was soon abandoned by my cohorts after the whole "The Rossman
is a major dickwad for making us wait in that line for the spoogie
haunted house" fiasco, and wandered around aimlessly for
a little while as I searched for any kind of red-light district
in the amusement park (hey, I figured they had booze,
why not prostitution?). It was then that I came across
the Universal 42 Theater Movie Hyper Cinema Complex, which
just so happened to be playing the newest Miyazaki movie, Spirited
Away in five minutes time! That there was the luck of the
Irish... Even though they are mostly a drunk and smelly people
with no self respect and an unholy love of the potato... But
I bought myself a ticket for the late showing and sat down
for the best two hours that I spent that year in a dark room
that didn't involve a buxomly girl named, Tammi (with an "I").
I walked out of the theater with tears streaming down my face
and knew what I had to do. See, in the movie, our heroine, Sen/Chihiro,
was faced with a terrible problem with which she had to face
head-on in order to save her sanity and return to her ordinary
and dull existence in the world that she really lived in. It
was such a complete parallel to my dilemma with my master, Dr.
Doom, that my Blind Canadian Rage gave way to Pathetic Scottish
Guilt and I found myself faced with coming to terms with my own
troubled past.... Actually, that's a lie. I was really ready
to go into deep deep hiding in order to avoid my master
till the apocalypse or until he offered to make me his heir and
promise to stop stepping on my spine whenever the mood hit him
(which was every 3-5 hours the last time I checked), but Doom's
Goons caught me as I was trying to board a refugee raft that
was sailing to commie Cuba. Goddamn flying monkeys!!!
the end, when all was said and done, and the barred door was
locked behind me, I can look back at my time spent at Universal
Islands of Adventure in Orlando and smile. Those fun rides, those
fun friends, and the fun taste of freedom that I will probably
not experience again for a looooooong time. Sure, this cage that
I'm in right now won't hold me forever, but the problem is it's
holding me right now. The moral of this story is to buck
up, lil' campers, and enjoy the non-dictatorship life that fate
has given you... and if you're unfortunate enough to still be
living in some kind of Nazi regime then, er.... Well, sorry.
That's gotta suck.
Eventually Doom's minions
brought me before my exulted leader ("exulted" means
"royal cock scrubber," right?), and I was forced to
grovel for a few hours before the masked one would even let me
stay conscious for more than 5 minutes at a time from his beatings.
Then I had to listen to him rant and rave about "Doom had
to send out contracts" on my life, and "Doom had to
pay for the wrecked floor panels of Doom's classy embassy",
and blah blah blah blah blah.... It got old really fast, and
apparently I was to blame for unrest in the Middle East and Doom's
puppy that ran away from home when Doom was 6 (which made Doom
cry like Doom did when Leo said goodbye to Kate Winslet in Titanic).
I added a little well-needed excitement to his otherwise assassination-attempt
filled day, and he rakes me through the coal fires! On top of
all that, he even bitchslapped me until I "freely"
gave him my ninja shirt. Then I was subjected to the story of
how he lost his original rugged ninja shirt all those years ago.
Man, the only man who's a bigger tool than Doom himself is that
turd, Reed Richards. Fuck them both in the ear!