This is the second part of the story of three people who went to Disney World in an effort to keep one four year old happy…

So, the first day we went to main Mickeyville.  We walked around the joint, played a few “not so scary so children won’t fear the mouse-type games” and that seems to be all I remember about that day.  That night there was a Halloween Parade kicked off by the headless horseman runnin’ by on Black Beauty with a head-like sphere under his arm, followed by all the brightly-dressed Disney characters.  I also remember hearing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” at one point – so upon further review, it may have actually been a GLADD parade.

Unlike most parades that I remember, there was no throwing of the candy.  It was all contained in feedbags by the float followers, who seemed to ration them out based on whether you were a Disney character or not.  My son, dressed as King Peter from the Chronic of Narnia, got about 5 jolly-rancher looking things and small amounts of other assorted candies.  Now the fat little kid standing next to us dressed up as Tigger – all the while sliming us with sweaty, fake tiger hair – got enough candy to fill the horn of plenty at any Thanksgiving spread.  I don’t dig on this side of the ditch, because parade candy wasn’t just a sugary sweet gift when I was growing up - it was also a threat to your ocular nerve, teeth, and an overall dent-free appearance on your forehead.  I guess that’s because all the parades I went to were for lame reasons, and had celebrity-like people riding on the tops of cheap cars.  They probably wanted vengeance of some sort, and braining little cold, snotty nosed children was a way to get back at the local community.  They slung that shit out there like they were tryin’ to feed all the chickens at a Grade A, Jumbo, or Extra large farm.  Some of them would go to the complete overhand throw, like the sunroof had just tightened on their ass cheeks.  There were also the side-armers who made you think an angry Dennis Eckersley with a hand full of rock hard caramels was chasing you.

The second day we went to the part of the park that is allegedly Universal in nature.  I expected aliens, old satellites, pieces of the Challenger - but no – it’s all phony movie sets and some games ripped off from movies.  There was one beverage tender who had swill, but I had to go Pizza Planet for some out of this world priced pie; when I returned, he had apparently wandered off to peddle his sweet liquid of Mouseville Sanity in 12 oz plastic bottles elsewhere.  On the third day, we went to EPCOT and stared at that weirdly-shaped ball for a little while - which made me think I was looking at RoboCop’s nut.  After a while, per the last two days, our son had a meltdown and wanted to go back to the hotel because the pool had a slide.  Luckily, it also had a bar with Mango Mojitos and shots of Patron. 

Of course, I got hornswoggled on some methods of paying for stuff.  Usually when my wife and I parlay to some destination, it is one of those joints where you can pay for stuff with your room key.  It makes you feel like your playin’ with Daddy Warbuck’s credit card, and this is all being financed with Monopoly money.  This time we took cash, so we could keep our residuals residuated.  Well, on two separate occasions I gave the maitre de the cash to cover said purchase.  He then returned with a slip like the ones you get when you use your credit cards.  So, I signed it.  I thought this meant we had paid for our dinner with cash. and had not used a dinner off of our meal plan.  In actuality, these mousketeers were takin’ the cash and turnin’ into their own cheese.  My meal plan was to pay for it all in cash, so as to keep myself from ordering the Cristal or the $200 bottles of wine I like to order – which usually happens when my ability to think clearly has been totally thrown out the window due to the effects of the $20 bottle of wine I drank before we got there.

All in all, I found getting mouseketeered to be a somewhat enjoyable experience.  For whatever reason, the day we were wondering around the part at EPCOT that has all the ways to get drunk in different foreign countries, my better half wanted no part of it.  Seeing as I couldn’t make her stop and watch me drink a pint every six feet, I gave up on that dream.  Our son had a good time, however, so I guess that’s all that really matters.