DISNEYLAND IS POISONING ITS CUSTOMERS!

Okay, let me start off with a disclaimer. Now, I don't have in front of me a big ole' book o' facts that proves that Disneyland is poisoning park goers. I don't have any real 'evidence' that links the deaths of people who have been to Disneyland to the poison that I'm claiming Disneyland pumps into the air. I have though, drawn my own facts and evidence from the more general facts that I do have, just as Walt Disney would have drawn Mickey Mouse from the pen and paper that he was provided.

So let's get into this giant conspiracy, shall we?

First, the facts I do have...

FACT: Disneyland appeals to ALL the senses.

Sight. Disneyland manages to visually appeal to people of all sorts. The kids think it looks like a playground, Stoners can't believe all the pretty colors and talking animals (its the only place where a talking mole would not result in murder/suicide), and for pedophiles who are sexually attracted to children there really is no happier place on Earth.

Unrelated FACT: NAMBLA hosts all of its retreats at Disneyland.

Sound. Find me one person on planet Earth who doesn't like hearing 'It's A Small World' played on repeat. Likewise, the only thing people love more than 'Small World' is that Journey cover band they always have playing in Tomorrowland. My own personal favorite is that ole' diddy "It's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow" featured prominently on the Carousel of Progress.

Taste. If you have money to shell out, you can get sweets like no other. From cookies to McDonald's french fries, there's really no assortment of food quite like that at Disneyland. Even the water tastes like candy!

Touch. You'll never get a splinter from Dinseyland's fake wood! It's smooth to the touch, not unlike the wood provided by NAMBLA (also found at Disneyland!).

SMELL. See how I put that in all caps? It's because this is where it finally gets important.

FACT: The ENTIRE park of Disneyland smells oddly sweet. It seems impossible, but it is true. No matter where you turn, Adventureland, Frontierland, Tomorrowland, yadda yadda yadda, it all smells exactly the same. The whole park smells like one of those Nutty Bavarian nut stands; like sugar roasted almonds.

Now I ask you, how is this possible?

Logic would suggest that the smell is a result of there being a nut stand on every corner. And this would make sense, as everyone knows that little boys love nothing more than a handful of sweet nuts (which brings me to NAMBLA yet again). But this is not the case, I have been to Disneyland and I have only seen 1, maybe 2, nut stands (but don't worry, NAMBLA is making sure there are enough nuts for all the good little boys).

Is it possible that this smell is the result of a single nut stand? There's a nut stand in the Pepsi Center, but the entire arena does not smell like sweet, sweet, sugary nuts.

No, the only answer is that the smell is artificial. Disneyland must be pumping the smell into the park via some sort of ventilation system on the ground. In all seriousness (perhaps the only time I will really be frank in this blog) I honestly believe that this is the case. Image is very important to Disneyland, and who wants to go to a place that smells like a bunch of machinery and sewage (a lot of the OC smells like sewage from time to time, a phenomenon I refer to as 'Shit Pockets')? If anyone would pump an artificial smell into their park to make it more appealing, it would be Disney. I've even heard rumors that this is true, the smell at D-Land is artificial and pumped into the park. I honestly cannot think of another theory that makes sense. Though I can't prove it, I believe this theory like some people believe in aliens, or God, or Global Warming, with every ounce of me.

Back to my original tone.

What's crazier? Believing my theory or believing in this guy?

FACT: Disneyland is pumping an artificial, sweet smell into it's park.

Now, common sense tells us that playing with gases is dangerous and can be hazardous to the health of humans. How many times have we proven something we chemically altered to be safe, only to find out years later that it has negative effects? Like it causes cancer or kills you or something?

The answer is every time.

Imagine please for a moment, you are the preserved head of Mr. Walt Disney himself.

A minion comes to you and says, "Sir, chemical 11356 has been proven to be toxic."

YOU (Walt Disney's head)
What?

MINION
Item 11356. The gas we developed to
make the park smell like sweet nuts.

YOU
I know what it is, you fool. I am all
powerful and all knowing!

MINION
Well, it's causing death in some of our
older park goers.

YOU
I see.

MINION
It seems that the gas stays in a person's
system years after they leave the park,
causing them to die around the age of 40.

YOU
Very well. Thank you for bringing this to my
attention, though I already knew it because
I am all powerful and all knowing.

MINION
How do you want us to proceed? Shall we
cease use of item 11356?

YOU
Excuse me, Did I fucking say that?

MINION
Well, no, sir...

YOU
Then why would you fucking do that?

MINION
But, sir....

YOU
Look, it's simple economics. Our main
clientele is children. Item 11356 is not
killing children, is it?

MINION
Well, sir, not until they grow up, sir.

YOU
Exactly. It doesn't kill anyone until they
grow up and have children of their own.
So our company is not affected.

MINION
Very well, your darkness-ness.

YOU
If anything this helps us. Who spends
more at Disneyland? A kid whose uptight
father won't even let him get a $10 churro,
or an orphan whose parent's left him all their
money?

End scene.

Thank you for playing Mr. Walt Disney's head so convincingly. I especially loved the sinister laugh you added at the end.

Here's what it all boils down to...

FACT: There is a sweet smell that encompasses all of Disneyland.

CLOSE TO FACT: This smell is artificially produced and pumped into the park.

NOT QUITE A FACT: Since the smell is artificially produced it could possibly have negative side effects down the line, such as poisoning people to death.

FACT: Even if Disney discovered that they were accidentally poisoning park goers, as long as business was not disrupted and no one else found out, they would keep doing it cause presentation is everything (and smell is presentation). And as you so aptly pointed out when you were Walt Disney's head, if the gas only kills park goers once they are adults who have their own kids, business is not disrupted. In fact, you also proved that a loaded orphan would spend more at Disneyland than a kid whose parents just lost a bunch of cash due to our crummy economy.

So, I can't necessarily prove Disneyland is poisoning you, but, think about it, what's to say their not? I've set up a scenario here where they would logically not mind doing it and I'd wager there are other money grubbing scenarios where they wouldn't bat an eyelid if a few hundred thousand park goers died at the ripe old age of 45 because of their decisions.

Please don't sue me.



And might I add, 'What the fuck is this?'

The Shortest Genre Films Ever!

I'm a wannabe screenwriter. And I've been working out a lot (cause my Weight Loss Car is only in the 'prototype' [aka 'Blog'] stage). So since I'm spending a total of 3 hours a day either in the pool or on my bike, I've been thinking a lot. And since I'm a wannabe screenwriter I think a lot about movies. And there is something that just ain't right about 3 beloved genres. Something that makes no sense to me upon further review.

First, a wee bit of background for those of you who aren't screenwriters. Most fiction movies that aren't ultra realistic require the audience to suspend disbelief at least once in a real major way. By suspending disbelief just that once, audiences are rewarded with a story that makes since based on the one time they had to suspend their disbelief.

Examples.

Audiences suspend disbelief when they buy into the fact that when bitten by a radioactive spider, an ordinary teenage gets super strength and the ability to shoot sticky white goo from his wrists (though it's not the first time he has had sticky white goo on his hands if you catch my drift [I mean, who doesn't love roasting marshmallows by the fire?]). After audiences are willing to believe he has super powers, all the following scenes capitalize on this first suspension of disbelief, playing by these rules, not asking the audience to suspend disbelief again.

Smores are so delicious, it's worth getting sticky white goo everywhere!

Audiences suspend disbelief when they accept that there are giant robots from outer space that can become cars and trucks and such. After that it's just giant robots smashing each other as set up by the original suspension of disbelief.

Giant Robots from Outer Spacer - a small suspension of disbelief.

Audiences suspend disbelief when they are asked to believe that a total bad-ass like Kurt Russell can really settle down and coach a hockey team, after defeating identity stealing aliens in Antarctica. Likewise, they suspend disbelief when they are asked to believe a whiny pussy like that guy from New Kid's on the Block can get the drop on Matt Damon.

No way this bonafied-bad-ass could live a content life coaching hockey.

Now that the short screenwriting lesson is over, I can get to the heart of the issue.

I believe that one can apply suspension of disbelief to almost any ridiculous event they want (look at that wiggle room I give myself with the use of the word 'almost'), but it SHOULD NOT, would not, could not, be applied to explain character behavior. When you use suspension of disbelief to say "oh yeah, he'd totally act that way cause its a movie" when no person in their right mind would EVER act that way, that's not Suspension of Disbelief, that's sloppy mutha' fuckin' screenwriting!

And this sloppy screenwriting is why there are 3 genres that just don't make any since to me (That is how you bury your lead, ladies and gentlemen. I buried it so deep you'd be better off flying to china and attempting to dig it up than doing it stateside.)

First, the horror genre.Here's the scenario. You're in the woods. You see a creepy house. You're friend says 'Oooo, a creepy house, the same creepy house where those horny teens disappeared last week, let's go check it out!' In the movies a character's like 'Let's Scooby Dooby Doo the shit out of that creepy house even though it means we'll most likely get chopped to bits by a guy with a chain saw and/or axe!' In real life, any person with half a brain would be like, 'Fuck that creepy house. Let's go to Quizno's for an oven toasted sub for under $10.'

The horror genre would not exist if it weren't for sloppy screenwriting. If these scripts were written with characters who acted realistically, they'd just be 30 minute films introducing the characters, showing them having to make a decision about whether or not to enter a death trap, and then having them make the decision to go home instead, with a quick stop to Quiznos on the way. Sure they'd be a waste of money and the least popular genre in Hollywood, but they'd make more sense God-Damn-It!

I'm a sheriff on a small island and there's a shark eating beachgoers. Do I go onto a small boat, out on the ocean, to face the shark like a man? Fuck this shit! I'm moving back to New York!I'm offered a trip to an island where a mad scientist has created Dinosaurs from DNA found in prehistoric mosquitoes. You have velicorapters and T-Rexs? Fuck this shit! I'm going back to digging up dead dinos that can't eat me.
For Christ sake, I've never had sex cause I know that slashers in masks go after the slutty, sex crazed teens first (and that's the only reason I've never had sex. I swear).

I ain't being hacked to death with a machete any time soon!

Next genre that makes no sense... The Fantasy Genre!

Here's the scenario. I'm a regular guy, living a regular life in the real world. A talking animal comes to me, telling me I'm the rightful king of a fantasy realm that exists through a magic doorway. It's not really important what the animal is, it could be an elf like in Harry Potter or a talking frog or mole or something.

Talking mole complete with adorable suspenders and sharp pick axe.

In the fantasy genre, the protagonist undergoes a few moments of disbelief and then buys into the creature's story, being whisked off to a kingdom full of magic and wonderment. And sure, the audience will suspend their own disbelief at the sight of a talking animal. But how can we ask them to suspend disbelief again when the person says, "alright mole, lets go to Terianzibithia." I ask you, the reader, in the real world, at what point does an ordinary person accept that an animal is speaking English in order to cordially invite you into a parallel universe.

This isn't a "gee whiz, maybe the mole is telling the truth" moment. This is an Earth-shattering experience that brings everything you hold to be self evident into question. I propose that in the real world, a normal person can NEVER reach that point where they follow the mole into the magical sewage pipe to Terianzibithia.

If a mole ever talks to me, my thought process would be as follows...

'Jesus-titty-fucking-Christ! Has it finally happened? Have I finally gone fucking insane? That mole is fucking talking! It's happened, I've finally gone fucking insane! I can't live a life where fucking moles fucking talk to me! Fuck!'

Being a proud member of the NRA, I would then withdraw my Colt Detective Special, put two slugs between the eyes of the demon mole, and then blow off my own fucking head.

Again, such a change to the fantasy genre makes for a pretty short film that would be meant for an older audience (suicide ain't for the kiddies).

I have biggest beef of all with the final genre. This is absolutely, without a doubt, the least realistic genre ever, and audiences should be insulted that a writer tried to pull this one on them.

I'm talking of course about the 'bus-that-can't-slow-down-below-50-miles-an-hour-in-LA' genre. The most popular movie from this genre being SPEED.

Who the fuck made this movie? The writer, director, producers, and everyone involved should not only have their movie licenses revoked, but they should all be taken out behind Warner Bros and shot.

I buy that the power of god comes out of a little gold box and kills Nazis. I don't question it when a billionaire builds a suit that weighs a couple hundred pounds and yet can fly without wings. But there is no way in fucking hell that I believe a bus can even accelerate to 50, let alone maintain it for an entire act, in Los Angeles, the city with the worst traffic in the US.

Did the filmmakers really think people would just sit back and buy this impossible suspension of disbelief? Did not one person raise their hand and say, "Our premise makes no sense" on the set?

Seriously, I can't remember the last time I was able to go above 50 on the highway. And you're telling me this bus not only got up to 50, it maintained it for 40 minutes, going many many miles on the LA highway system?

I call bullshit on that one, Hollywood. Pure, unadulterated bullshit.

SPEED should be 10 minutes long. Keanu finds out there is a bomb on the bus that gets activated when the bus goes over 50. Keanu smiles and shrugs, he knows that the bomb will never get activated because the bus will never get over 20 miles an hour because of LA traffic. And if for some reason the bus does reach 50, the movie is still over quick, because it will immediately get stuck in traffic, causing it to slow below 50, blowing it to smithereens!

Believable SPEED

There, I fixed 3 broken genres. They may not be better movies, but at least I'm not distracted by unbelievable scenarios anymore. With ideas like mine, it's a wonder I'm not being paid the big bucks to write Hollywood spectacles.

The Amazing, The Fantabulous, The Astounding... Weight Loss Car!

I have it, ladies and gentlemen... the first truly great invention of the 21st Century (right after a black president)!

I call it, simply, The Amazing, The Fantabulous, The Astounding Weight Loss Cartm .

You see, weight loss has been on my mind recently and I believe I have traced the cause of obesity to its original source, it's very first occurrence in the history of mankind. By coming to this understanding of the beast I shall hence forth refer to as 'fatty disorder' I have invented a device that will eliminate said disorder until the Earth's oil reserves are depleted.

It is a well known fact that the first fat person did not appear until the late 19th century when the automobile (or 'car' as it is called by the uneducated) became a prevalent form of transportation. Evidence of this can bee (buzz) seen in the following photographs, all pre-automobile, all containing no fatties.

Exhibit A: There Were No Fat Cavemen.


Exhibit B: No Fat Pilgrims Either.



Exhibit C: No Fat Founding Fathers!Exhibit D: Cars = Fatty Disorder

So let's look at the facts so far. There was not a single fat person on Earth until man began using the automobile: FACT. After the automobile, there were suddenly gelatinous beings known as fatties: FACT. Therefore, the automobile IS responsible (i.e. the cause) of Fatty Disorder: FACT.

Of course, it should be obvious why cars cause fatty disorder. If a person is no longer walking to McDonald's or whipping a horse to get to McDonald's like in pre-late-19th century times, said person is no longer exercising. Contrary to the beliefs of NASCAR fans, driving is not a sport as there is no exercise involved.

So if cars are the problem, can they not also be the solution?

The answer to this question is as old as guns themselves. Every member of NRA knows that guns CAUSE violence and murder, but these same members are also are the only level headed people to realize that guns are also the only way to PREVENT violence and murder. If Liberals would just butt out, the late Charleston Heston and his band of merry gentlemen would have already cured the world of violence and murder using their 'little friends' (referred to by the uneducated to as 'guns' or 'firearms').

But I digress. I am not here to stop violence and murder with my Colt Detective Special. I am here to stop Fatty Disorder with my new and improved automobile.

My invention works as such. It looks like a regular automobile (which I will hence forth refer to as car because of Dummy Disorder, an entirely different issue). Basically, to use this device, one must open the door and sit in what I call 'the driver's seat' just like an ordinary vehicle. One then takes the 'seat belt' and pulls it across them, buckling it into the 'seat belt receiving receptacle' until they hear a click and it locks in place.

This is where my invention begins to differ from the ordinary, fatty creating car. Once a person is buckled in, the car will measure their 'fatty factor.' The seat will measure their weight and the seat belt will measure the roundness of their tummy, giving the person a fatty index.

If a person receives a fatty index of Brad Pitt or Christian Bale from THE MACHINIST, the car will start. If instead, a person's fatty index is closer to a Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, or, dare I say it, Danny Devito (with or without added padding from when he was The Penguin), the car will not start and will say to the intended driver "Get out of the fucking car! You're walking today, bitch ass fatty."

If you are the weight of Christian Bale you're OK to drive!

A Danny Devito level Fatty will have to get out and walk.

I don't have to explain to you why this device is genius. But I will anyway. Basically, if fatties are forced to walk everywhere, they won't be fat for long. Either they will walk 5 miles to get to McDonald's, or they will just skip it, either way they are getting thinner!

Now I'm sure you're saying, "Nick, you fucking idiot. People (yes, we fatties are still people) can't walk everywhere. Nothing would ever get done. How is a person supposed to take a road trip to Kansas to see all that beautiful flat farmland? They can't possibly walk that far!" And to that I reply, "You are smarter than you look and damn it if you aren't correct. And every one needs to see the flat, majestic nothingness of Kansas before they die" Still sucks to be you though, as I have considered every possible weakness and situation concerning my flawless invention and I do, in fact, have an answer for everything.

When you get in the car, you will enter your destination into a GPS-type device. The device will look up the destination and calculate how far away it is from where you are. If it is less that 20 miles away, the car will say "Don' t be such a lazy fucker. Take a walk." I think that 20 miles is a reasonable distance for someone to walk if they really want to get a hamburger, go grocery shopping, or keep their job.

Now, I know there are people who will want to cheat the system, so I have provided a safety net for that as well. If a fatty enters a destination that is farther than 20 miles just to get the car to start and then tries to drive to the McDonald's down the street or their office that is only 19.9 miles away, well, then the brakes won't work. No brakes until you've gone the full 20 miles, that way you don't cheat and stop somewhere closer.

It's brilliant, really, and I'm not afraid to admit that. I have created a flawless invention that is guaranteed 110% to annihilate fatty disorder.

Before you go and give me all the awards let me give you this disclaimer, though this device will keep most fatties off the road, it will have about a 0% impact on LA's Traffic Problem. Everyone knows that everyone in LA has a perfect body, so the amount of people on the road will be exactly the same. So please, no awards for solving the traffic crisis, just awards for curing fatty disorder.

--- Nick is also the inventor of the French Fry Straw, the Phone-Keys-that-you-will-never-lose-cause-you-can-just-call-them, and co-Inventor of the waffle hamburger and the candy beanbag.