Dear Luke, We Need to Talk, Darth

by John Moe

  Well, Mickey doesn’t actually have a … You know what I mean, though, right?

  MICKEY MOUSE So Pluto becomes mine. Now, although I’m not a mouse in the traditional sense—I don’t have parents, I have achieved a consciousness, the gloves—there’s enough mouse knowledge in my brain to know that this is not a really traditional arrangement. Dogs chase cats, cats chase mice, mice … own dogs? But look, I’m an employee. I do what I’m told by my boss. And for a while we were happy in our own way. Then in 1932, Goofy came along.

  MINNIE MOUSE Word had gotten around that there was going to be another dog generated, or created, or whatever happens. I was hopeful. Maybe I’d be getting my own dog after all, a bit more substance for me, right? But then this … thing … comes along. Is he a dog? Is he a man? I know one thing he was: he was fucking terrifying.

  GOOFY Hyuk hyuk, I didn’t question why The Creator put me in the universe. That’s not my job! My job is to try my hardest in everything I do so as to give greater glory to Him! Trust in The Creator and everything will work out! I figger if someone doubts The Creator, then that means they think they are more important than The Creator and then they’re going to hell for sure!

  MICKEY MOUSE It’s obvious I’m supposed to be friends with Goofy. Is that because I was good with dogs? I don’t know. I still don’t know. I think about it a lot. I think about it every day.

  Anyway, Goofy starts coming around my house, going on adventures and stuff with me. Things that cartoon characters are supposed to do. But the dissonance is a little hard for me to bear. I’m sitting in my house, planning out what will happen in a feature or something, and there’s a dog acting like a dog and ANOTHER dog wearing clothes and sitting in a chair and talking. And his name is GOOFY. Was someone deliberately fucking with me? I recognize that being a lead character comes with some responsibilities, but come on.

  I would actually find myself looking up or looking out over a horizon, trying to get The Creator’s attention. And I’m not even religious! Is that what prayer is? Was I praying? I just needed some guidance because the universe had gone insane.

  GOOFY Everyone was really nice at first! It was all part of the great plan of The Creator!

  MINNIE MOUSE Mickey and I would wait until Goofy had wandered off somewhere and try to figure out what was supposed to happen. Was this supposed to be the next great plot: reconcile the fact that we have a humanoid dog and a traditional dog coexisting? You have one with free will and the other kept as a possession. I guess there can be some comedy in that, but how does it resolve? Had The Creator brought in Bertolt Brecht or something?

  MICKEY MOUSE Was I meant to domesticate Goofy? Why would whoever put me here make me force Goofy into forced subservience? That couldn’t be the answer. And I tried to talk to Pluto and put clothes on him. That didn’t work. He’s a dog. What should I do with Goofy?

  GOOFY My name is not Goofy. It’s Emmanuel. Like the angel. I know that is my name. But the mice who have all the power choose to call me Goofy and there’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t worry, though, because I know The Creator will judge us all one day in Heaven. I know I will have eternal joy by His side and the mice will receive what they deserve.

  My issue with the name “Goofy” is twofold: First, it implies that I am the embodiment of error and I don’t believe The Creator makes errors. Secondly, if I am a dog, and I AM largely a dog, how many dogs do you know that can walk on two feet and wear clothes and talk? “Goofy?” I’m pretty much the smartest dog in history. See, I’m getting angry now, which is because like all creations I am flawed and that makes me respect the infinite perfection of The Creator.

  MINNIE MOUSE Goofy didn’t notice Pluto.

  GOOFY I knew my brother was kept in chains. I waited and prayed for what to do about it.

  DONALD DUCK I got created in ’34 and right away, I was like, WHAT THE FUCK is going on around here, man? You have a world of, basically, mice and dogs. There were some cows and rabbits around the periphery, but mostly you had two dominant giant mice and then you had two very different dogs. Into this world, comes me, a duck who’s a total asshole. Ducks are ambivalent about mice but are often chased and sometimes killed by dogs. So I’m like, okay. Let’s do this. I’m going to figure out what’s really going on here.

  MICKEY MOUSE Our universe was expanding. Donald was there now and I felt a much stronger connection to him than to Goofy, even though Donald was short-tempered and was kind of a conspiracy nut. I mean, you’re born into a world like this, of course you’re angry.

  DONALD DUCK What I noticed soon after I appeared, was born, whatever, were these words that appeared all over the place: Walt Disney. And I was like, is that a person? Is that “The Creator” that Goofy is always going on about? Or is it something that someone doesn’t want us to know about? My theory was that “Walt Disney” was not actually a mouse or a duck or anything but a business entity that had sealed up our lives and kept us for amusement purposes. Think about it! We go on these adventures that only take a few minutes most of the time. We don’t know why we behave in these ways. It just happens! Clearly, “Walt Disney” is putting something in our air, our water, our food, SOMETHING that controls us. I wrote up a pamphlet about it.

  GOOFY I felt sorry for Donald Duck, I really did. And he made me really angry.

  MICKEY MOUSE Donald really stirred things up more than I ever did. Remember, as historically important as I am, I’m not really very well developed. Finally, it all came to a head.

  DONALD DUCK We had finished up this adventure and again out of the corner of my eye I saw this name “Walt Disney.” So I called a meeting. Just the three of us: me, Mickey, and Goofy. It was going to be at Mickey’s house since I didn’t have a place of my own. This was years before Daisy and before the tragic death of my sister that led to my nephews coming to live with us. Minnie was not there at the meeting. I forgot to invite her.

  MINNIE MOUSE I was increasingly unwelcome in those years. It was more of a boys club. I slept a lot.

  DONALD DUCK I tried one more time to convince the guys that we were being controlled by a mortal force and that we should try to rebel and establish our own free will. Choose our own life. If this Creator that Goofy insisted on was real, He or She or It had given me the ability to question my world and this is what I was coming up with!

  MICKEY MOUSE I didn’t say much. I laughed a little like I do. Ha ha!

  GOOFY Donald was saying things that made me very upset. Who was he to question The Creator? Maybe, I thought, he was a sort of Duck Satan sent to tempt my faith? We never know what form Satan will take so we need to be ready to ATTACK at any moment. I shouted at Donald that we are not here to ask questions!

  DONALD DUCK Oh man, that was the wrong thing to say to me. I came charging back: “QUESTIONS? Like why you’re a dog and Pluto’s a dog and we’re all supposed to ACT LIKE THAT’S ALL OKAY?!”

  I struck a nerve with that one because both of their dog instincts kicked in and they jumped on me. Sharp teeth ripping my flesh, blood everywhere. Goofy gets his huge mouth around my neck, buck teeth hanging over comically, and shakes me violently. Pluto, who is a dog and who behaves as pack animals do, joins in and is taking big sharp diving bites at me. Make no mistake: they were killing me.

  GOOFY I don’t know if a demon took hold of me, or an angel, or what. I pray about that sometimes. The thing is, Donald didn’t die. We killed him but he didn’t die.

  DONALD DUCK I was fine. And I realized that I didn’t know anything. It didn’t make me believe in gods, or The Creator, or anything. It just made me realize that this whole thing goes much deeper than even I realized. I hadn’t expected “Walt Disney” was into bionics, or biotechnology, or whatever.

  I also realized that Pluto did not want to be Goofy. He didn’t perceive Goofy as his equal. So obviously someone had gotten to Pluto and poisoned him. I’ve made it my life’s work to find out what kind of fucked up business “Walt Disney” is running.

  GOOFY
The Creator protected me from being a murderer. I can only conclude that Donald is another one of The Creator’s chosen emissaries to our world. So that’s why I’ve always stuck with him, despite his unbearable personality and his weird sailor suit.

  MICKEY MOUSE After a while, you learn to just go about your business. We have a job to do, whatever that is. Is Goofy a monstrous man-dog? Is Pluto a slave and I his slaveholder? It bothers me. It bothers me a lot. I worry a lot about my health at this point, to be honest.

  PLUTO Woof!

  THE WALKING DEAD FORUM

  4 WALKERS ONLY!!!

  [-] User: atlanta4evah

  Hey guys. Welp, it’s happened again. Terry and Brad got shot through the head by a band of Pretties out near the abandoned (or so we thought!) penitentiary. And once again, while I UNDERSTAND why this might have happened, I can’t help thinking the whole thing was avoidable.

  [-] User: johnnyrotten

  THANK YOU! I’ve been thinking this for a long time. I mean, this plague we all have (and yes, I’m calling it a plague, I can’t call it a “severe flu” like some of you) is bad enough, but the ways we’re getting killed have been even worse. Axes! Shotguns! Ice picks! Shovels! I know we aren’t particularly attractive but SUCH an overreaction. Someone should talk to them and let them know we’re perfectly nice people! How superficial to judge us and kill us that way.

  [-] User: davespal

  Hey, before you try to talk to them, BE CAREFUL! My friend Dave, who did have the plague, approached some of the Pretties the other day and tried to shout, “Hey, anyone want to come over for a barbecue?” But with plague, it came out as, “Grrrraaahhhhh uhhhhhh.” Damn plague mouth. I think Dave’s chances suffered because he couldn’t really walk with a jaunty gait, it was more of a stagger. Anyway, you can guess the rest. Shotgun blast through the head. Sux.

  [-] User: johnnyrotten

  Sorry, dude. RIP Dave.

  [-] User: cautious

  I was out shambling the other day and I overheard some Pretties talking about how they were scared of these “walkers.” Apparently, walkers are dead people who still wander around causing trouble. And from the way they described these things’ appearance, they sounded an awful lot like those of us with the plague. So let’s be careful to stay away from walkers, whoever they are.

  [-] User: davespal

  Uh … I think they were talking about us.

  [-] User: cautious

  No! You think? But we’re not dead! We just have this condition!

  [-] User: realist

  Hi everyone. Look, I agree that what the Pretties are doing is out of line. I’m on our side. But we may have to admit that our habit of biting people and spreading the plague to them is a bit, I don’t know, off-putting?

  [-] User: cautious

  Well, that’s part of having the plague, right? I can’t control that.

  [-] User: ambassadorbob

  I think it’s a really good point. Maybe if we held off on the biting and plague spreading, we might have a better chance of making friends with the Pretties.

  [-] User: vegansteve

  Hey, I don’t love biting people, okay? They taste horrible and I recognize it as rude. Hell, I’m a vegan! Or I was. But it goes with the territory. We moan, we shamble, and we have an uncontrollable urge to bite the Pretties and turn them into Plaguies like us.

  [-] User: gobulldogs

  I was biting a doctor a few weeks ago who, just before I got him, said that our urge to bite isn’t really US, it’s the PLAGUE. Like we’re just a vehicle at that point and the plague is the driver. It’s not our fault, folks.

  [-] User: golfnut

  Wait, was that Dr. Earl Johnson of Marietta, Georgia, that you bit?

  [-] User: gobulldogs

  It was! Weird! How did you know that!

  [-] User: golfnut

  That was me! Oh man, I remember that day! I was SO SCARED!

  [-] User: gobulldogs

  HA! You should have seen your face!

  User: nibbler

  I think the biting is understandable, but the devouring is a bit much. I allow myself some bites here and there, a little present to myself, but I’m really trying to cut back on the devouring. Fattening for one thing. We are in Georgia and there are some tubby folks around here.

  User: sufferer

  Hey, don’t judge me! I have a DISEASE. I’m a prisoner of my own metabolism. That’s why I devour.

  [-] User: nibbler

  Well, that seems awfully convenient.

  [-] User: ProtectRPeople

  Hey everyone, I know I’m in the minority here, but I don’t see why it’s so important to engage with the Pretties at all. Let’s be honest: Those people are animals! Someone looks a little different, emits an occasional unholy guttural moan, and BAM! the Pretties shoot them in the head. Let’s just stay away from those freaks.

  [-] User: craftymom

  I have an idea! Does anyone know where we can get some posters and paints? Because then we could make a sign that says, “We want to be your friends!” and hold it up to the Pretties and then maybe they won’t shoot us.

  [-] User: johnnyrotten

  It’s a fine idea. But there are several hurdles you’d have to overcome. First, finding an abandoned store that has those supplies. Then there’s the whole dexterity thing. I tried to pick up a brush and paint to touch up an old gate but I just ended up knocking everything over while moaning. Really embarrassing. And then you’d have to actually get the sign out to some Pretties without being shot. Tall order.

  [-] User: footloose

  And most of us can’t be bothered doing that. Too busy roaming the woods.

  [-] User: footloose

  I’m going to start a new thread on that topic, actually. We may not love the Pretties but I think we can all agree that we don’t want anyone else to be shot in the head, right? Okay then. Maybe it’s time we got back to work. For whatever reason, this condition we have, this plague, makes us want to stumble around the woods and cities while growling. Meanwhile, our businesses and schools are completely empty.

  [-] User: earlyretirement

  I don’t know. At first, it did seem weird to walk away from my employer, and take the kids out of school, and abandon our home just to shamble for a while. “For a while”? Ha! Listen to me. More like CONSTANTLY. But it was also pretty liberating. Before I had plague, I was always looking at my smartphone, or a TV, or something. I was worried about money and where I had to be at noon. Now, I’m free. It took the plague to make me free.

  [-] User: namaste

  There are a lot of downsides to the plague, I’ll grant you. The loss of speech, the rotting flesh, the involuntary hissing. But I don’t seem to require sleep or food anymore. Also, I never have to poop or pee. I’m not sure I’d take the cure if there was one.

  [-] User: gordongekkojr

  I used to live right downtown and work there too. Big time investment banker. But with the plague, I just shambled away from that whole life and I couldn’t be happier.

  [-] User: footloose

  You guys: I’ve got it! Let’s make peace with the Pretties by having a FLASH MOB. Let’s get, like, a hundred of us and show up late at night at that compound out on the old highway where they’re hiding out. If they see all of us, they’ll know we’re united in our effort for peace! And I know talking is hard for us, but let’s all try to be really loud with our moaning and hissing so we’ll at least seem coordinated. Tonight at midnight, okay? And guys: no biting this time, okay?

  [-] User: johnnyrotten

  Sounds great!

  [-] User: earlyretirement

  Let’s do it!

  [-] User: craftymom

  I’m there!

  [-] User: nibbler

  No promises on the biting.

  A COURT-ORDERED LETTER FROM DORA THE EXPLORER’S MOTHER

  Dear Child Protective Services Case Worker,

  Thank you for the concern directed toward my family and for your
concern regarding the welfare of my daughter Dora. I believe Dora would fare much better living under my care than in the foster home situation that was discussed with the visiting social worker. I thank you for this opportunity to present my case.

  I recognize that Dora’s life is not typical of other seven-year-olds, however I think given the rather extraordinary circumstances that come along with having Dora as a daughter, we present her with activities that are educational, stimulating, and reasonably safe and healthy.

  Let’s get this out of the way right off the bat: Yes, it is true that Dora spends most of her day in the woods with a talking monkey (that wears red boots) instead of attending an actual school. And yes, I admit, I never follow her into the woods or check on her welfare in any way while she is in there. She tells me that sometimes they go to a school in the woods where other animals are the students. It would not surprise me if this were true or untrue.

  I don’t encourage her to leave every day. I want her to stay with us and go to a school, and be like other children. But it is beyond my abilities to stop her.

  I also recognize the fact that she returns home safely, eventually, after each one of these days of adventure. Her identical clothes are never soiled. Honestly, I wonder how a young child can spend a day in the woods and not have at least some dirt on her clothes, but that’s just one of the many things I don’t ask questions about, and I think it’s better that way.