I don’t know what’s sadder–the tragedy that befell America’s favorite mouse, or the fact that I COULD have lined up a shot of Mickey with a poodle head and utterly failed to. I think the latter.
14, huh? Is that the number of ladies that have fallen for Pluto’s sweet lines, the number of angry, spike-collared husbands he’s left in his wake? The number of broken hearts? Or does that just mean he’s 84 in dog years?
Sadly, I may never know what Mickey was holding. I’m guessing it was somehow related to dogs, or something he yanked out of his luggage in a fit of rage. “I TOLD you never to bring that cocker spaniel slut here again! You could have had everything. You could have had it all, fellah! The bed, the ottoman, I would have even forgiven you for the time you brought my newspaper back covered in mud. But this…oh no, not this.”
All of which would have been substantially funnier if I’d lined the shot up so that he had a poodle head, that’s all I’m saying.
Let Mickey hold your giant soap. Mickey loves soap. And he’s here to help you wash. Wash and scrub. Scrub away the dirt and sin. Keep scrubbing until you, too, have no face. Mickey would prefer it if you were faceless. Perhaps torso-less as well. Mickey’s somewhat demanding.
Mickey sans head from Goodwill in Oak Hill on the “Y,” Mickey Ashtray from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Austin