jon was spreading around from her crotch the next morning.
Jackie opened her mouth to say something else, but the door opened again, and Clyde walked in, carrying a paper-bag lunch in his left hand and his piglet head in the other. He was nearly bald, had a double chin, and a neck full of acne and skintags. He sat in the corner, away from everyone else. He silently took an unwrapped sandwich from the bag and started eating.
“How is he still working here?” Jackie asked in a hushed voice. “How many times has Disney covered up what he’s been up to?”
Andy shrugged. “It pays to be related to the right people,” he said. It was a known fact that Clyde had an uncle high up in Disney management. Clyde was the black sheep of the family, but he was still gainfully employed as a character, even though his child molestation had been covered up multiple times.
“Guy makes me sick to my cock,” Jon said. “Wish he’d just die already.”
“I can hear every word you three are saying,” Clyde said, staring at the table.
“Good!” Jon shouted, standing up. “Kill yourself!”
“You hear that?” Jackie added.
“Fuckin’ kid toucher,” Kyle added, standing up. “I can’t even stand to be in this room with you.” He left the room, slamming the door shut. Clyde continued eating his lunch as if nothing had happened.
The door opened again and Jeff, Andy’s supervisor, stuck his head in. “You almost done?” he asked. “Sophia is supposed to be at the Nick Junior lunch in five minutes.”
“Yeah,” Andy sighed. He tossed out what remained of his lunch and stood up. He grabbed his Sophia head and walked toward the door.
“Have fun, Sophia,” Jon said.
“Don’t scratch your dick off,” Andy said, flipping Jon off as he left. “Later, Jackie.”
“See ya,” Jackie said.
Clyde looked up at Andy as he left.
“Kill yourself, Clyde,” Andy said, opening the door to follow Jeff.
“You know Andy wants to fuck you, right?” was the last thing Andy heard Jon say to Jackie before he closed the door and put on his Sophia head.
The Funeral of Mickey Mouse; starring Budgie Bigelow
Budgie held his daughter’s hand as the funeral procession passed, moving toward Cinderella’s castle on Main Street in the Magic Kingdom. He wasn’t sure what to expect when they were told the funeral of Mickey Mouse was going to take place just two days earlier. He didn’t even know why Disney offed their most beloved character out of the blue.
“Is Mikey Mouse in that box?” Budgie’s six year old daughter asked as the black casket wheeled past them. It was a closed casket, suggesting Mickey had died the most gruesome of deaths. Disney hadn’t yet released the details. They only said he had died.
“Yes,” Budgie replied, holding back his own tears as his daughter sobbed. He was more sad for her than anything else. She hadn’t lost anyone close to her yet, and the first she’d learn about death and funerals was at Mickey’s funeral three days into their eight day stay. He silently cursed Disney for pulling this stunt during her first trip to Disney World. His daughter sobbed louder and harder as the coffin passed, sitting atop a white carriage pulled by a single black horse. Budgie’s wife, Melanie, rubbed their daughter’s back.
All of the characters were in attendance to say goodbye to Mickey: Donald, Goofy, Pluto, Chip, Dale, all of them. They bowed their heads as the coffin passed, there was no jubilation or waving from any of them as the crowd of people watched, silent save the crying children.
The coffin finally passed the gates of Cinderella’s castle as the people baked in the hot Florida sun. The widow Minnie Mouse, wearing a black dress complete with a veil, mimed sobbing as Daisy Duck comforted her, patting her back as she buried her face in her large, white-gloved hands.
Budgie didn’t understand why Disney did this. Maybe they wanted to teach kids about the suddenness and the finality of death. Maybe the influence of Marvel comics made them decide to take this route, and they were planning on somehow bringing him back from the dead for some publicity stunt. Only one thing was certain during the long, hot, sad funeral of Mickey Mouse: the Bigelow family vacation had been ruined.
Donald Duck gave a eulogy. It sounded heartfelt, but Budgie couldn’t understand most of the words. When he was done speaking, he hugged Minnie, who held him tight. Goofy came next, giving Minnie a hug as Donald rested his head on Daisy’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything after the embrace was broken. He simply put his hand on Mickey’s coffin and bowed his head.
The funeral ended with Mikey’s coffin being carted away, surrounded by his best of friends. There were no fireworks or announcements afterward. Silence filled the park as everyone made their way toward the exit. It was the middle of the day, but Budgie saw no point in staying, and it looked like the bulk of Disney’s guests felt the same way. There would be no joy in riding the Teacups, Splash Mountain, It’s a Small World, or even that lame Winnie the Pooh ride.
Budgie and his family waited for the shuttle to take them back to their hotel. Melanie held their daughter, exhausted and likely dehydrated from crying. He didn’t want to subject her to the torture of Mikey’s funeral, but his wife insisted that they shouldn’t miss it. He could tell by the look in her face that she knew she had been wrong. He knew they’d talk about it after a while, but the emotional wound was just too fresh.
Mickey Mouse was dead, and the Bigelow family vacation was at a premature end.
Part 3: Back
Walt Disney opened his eyes.
“Good morning, sir,” a voice said. Walt sat up. The man speaking to him wore a white lab coat. The name tag said “Todd” under his name was a location: “Mumbai, India”.
“What?” Walt said, gaining his bearings. He flexed his fingers. His joints were sore, but the aches were fading. “Where am I?”
“You’re back,” Tood replied, a smile spreading across his pale, white, bespectacled face.
“Back,” Walt said. Realization finally came to him. “You took me out of the tank.”
“Yes,” Todd said. “You’ve been thawed.”
“So medical science found a cure?” Walt asked.
“That’s right,” Todd said. “You no longer have super-syphilis, and your heart’s been repaired.”
“And my wife?” Walt asked.
Todd looked confused and started flipping through papers on a clipboard. “I don’t think she was frozen,” Todd said.
“Thank God,” Walt said. He got off the gurney, wobbling a bit. He realized he was still nude from his thawing. “Oh my.”
Todd handed him a white robe with Mickey Mouse on the front left. Walt looked at his creation and smiled. “So you’re still around,” he said. “After all these… What year is it anyway?”
“It’s twenty-sixteen,” Todd replied. “You’ve been frozen for more than fifty years.”
“It’s a new century,” Walt said, beaming. “What of my park? Are we still doing the impossible?”
“We are,” Todd said. “Once you feel up for it, you’re more than welcome to visit and have a tour. I think you’ll love it more than ever now.”
“Thank you,” Walt said. “Get me a meal and a whore. I want to see the park as soon as I’m done with both.”
“No problem,” Todd said, turning to have Walt’s will be done.
“Oh, and Todd?” Walt asked.
Todd turned back toward Walt.
“Make sure the whore is dressed like Snow White.”
After Walt ate his meal and plowed his whore, he set out for Disney World along with his tour guide, Vincent, who wore a white golf shirt with Mickey Mouse on the pocket. His name tag bragged that he was from Niger, Africa. He was bald, white, and obese.
“We’re constantly changing per your original vision,” Vincent said. “We’re initiating new innovations every year. Technology has come a long way since nineteen sixty-six.”
“I can see that,” Walt said, walking past a big screen showing images of the rides in Tomorrowland.
“And within the last ten years, we’ve started Utlra-Disney,” Vincent said, nearly standing on the balls of his feet.
“What’s that?” Walt asked. “That doesn’t sound like one of my ideas.”
“It’s a new concept the government sponsored,” Vincent replied. “It’s Disney World, but for the super wealthy. There’s an underground system of transportation that brings you to the front of every line, the best table services at our restaurants, and all of the Disney Princesses are prostitutes, all comped of course.”
“Of course,” Walt said, looking around. “What are those scooters those large people are riding in? Boy, those sure are jazzy.”
“Oh,” Vincent said, looking around. “Those are for handicapped people, but most of them are for the overly obese.”
“Overly obese?!” Walt said, staring daggers into Vincent. “That’s absurd! Walk your blubber off or get out of my park! In my day you wouldn’t leave the bed if you were so fat you couldn’t even put one foot in front of the other!”
Vincent sighed. “I agree,” he said, “but we have to cater to them as if they were disabled. It’s a new era of political correctness. What you said, though completely correct, can be considered hate speech nowadays.”
Walt scoffed, looking around. “And what’s with all these race mixers?” he asked.
“Let me get you something cold to drink, Mr. Disney,” Vincent said. He saw a booth for refreshments and ran off. Walt watched him, thinking about how Vincent would likely be in one of those jazzy scooters before long.
“A guide,” Walt said. “Since when do I need a guide in my own park?” He turned and walked away, venturing into Disney World through the thick crowd of guests.
Walt walked through the Magic Kingdom, taking in the sites of his park. The rides had certainly grown bigger, but the spirit of his park was still there. He eventually visited the other parks as well, making his way to Hollywood Studios. Parents and children alike could spend days with each other, going from place to place as a loving family.
“You’re going on Star Tours again if I say your are!” a father shouted at his son, who had to be less than ten years old. He was grasping him by the shoulder, digging his thumb into his tendon.
“I don’t want to go back!” the boy sobbed. “The ride hurts my head!”
“You’re going back on,” the father said through gritted teeth, finally relinquishing his grip to drag the boy by his wrist. “And don’t you dare cry. I’ll beat you in front of God and everyone here if you get me kicked out of line!”
Walt watched in disgust as the boy was dragged back into line for whatever Star Tours was. There was a waving robot near the sign, so he assumed it was some kind of animatronic show. He walked away from the scene, wandering into one of the many souvenir shops that adorned Disney World. He walked in to find a mother, fat as those on the jazzy scooters, dragging her daughter by her arm.
“Do you think we’re made of money?!” the woman spat. “You already have too many stuffed animals. I’m not getting you nothing!”
The little girl cried, dropping the stuffed Pooh doll onto the floor. Walt picked it up and brought it to the cashier, ready to pay for it and give it to the girl himself. “Just this?” the bubbly, red-headed girl, named Jill from Jamaica, at the register asked.
“Just that,” Walt said, smiling. He pulled his wallet out with the cash he was given to spend at the park.
“That’s twenty-seven fifty-nine,” Jill said.
“Twenty-seven dollars?” Walt said. “For a stuffed toy?”
“And fifty-nine cents,” Jill added.
“Never mind,” Walt said, closing his wallet. “Let the brat cry.”
Walt left the gift shop and spotted the mother and daughter just outside. He walked passed, wanting to ignore their argument, but it was much too loud.
“I want that fuckin’ Pooh!” the little girl shouted, stomping her feet.
“Well you’re not getting it!” the mother spat back, now texting on her phone. “Stop acting like a little butthole, and maybe you wouldn’t have been pulled out of line when you went to see Jasmine.”
The girl screamed, as the mother put her phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said. “Yeah, that’s Sandy. She’s being a little fuckin’ brat right now.”
Walt ignored both the mother and child and tried to find his way back to the Magic Kingdom and Vincent or Todd. He had had enough of his own park.
“Are you sure?” Todd asked as Walt stripped bare.
“I’m sure,” Walt said. “Freeze me again, and don’t unfreeze me until kids and parents respect each other, fat people exercise instead of riding those scooters, and people put down those damn devices start behaving themselves.”
“Godspeed,” Todd said grimly.
“Oh yeah,” Walt said, climbing into the metal cylinder that was going to refreeze his body. “Make sure Mickey Mouse is killed off. These people don’t deserve him anymore. He’s better off dead.”
Vincent nodded. “It will be done as you ask, sir,” he said. “It was an honor to meet you, if only for a single afternoon.”
“Maybe you’ll see me again,” Walt said as the top of this cryogenic tube closed. “If people become better, I will return. Goodbye for now.”
And he was never seen again.