By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Frighteningly, what purports to be a celebration of diversity in fact (and perhaps inadvertently) disputes it, the thousands of years of cultural and religious distinction that make up the world's richly textured tapestry laughed off on cheap bigotries masquerading as cultural perception. Is this an accurate portrayal of Walt's perception of the world? Or anybody's perception? I don't know. I can't concentrate for the song playing over and over in my head: "It's a smaaaaallll, whiiiiiiite worrrrrrrld."—Victor Infante
CHAPTER 5: ADVENTURELAND
After the Civil War, Americans were firm in the knowledge that they had solved their nation's problems forever. Yet they were hungry for new challenges and frontiers. "Whatcha wanna do?" was a familiar slogan of the time—as was "I dunno" and "C'mon, I'll give you 5 bucks."
It was at this time that Americans became interested in the land that lay just over the rise: Africa. Americans were intrigued by tales of this land's strange customs (Tigger in pith helmet with straw through head drinking cup, $12) and charmed by its native dress (pith helmet with ears, $9). What they found was even more wondrous: split-level treehouses with indoor plumbing, pineapple slushies, and creaky talking birds who sounded a lot like the cast from TV's Hogan's Heroes.
After looking at all this wonder, Americans knew they had a lot of work ahead of them to save the Africans. Quickly they jumped into boats, taking special care to avoid any eye contact with the ship captain who was so desperate for attention it was just pathetic, plus everybody knows that stuff is scripted. Oh, yes, please, please, another take on shrunken heads, could you?
Anyway, the Americans finally got to the natives and convinced them (rifle, $16; repeating rifle, $16) that the American way was the best way.
"Thanks a lot, Americans, we don't know what we were thinking," said the natives in one of those cute, cartoonish languages of theirs.
"That was the problem—you weren't thinking," said the Americans in a stern though loving tone. "Now let's not have any of that again."
With their job done, the Americans prepared to leave, but then, wouldn't you know it, here come the Nazis. They wanted to steal something. Damned Nazis. So the Americans had to go back in with their enormous Jeeps equipped with netting to store their personal items (Piglet doll in pith helmet, $40) and give those Nazis what for. And boy did they. Pretty soon the Nazis were crying uncle, but the Americans told them to "Tell it to the Czar!" "Czar? What? We're German." "Oh, yeah?" The Americans wittily countered. "Then say 'buenos dias' to my little friend (double-barrel pistol, $12.)" And that's how America won the war with Mexico.—Steve Lowery
CHAPTER 5: TOMORROWLAND
The future started like most times, though somehow ahead of it. In fact, many people in the future weren't even aware they were there. "Where are we?" they'd ask. "In the future!" would come the happy retort. And then they'd ask, "Why are we all wearing this stretchy stuff that comes in just two styles?" Again: "It's the future, man, the future! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Soon, even the stupidest of these future people could not deny that it was the time it was. Yes, even these numb-nut, rocks for brains, frigging falling-down drunk with the crotch of their pants all wet had to recognize that technological advancements (pulsating phaser, $10; blasters, $5; laser light blade, $4.95; x-ray fazer, $4.95; space visor with flashing lights, battery included, $7.95) made it obvious that people had become much more enlightened in the future and would not need the ways of the past.
Soon Americans were flying into the farthest reaches of outer space, whether that was space mountains, space deserts or space time shares located just off the lake not more than a stone's throw, really very charming.
"The future kicks ass!" Americans yelled while waiting in long lines for rapid-transit cars that frequently broke down and never really went anywhere.
"I love the future!" they proclaimed while getting nauseated flying in circles in machines far too slim for anyone with hips.
"The future can slap my bottom and call me Betty!" they said, just because they liked saying it.
And with that, Americans at last realized their dream of making everything okay.
"Mission accomplished," they said to one another, driving around in their teeny, plastic cars. "This is the best future ever!"
And then they all just started gettin' it on.—Steve Lowery