FFWD Weekly
Copyright © 1999. All Rights Reserved

Mr. Smutty by James Martin I was shocked/bewildered at allegations that Salt Lake City bought off the Int’l Olympic Committee w/ cash & hookers. Watching the 2002 Winter Olympics (the luge, the bobsled, the 400m freestyle wife-swap) just wouldn’t be the same. Then I got over my petty anger & opened my baboon heart (figuratively speaking): to forgive, or at least ignore, is divine. Example: Bill Clinton’s popularity is currently enjoying an inverse relationship to his pants. Example: Elvis is remembered w/ fanatical reverence even tho he died naked on a toilet. And then there’s Walt. M. Eliot’s five-star mudsling Walt Disney: Hollywood’s Dark Prince (Birch Lane, 305 pp.), which paints an unflattering portrait of a boozed-out/Commie-smashing/sexually-dysfunctional/anti-Semitic/FBI-snitchin’ jerk. (More recently, M. Remski’s novel Silver [Insomniac Press, 395 pp.] furthers these bad Mickey Mouse vibes via a character named "Ewald Disnay," an ingenious Nazi animator who combs the Old Testament for the origins of irony.) ’Tis no wonder Diane Disney Miller felt compelled to create her brand-new CD-ROM, Walt Disney: An Intimate History of the Man and His Magic. Filled w/ exclusive home movie footage, as well as an essay dismissing Walt’s FBI dealings as innocent research for That Darn Cat (puh-lease), the CD-ROM is a dutiful daughter’s rebuttal to the "cruel and bizarre" accusations leveled against her daddy-o. World-class prick or not, isn’t Unca Walt’s true legacy one of good clean family fun? Isn’t that why the Walt Disney Co. recently recalled 3.4 million The Rescuers videos after the discovery of "an objectionable background image" in two sneakily-placed frames? (The dirty stuff is invisible unless played in super slo-mo.)(Early recon screams, "Boobies!" but I’ve heard that one before.) Sensing a "hot story" (and always eager for sleazy details), I called up the Walt Disney Co. in Burbank CA and chatted w/ Dimitri Agratchez, an affable chap & my new best friend. Even after hours of browbeating, Dimitri mostly just giggled and refused to cough up the nitty-gritty. Altho he admitted the frames-in-question were a "misguided joke" dating back to when The Rescuers was filmed (’77), he denied any Commie saboteur activity. Dimitri From Burbank also ixnayed the likelihood of imminent, gangland-style retribution, but I could practically hear the unmarked vans peeling rubber. "It’s nothing terrible," he insisted re: the offending offensibles. "It’s nothing extraordinary." At this point his giggles intensified, which was weird to say the least. "It was something you may encounter in advertising images and so forth, but it is not appropriate to be in a movie for children. Bingo. My lightning-qwik brain recalled a Toronto submarine sandwich shoppe’s advertising campaign which centered on a replica of M. Lewinsky’s kerblooey-stained Gap dress (w/ mystifying & unappetizing parallels being drawn between presidential jizz and the restaurant’s special sauce). So basically Dimitri was saying (w/out, y’know, actually saying it) that the inappropriate frames are complete & utter filth. My bestest guess is some kinda inter-species 3-way action between the mice and that albatross. (By the way, I kiddeth you not about those ads. Maybe it was s’pposed to be some sorta associative pun based on "submarine sandwich" & that schoolyard chestnut, "Q: What’s long & hard & full of se[a]men?" Even so, you can bet yr sweet patoot I won’t set foot in that sticky joint, except to maybe use the can. For the record, here’s my personal list of images not conducive to culinary crank-turning: vomit, tainted blood, toe jam, toe chutney, sweat, anything rectum-related, morning dew strained thru an old sock then drank/pissed by an 80-year-old alcoholic w/ rusty kidneys & a bad attitude, water-on-the-brain, spinal fluid, and pus.) In short, that’s why it’s OK for Salt Lake City to trade street sex for votes. Thank you and may God bless.

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