Drew Janglings and the Transfer from Magical Fantasy to Real Magic
Twenty-five submissions later, and I am reaching what I have always wanted to obtain in my furry creativity, merging the innocence of Disney with the clash of the dirty and intolerant Earth and it's Grod, while taking what little magic does exist, and I do hope that maybe, through my words here, that I can change the way things are, really. Credit here to The Moody Blues, Radiohead, Traffic, The Chipettes (and accompanying producers), and, of course, Walt Disney and his millions of other world creations, characters, and dreams manifest which turned the key in my heart and mind and soul to never give up dreaming, even at this age of thirty-five, when everything sometimes still can feel quite dead, but I know better. I dedicate this story to all furs out there, but special to the ones who served, or who do serve, as Disney Cast Members, and Character look-alike performers and costumed Characters. While I worked at Disney in the young 2000s, you have no idea how much I wanted to be "on your stage". For all your hard work, this is for you. Now, let the show go on . . .
The final running of Space Mountain and Splash Mountain had ended, and all of the final guests had left the park, tired ones, both young and old headed for the resorts and surrounding Central Florida areas. The full moon above Cinderella's Castle shone brief through a series of non-threatening cumulus clouds, letting loose a small path of light onto the middle of the road in front of the towering building where, for many years now, dreams had come true . . . and one more dream was left to be made manifest, for one more soon-to-be member of the furry realm, freed from the heinous God-and-man system of Earth, where all fantasies came with a prison price and a dollar bill, true love came from just a DVD, and once the clock did ring ten or eleven o' clock, the dream did end.
Tonight, Drew Janglings had crept out deep into one of the tunnels in Tom Sawyer Island, and managed to stay hidden from the late-night workers. A few close calls had left the 35-year old, 180 pound male sweating, but thanks to UV vodka and Dunkin' Donuts coffee, he had so far managed to keep his cool, and now, having swum the lake surrounding Tom Sawyer's Island, and drying off with some sexy, light clothes, including some dazzy dukes and a small white tee-shirt, Drew had now the park to himself.
Bathed in a ghost glow of cool light, as the temperature was near 69, Drew took off his white tee-shirt and unplugged the headphones from his MP3 player, unpocketing the small, yet powerful, speakers in his backpack, which he had stored earlier in the day behind the Pooh buffet restaurant. Turning the volume up, "Dear Mr. Fantasy" by Traffic became the entry entrée for a night in which the man hoped would be one never to be forgotten. Remembering to forget his ego and consciousness of self, he started to play a wild air guitar, free-styling his fingers, imagining them letting loose flames of wild notes, calling forth real magic from an adult world that had forgotten somewhat about the light and innocence of being free and young and just plain damn happy.
Then, The Chipettes came on, and "Born This Way/Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now/Firework" let free a massive beat and wonderful squeaky and sexy love, and Drew stripped off everything except for his small grey short sweats, his backwards-Boston Red Sox cap, tight white socks, and blue sneakers, and danced whole into a dream-filled evening, when the Magic Kingdom seemed to somehow lift, like a ghost, or a vapor mist, like a magnificent dream. Drew struck a fab pose, and kept on moving hot, relishing the fact that "Amber" by 311 had replaced The Chipettes, and now it was time for Disney to evolve from childlikeness to grown-up reality.
A myriad of radiant and dynamic colors began to pulse from within the bottom tunnel of Cinderella's Castle, a blue and white fragrant kingdom of love, hope and faith for the wretched and wounded, as "Meeting in the Aisle" commenced to throb from the speakers, a steady, paced beat catching small grains of materials from the air and piecing them into form around Drew, and everything around everything. Soon, the Castle was far up near the Earth's atmosphere, unvisible to a pragmatic and cynical world of upset humans and dead oceans, stinky cars and demonic wars. Up here, considered Drew, we is stoned IMMACULATE.
The rat-tat-tat of "Morning Bell" by Radiohead perked Drew's tipped
(tipped?)
ears up, now adorned with long, beautiful black-and-white swirled fur on his head, although now "he" seemed to be a "she", with sweet, and supple medium-sized breasts and peach-colored nipples that glistened in the stars and moon. Drew's long and thick legs became thin and dainty and rather ladylike, with silky, cropped black-and-white fur. The black fur was prominent through for the most part of his, or now, her, body except for around the eyes, ear tips, tip of "his" fifteen-inch tail, and bottom of the legs. Now at 5'6" and 120 pounds, Drew lay down on the stone floor in front of the Castle, shivering in response to her new touch, and the misty wind that seemed to fly through "his" fur was just fucking incredible.
It was at that moment that, way above the glittering moon and cumulus clouds above, a rather large yellow jumbo plane started to make its way toward the seeming gravity-less Magic Kingdom and Cinderella Castle, heading right to land on Main Street U.S.A, it's heavy nose pointed right at the new, perfect image of who was once Drew Janglings, a regular cynic.
As the famed Sea Duck parked twenty feet in front of the sparkling skunk-fox glittering girl, whose new name was still to be determined, Baloo, Rebecca Cunningham, and Kit Cloudkicker exited the jumbo giant, heading towards the now-kneeling, and somewhat meditating new creature.
"Hey, buddy!" cried Kit Cloudkicker, to which the newest fur glanced up and gasped in surprise.
"Hey, aren't you . . uh, yeah, Disney, uh . . "
"We don't know any Disney or whatever," replied Rebecca Cunningham, dressed in a purple diamond crusted dress and satin slip-on shoes , with her hair as perfect as ever, smelling of sweet things like applesauce and fresh honey, and the unmistakable highlights.
"That's right, sport," responded Baloo.
"Drew" stood up, then, still wearing the same clothes as before, but "his "new frontal assets, as well as plush tail, added a whole new element of promise and magic to the "real world" now.
"Well, for starters, there, rookie," commented the large, gray bear, "you are no longer a 'he'. What do you think, Rebecca? Can you think of a good name for our newest angel in town?"
"Wait, how did you guys know? Have you been spying on me?" asked a blushed skunk-fox, feeling forced into vulnerability, as if now, a she, were wearing nothing but sleek fur and bright, open purple-jeweled eyes with fluttering blue-purple eyelashes. Her eyes darted around, up and down, a little nervous, as if she had just smoked some really strong weed back on Earth, and was tripping too hard. "I'm feeling really fucked up now!"
Then the newborn fur passed out, and the trio of ursines lifted the skunk-fox onto the purring Sea Duck, and laid her down on a twin-sized bed out near the cargo part of the plane, making sure she was safe and comfortable. Henze had begun to drift from the speakers, a soft, classical score that enchanted everybody.
"What beautiful music!" remarked Kit.
"I didn't think anything was really beautiful on this planet," responded Baloo, with a turn of his head and a shrug of his broad shoulders, as he pushed into the cabin, ready to make waves for Cape Suzette, and to leave the "Magic Kingdom" behind.
Rebecca Cunningham cut her employee off, alarmed at his insensitivity to their new passenger aboard a complete and alien transport to "Drew's" experience. "Baloo, don't be rude! He, or rather, she, came from Earth, and we now have the responsibility to dress her up, and make her an innocent starchild again."
Kit and Baloo both sighed, unhappy at the fact that they really had to make the damn trip out to this distant point in one of the more dank nether universes, where the ancient dusty Grod was proclaimed to live, and his dying Christ in constant battle with Stan, who had fucked over Mary before the Behind The Black Silk Universal War XXXVII.
The Sea Duck rose past the atmosphere of the Earth, and, at a speed farther and faster than the speed of light, really more than not even a twinkle of an illusion of the belief in light, the four voyagers left past the Sun, and fled past the thousand-mile long, wrinkled face of Grod, where his shouting and ravaging in madnesses echoed to a cynical human Earth. In a frozen trio, Stan, Christ and Mary held in embrace a ridiculous fighting stance, while the flames of the Sun closed off the realm of what was behind the Sea Duck and its' inhabitants now impassable forever.
Grod was dead to who was once Drew Janglings, as "Gypsy (Of a Strange and Distant Time)" by The Moody Blues, echoed throughout the space vacuum where the four traveled in an immeasurable dance to maybe some point, if at this point, a point does, or did, exist . . .
More to be revealed, I promise.