And then, before I knew it, I was thirty. I owned two office buildings, employed nearly a hundred people, and was worth at least three million. I was a success, and success doesn’t go unnoticed in the business world. AlphaZero, a multinational tech company hoping to expand into the Baltimore area, swooped down and offered me a five million dollar buyout package. The client base I’d worked so hard to build for the past thirteen years, the brilliant employees I’d scouted and trained… they wanted all of it. Surprisingly, they didn’t want the real estate, which at this point was easily worth another million. They had their own office in Silver Spring, and would be relocating everyone there.
Well, my employees weren’t thrilled about any of that. First off, they didn’t want to make the lengthy commute from Baltimore to Silver Spring. I had to admit to them that yes, it was a shitty drive, and that yes, if they wanted to keep their jobs at the company it was a burden they’d have to bear.
Grumbles. Unrest. Anger.
The employees who’d been there a while figured they were owed something for helping to make the company successful enough to get it bought out in the first place. And they weren’t wrong. They probably did deserve a cut for their years of hard work, over and above their pretty hefty paychecks. But still, they hadn’t been the ones working twenty hour days for thirteen years. And they hadn’t been the ones taking all the financial risks. Taking out loans that maybe couldn’t ever be paid back. Buying the newest tech equipment, not knowing if it’d pay off. Or hiring the best and brightest in the area, never sure if the customers would give a shit. So, yeah, the guys who’d been around for a while had helped make the company a success, but they weren’t living and breathing it 24/7. They hadn’t given up their youth for it.
Regardless, I decided to throw a big going away party at my house. Kick ass catering (fucking kangaroo nuggets!), open bar, complimentary limos, and a live band. It was an amazing party, and for a few hours it seemed like everything was okay. People were happy. They were having a great time. I’d even invited Ricky Lu in an attempt at reconciliation, trying to be the bigger guy. We talked a bit, and it seemed like he was also having a great time eating all my food and walking around swigging from a bottle of Grey Goose. For a few hours I hoped that maybe we could be friends again.
Then it came time to give out the bonuses….
I thought I was being ultra-generous. Nobody, not even the guy who’d only been there a week, got less than $2K. A few people got as much as $25K. I gave Ricky Lu $5K! Altogether I gave out a little over $500K. I expected people to be thrilled, and I even made a little speech. But as the alcohol flowed and the night wore on, they turned on me. The fucking ungrateful bastards turned on me. I kinda had a feeling things weren’t right as they filtered out of the party at the end of the night. Some of them had shit-eating grins on their faces. Some just looked angry. The rest wouldn’t look me in the eye at all. Ricky Lu was nowhere to be found. I never saw him leave.
It was when the last guest left that I began to realize the extent of the damage. Somebody shit on my bed. Someone else stole a pocket watch that had belonged to my great-great-grandfather. My gas tank was filled with sugar, and my tires were slashed. A few of my employees, obviously planning this for a while, dumped bags of concrete into my pool. Childish, annoying, stupid pranks. Those, I could understand. Those I could forgive. But what they, or should I say he, did to Sam….
Fuck, my heart breaks just thinking about it.
I can’t prove for a fact it was Ricky Lu, and the police didn’t seem interested in figuring it out. But it was fucking Ricky Lu.
I’d put Sam out in his fenced off area in the backyard early in the evening, before anyone showed up. He had a kick ass doghouse that was the size of a shed, and even had air conditioning and heat. Outside of the doghouse was a genuine fire hydrant I’d bought off eBay, and a big maple tree where squirrels would hang out, taunting him from the upper branches. It was a nice area for him. It was his domain, his own little section of the world, and he loved it. He was so happy out there….
And I’m fucking crying again.
Anyway, after everyone had left, and after spending ten minutes trying to figure out exactly what the fuck had happened to my pool, I finally made it to Sam’s house, coming along the path to the back of it. I called him, but he didn’t come out. I opened the back door, but he wasn’t in there. Had someone let him out? I was seething. But I knew even if they had let him out he wouldn’t have gone far. I called for him again.
Nothing.
I walked around to the front of the doghouse, and that’s when I saw him hanging from the maple tree.
He was tied to the lowest thick branch, legs dangling in the wind. Tied to the branch with his bandana, which was bright, bright red in that moonlight. There was more red on his fluffy white fur, and as my eyes drifted down I saw his intestines hanging out, hanging down almost to the ground, the blood glistening in that blue light. All I could do was wonder if he been hanged or gutted first. I didn’t know which was worse.
I walked over to him and touched his flank.
He twitched.
I jumped back a mile, and then in slow motion ran over to him again.
The fucker was still alive.
I don’t remember exactly how, but somehow I got him down, and he was on the ground, not really doing anything, not whimpering or trying to move or anything. Just looking at me.
For a second I considered taking him to the Pet E.R., but I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand having him alive like that, even for another minute.
Was that selfish of me? Could they have saved him? I don’t think so, but the thought still haunts me….
I ran into my garage, searched frantically for an axe, couldn’t find one, grabbed a shovel, and ran back to Sam.
“Sam, buddy, I’m so fucking….” I broke off, not able to continue, seeing his eyes looking up at me.
I bent down and kissed his head, then stood up and brought the blade of the shovel down on his neck. I missed and hit his back, cutting his spinal cord. He let out a quiet yelp.
As quickly as I could I struck him again with the blade of the shovel, right at the base of his skull, and severed his head.
I killed my only friend.
And that’s when I had my breakdown.
I have no recollection of the week that followed. All I knew, coming out of it, was that I was rich and filled with rage and hate, because after all of those years of hard work I had nothing, except for some stupid number in my bank account. My life had been spent building something that was sold with a stroke of a key. I’d been working nonstop since I was sixteen, and now had nothing to work towards, no purpose. I was adrift, my youth was lost, my life was empty, and I was alone. I was utterly, completely alone. No friends, no wife, no kids, not even a dog. It had all been sacrificed for cash. What a stupid fucking life I’d lived.
When I looked back over the years, it seemed as if the only times I was ever truly happy were when I was with someone, be it hanging with Sam (the guy) or Sam (the dog), or going to Walt Disney World with my parents. But they were all gone…
Except for Walt Disney World. It was still there. The only thing in my life that had made me happy and still existed was Walt Disney World. Main Street. EPCOT Center. Monorails. Horizons. I hadn’t been there since 1993. Hadn’t even really thought about it for years. Fuck.
So I did what any depressed, non-rational human would do and booked a ticket to Walt Disney World. Reserved a one-bedroom concierge suite at The Beach Club, indefinitely. I was surprised they let me do that, actually. But I didn’t know how long I’d be there. All I knew was I had to be there, and that something… no, everything, had to change.
The limo dropped me off at BWI. I checked my five bags and knocked back four Heinekens at the bar by the gate before boarding the plane, first class. Already drunk, I proceeded to order three more gin and tonics during the ninety minute flight to Orlando International. I stumbled off the plane and somehow made it onto the second-rate monorail to baggage claim, where a guy was supposed to be waiting to pick me up. I looked around, saw a bunch of dudes in suits and stupid hats, but was completely incapable of focusing on the writing on any of the signs. I panicked.
“My name is Blaine McKinnon!” I yelled at the top of my voice.
People turned to stare. Nobody said anything.
“I’m drunk and in need of a limo!”
A lady covered her kid’s ears. That pissed me off for some reason, so I yelled at her, louder still, “What’s your problem lady? I just need my fucking limo!”
Her kid, a cute little girl dressed as Snow White, smiled innocently. I twirled around like a fucking ballerina, pulled out my wallet, and handed the kid $100.
“Shazam!” I said to the kid. “Put it in savings for the therapy you’ll need after having this bitch as a mother.”
The mother gasped, the kid giggled, and I twirled again, tried to jump and click my heels together, and fell flat on my face. I heard some claps and laughter, so I stood up, bowed, and was suddenly whisked off my feet by a large pair of hands. I was being held sideways by a thick arm. The black coat sleeve was pushed up and I saw Princess Jasmine staring at me. I puked on black, shiny, patent leather shoes and promptly passed out.
An article I found on Google a few days later:
“Tattooed Disney Fan Reveals Incredible Memorabilia Collection”
From the Orlando Sentinel, February 21, 2007
Easily one of the most widely recognized and infamous Disney Fans, Jason “Jay” Montgomery, better known among Cast Members and Guests as “The Disney Tattoo Guy”, has made headlines around the world for his stunning Disney tattoos. They cover nearly every inch of his body aside from his hands and face - altogether he has over 1600 separate tattoos, ranging from Disney characters such as Mickey and Goofy, to pictures of ride vehicles, to a Cast Member nametag on his upper left chest.
But Jay’s love of Disney doesn’t just extend to tattoos. He has a massive museum-quality collection of Disney memorabilia that he’s spent years acquiring. It numbers over 20,000 pieces and according to Jay is worth millions.
“The Disney Family is gathering artifacts for a museum they’re going to open,” smiles Jay as he tells one of his favorite stories. “They’d heard I had in my collection a rare 16mm wartime Disney Studios short that they simply couldn’t find in their archives. I was happy to lend it to them for duplication….” He grins again. “For a price, of course!”
Jay gives off the impression of being a big kid. He never uses profanity, and speaks with a childish lilt. But he’s a big burly man with a trim moustache and a horseshoe-shaped hairline, and he strikes quite a form in his immaculately pressed navy blue suit. However, it’s when the clothes come off that his passion and devotion to Disney becomes apparent.
“I don’t have any on my face or hands because I’m a limo driver and they want their drivers to look professional,” says Jay. “But everywhere else is fair game! I even have them on my private parts,” he admits. “Took a while to find someone who would do that for me!”
When asked what Disney artwork he has on his “private parts”, Jay becomes coy. “That’s only for my special ladyfriends to find out,” he says. His grin turns downwards. “So far there have been two wives. They couldn’t handle my Disney obsession. Everything is Disney with me, all the time. I only read Disney books, only watch Disney movies, only listen to Disney music. They knew that coming in, but I guess it got to be too much. Their loss! But this new girl I’m dating, she’s a Cast Member, so obviously she gets it. I think she might be the one!”
Jay has three kids from his prior marriages. “They were all into my Disney obsession until they got older, and then I guess it started embarrassing them. I had high hopes for my youngest, who is sixteen now. But she ran away a few weeks ago to live with her mother. It’s a shame, since now she won’t be inheriting all of this,” he says, sweeping his arms across the collection that engulfs his house.
“I was twenty-two. It was the day after my dad died,” he says when asked when he got his first Disney tattoo. He points to his upper left arm. “Snow White. As a kid I was in love with her. I hit puberty, and it almost became an obsession. Yep, I was obsessed with Snow White, and you know what? I still am!”
“You want to know why I like Disney so much?” he says before the question is asked. “We were kind of poor when I was a kid, so I had to work a lot and missed out on a lot of regular kid stuff. I had a paper route, and worked in my dad’s shop, and was home-schooled. My parents were very religious, and very strict, but they did let me watch Disney stuff because they saw Uncle Walt as a wholesome guy. One of the few books I was allowed to read was a Walt Disney biography and I really related to him because his childhood was the same as mine.”
“I’m not an educated guy,” admits Jay. “But I do okay for myself. When my dad died I sold his business and moved here to Florida so I could be near the parks. My mom, too. She’s out in a Tarpon Springs nursing home.” He grimaces and then smiles again. “I blew a lot of that money on my collection and tattoos, but my limo driver job is pretty nice, so I get by okay. And I get into the parks for free because all the Cast Members know me, so I’m usually there every day before or after work or on my days off, just walking around. Kids get a kick out of my tattoos, so I always wear sleeveless shirts and shorts. And even though they’ve never officially said anything, I think The Company likes me being there. Like I’m another one of their entertainers or something.”
“Okay,” Jay says, getting up and putting on his suit jacket. “Time for the day job!” His outfit completely covers all his tattoos, and he looks, dare say, normal. “Let me know next time you’re in the parks. I’ll get you in for free, introduce you to everybody, and get you backstage. I’m like a celebrity there!”