A story by David Foxfire, based on a fictional version of the Walt Disney World resort, and is used for a parodial purpose.  The Walt Disney Company did not authorize or endorsed this story. Artwork by David Foxfire.

Creative Commons License This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.  

Chapter 2

The cool Floridian night air does a lot to clear someone’s head, especially when you’re two foot five, 30 pounds and have to deal with a stomach full of 2 proof rum and fruit juices. And when you have those stats, like Johnny Briz, even 2 proof–1% Alcohol–will give a good enough buzz.

Johnny was grateful for one thing, though: Johnny can still run a straight line. Or as straight as possible while he’s weaving back and forth around trash canisters. Along the way, he switched his white gloves to the fingerless version for better grip. Needed to scale a cement block wall surrounding the storage facility next to the Magic Kingdom.

He paused on the styled and smooth cap on top of this wall. Sitting on his haunches, and then balancing himself on his hands, he surveyed the area. His nose couldn’t pick up any other people around the building for as far as he can see. His eyes scan around for a path to get inside. He found one he liked.

He made a smooth transition to a standing base, and the leapt for a nearby tree. He swung under a branch, jumped to another branch. He swung back to get enough distance to leap over to the air conditioner on the ground. Rolled through the landing. Kick jump back up and grabbed a storm drain to climb up to the roof.

Cool Floridian night air really does a lot of clear Johnny’s head.

And his size is advantageous for sneaking into buildings, such as the more modern storage buildings surrounding Disney Parks. They’re designed to be green, with plenty of skylights to reduce the need for those spiral light bulbs. Ceiling fans circulate the fans so that the air conditioner Johnny just rolled over won’t be overtaxed in the noonday sun. And there’s vents that can be easily opened by a switch. Or a clever mouse with a horseshoe magnet and a spool of 100-pound test fishing line always on hand.

Rappelling down the ceiling vent and onto the storage bins, Johnny looked around the storage area and found the tiki torches, all resting in a bin in a corner. There were three dozen of them set apart in another bin with a sign wired over the front. ‘Looks like they’re about to discard those torches. And I assume that they have expiration dates and all.’

Johnny’s convinced that those torches are still good.

And if a human pitched something that he can still use, it doesn’t count as stealing.

In Johnny’s mind, those three dozen torches were fair game.

As he dropped his way level by level down the storage shelves to the ground, however, Johnny found out that he was fair game as well.

Three levels to the ground, he felt himself stop in mid-drop, and a powerful hand grabbing him from the back collar. His field of vision shifted right to reveal the face of…

“Ah, if it isn’t Peg Leg Pete as I live and breathe,” Johnny said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

What the Security Uniform clad Pete did shocked Johnny, he showed both his hands. He wasn’t the one grabbing him.

“Sorry pal,” the voice said from behind Johnny’s head. “You were talking to the wrong Pete, see?”

Johnny did his best to turn his head to see who was behind him.

What he saw surprised him. Or at least the part of Pete’s artificial leg he did manage to see.

“All right Pegleg, I’ll bite,” Johnny said. “How many Petes are there?”

“Enough Petes to keep you corralled, you Tigger-blood infused rabble rouser.” Security Guard Pete bellowed with a similar voice, as he took Johnny from the other Pete.

“That’s Tiger blood,” Johnny replied. “Tigger’s only skin and bone, believe me, I checked.”

Pegleg snorted. “I’ve been doing some checking of my own, see? I overheard that you were planning to snatch those Tiki Torches, and lo and behold, you came dropping in here like your usual Mouse Prince of Persia.” He then turned to Johnny snout to snout. “And we caught you red-handed, see?”

“First, you can’t be sure I’m going for those particular torches,” Johnny said, and then looked at Pete’s hands. He even managed to snag one of them. “And Second, you didn’t cat me red handed. These gloves are still white.”

Pete had to look at the palms of his hands to see for himself. “Oh, you might be right about that.”

But that was all Johnny can hear before his vision blurred again.

“You young punk!” Security Guard Pete said as he threw Johnny across a hallway.

“Don’t, Stupid!” Peg Leg Pete shouted. “He’s like a cat! I wasn’t kidding about the Prince…of…Per…”

Peg Leg saw Johnny use the momentum of the throw to wall run across several storage boxes, slide jump across the alley to an empty space, vault across cat-style and land on the ground at a running clip.

“How’d…he…do?” Security Guard Pete said pointing to where Johnny was.

Only to get smacked by Peg Leg Pete. “You Idjit! Did I just told you he’s got all those tricks.” He then shoved him to one alley and went down another. “Find him!”

Johnny was already at the other side of the facility, next to the refrigerated section. He knew he couldn’t carry all those torches and lose those Petes.

How many of them are there?!

He had to distract them somehow.

He slipped into the refrigerated section. There was two exits covered by plastic sheets which proved effective in keeping the walk-in fridge cold. He could see the plush toys in the next area at the far end.

He also saw a bunch of tomatoes marked “Over-Ripe! Do Not Use.”

Johnny took one.

He climbed up to a third opening, a steel door panel used to slide trays across to a waiting cart to send to all those in-park kitchens. He peeked out and whistled.

Right at Peg Leg Pete.

“There you are, you young punk!” Pete said, charging into the steel door panel. Right hand first.

Johnny ducked, but as he did, he tossed the tomato in the air.

Pete’s hand grabbed the tomato.

“I got you now, you little…”

He squeezed.

SPLURT!

“Now you can catch me red handed,” Johnny said as he ran off across the refrigerator and into the stuffed toys, especially the overflowing supply of…

“Duffys,” Johnny mused. “They always give me the creeps.”

Off in the distance, he heard one Pete screech, “YOU KILLED HIM?!?!” at the other.

“He’s also giving me an idea.” He looked around to find exactly what he needed, finding several outfits and accessories and even some other stuffed toys that he could cannibalize for his plan.

When his eyes fell on some toys for the upcoming Circus area…

They’ve already got toys ready? They’ve just broke ground on the tents…

…his plan was full and complete. He reached for his pocket knife, giving an evil grin at the two Petes at the other side of the refrigerator.

Two Petes that were wailing on each other as they went through the Kübler-Ross Stages of Grief.

Denial: “No Way you could kill him!” “His neck couldn’t be that scrawny!”

Anger: “How could you do this, you Idjit!” “Are you accusing me of killing him?!”

Bargaining: “How are you going to explain this to Amber?!” “Oswald’s gonna skin you alive! Yeah, you! Not me! I wasn’t caught red handed!”

Depression: No quotes, they were reduced to blubbering and weeping sacks of tears and bruises.

They never got to Acceptance.

“Guys, you do know it was a tomato, right?”

They were still crying for five seconds.

Johnny didn’t know it was because of the presumed murder or by the Ultra Combos they were putting on each other. Either way, it looked pathetic, and he showed it when they finally looked up.

“I am disappoint.” Johnny said as he closed the door panel.

The two Petes looked at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Then they rushed under the plastic flap, or rather struggle under the plastic flap as they tried to squeeze their way through the door at the same time. “Wait. Til. I. Get. My. Hands. On. Once I can see first.”

What they saw when they got the plastic flap away from their eyes was something they regretted seeing:

A plush Duffy was sitting on a rolling tray. Dressed like Chucky from Child’s Play. Knife and all.

“Hi! I’m Duffy! Wanna play?!”

That was Johnny holding his nose and throwing his voice. It worked too well.

At least according to the girly screams from both Petes.

And what Johnny did next as the topper didn’t help matters: He was on the top ledge above the tomatoes, which he placed just off the edge of the table leading to the door panel.

He jumped at the part that was just beyond the ledge, causing the rest of the tray, with the tomatoes at the far end, to flip over. Johnny found the cliff side of the table and leaped away before the tray would hit him. He bounced off one of the Petes’ tummy (which one he didn’t cared) and spun away through the plastic tarp.

By the time he was rolling at the landing, he could hear the tomatoes pelting the two Petes.

Followed by a couple of louder thuds.

Johnny wiped his gloved hands as he saw the two unconscious petes: having been fainted by the mass of tomato pulp on them.

By the time the two Petes were found, and reassured that they were still alive, Johnny was already gone, carrying a bundle of torches on his back.