Long ago, in a far away Disney board room . . .
The high-strung junior executive slipped and nearly fell as he scooted around the hallway corner and burst through the heavy oak doors into the room.
“SIR, SIR!” he exclaimed as he waved a sheet of paper above his head. “THEY DID IT! THEY REALLY DID IT!”
The room full of old men turned in their seats around the long table and glared angrily at the young man. The CEO at the farthest end spoke first.
“Get a grip on yourself, Merriweather,” he said. “Now, before I have Security perform an aggressive strip search and then throw your ass down the stairs, what are you so worked up about?”
The young executive forced himself to breath slower, straightened his tie and buttoned his suit coat.
“Sir, those bastards at Lucasfilm,” he replied, then realized his foul-mouthed error. The crimson hue on his face was a combination of embarrassment, shock and horror.
“I’m so sorry, Sir,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to curse.”
The CEO nodded, then smiled a disarming smile.
“It’s okay to swear in this room, Merriweather,” he comforted. “It’s soundproofed. Hell’s bells, we wouldn’t know how to talk otherwise.”
All the old men around the table chortled and guffawed.
All the old men … but one.
This one man drilled his cold-steel gaze into the hapless junior executive.
“Precisely what have those sonsabitches at Lucasfilm done?”
The man’s voice was more like a hiss, and his words scattered a cold chill about the room.
The young man’s eyes bugged out and he struggled for every breath. He knew the man’s reputation.
“Sir,” he said, swallowing hard, “They made a movie about space.”
The men at the long table looked at one another, puzzled, but the man with the frigid stare narrowed his eyes even more.
“And why should I give a fat rat’s ass about a space movie?” he questioned. His words dripped with menace.
The junior executive fidgeted, looked at the floor and held out the piece of paper.
“Because they have a p-p-princess, Sir.”
The gasps in the room were long and loud, but the steely-eyed man didn’t move a muscle.
“A princess? I assume you’ve verified this?” he inquired.
“Yessir,” the young man responded. “I have . . . I mean, we have a mole in their organization. Very reliable source.”
The old men at the table began murmuring, shaking their heads. The man with the cold eyes turned in his chair.
“Shut up, all of you! I warned you this day would come.” He stared every man down in turn. “Everyone in the world knows we own the rights to every goddamn princess in every goddamn movie in the goddamn universe, and you thought nobody would dare challenge us. You refused to listen to me, and now look what happened.”
The CEO pulled uncomfortably at his collar and cleared his throat.
“What do you suggest we do?” he asked in a timid voice.
The other man’s eyes slowly closed, and his visage emanated serenity and peace.
“I’ve been working late in Snow White’s dungeon,” he said, dreamily, “And I’ve perfected an enhanced way of . . . how shall I say? . . . encouraging people to share their innermost secrets with me. I suggest we find out where Lucas sleeps, then we borrow his ass for a couple weeks. He’ll talk to me about his little princess. Eventually. Oh yes, they always talk . . . eventually.”
The room suddenly hushed, and nothing but the faint sound of a cricket could be heard, whereupon the steel-eyed man reached across the table, grabbed Jiminy by the throat, and defenestrated his ass out a nearby window.
“This is a fifth-floor office!” someone whispered.
“He’s a cricket. Crickets always land on their feet,” the cold-hearted man said. “I could be wrong.”
“Snow White’s castle has a dungeon?” someone else quietly inquired.
“It does now.”
The CEOs eyes were wide as saucers.
“But we don’t torture people,” he said.
The man with the icy eyes turned and glared.
“You obviously haven’t seen the last few movies we’ve made. If that isn’t torture, I don’t know my own name.”
The CEO blinked numerous times and stared out the Jiminy window.
“We can’t . . . we mustn’t . . . it’s just not . . . ”
The cold-eyed man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“You know what?” he sneered at the men sitting at the long table, “You’re all just a bunch of wussies! I’ve had it with you. I’ve been offered a cozy place in politics, and that’s where I’m headed. They’ll appreciate my . . . talents . . . and I’ll make some big changes. You bunch of clowns deal with Lucasfilm however you want!”
The CEO stared at the man’s back as he walked out of the room.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the ass, Dick,” he said, quietly.
“I HEARD THAT!”, came the voice from the hall. “GO FUCK YOURSELF!”
