If I were a copyright lawyer for Disney, I’d do my best to preserve the purity and wholesomeness of their intellectual properties. I’d bust head shops for Rastafarian Mickey Mouse pipes, with their dreadlocks and painted bloodshot eyes. I’ll tell them: that privilege is for authorized retailers only.  

At sex stores, I’d make them throw away their knock-off kinky character costumes that hang from plastic packaging on racks in the back. You’re infringing on the trademarks owned by the Walt Disney Company, I’ll say as I thrust a cease-and-desist in their face.

Mom-and-pop bakeries would have to scrape off their sugary frosting with crude Donald and Daisy Ducks on birthday cakes. I don’t care if Kylie only turns seven once, you have to obtain written or verbal permission first. It’s the law.

Children’s cancer wards, with those grotesque paintings of Star Wars, Marvel, and Pixar icons on the walls would be scrubbed and purged. If I were there when men in ill-fitting Spider-Man or Wolverine costumes came to visit, I’d save the bald, shriveled children and drive away the phony imitations. Perhaps, I’d suggest, you should arrange for a television to be set up and a home video recording purchased from a legal vendor to depict these characters. However, each child should have an official copy bought on their behalf, as group viewings in an area like this are strictly prohibited.

I would dress like Walt with a combed over pompadour, pencil mustache, tailored suit, and all-knowing smile. Everyday I’d walk like Steamboat Willy, loose limbed, whistling “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” or “It’s A Small World.”  I’d marry a girl named Tinkerbell and she’d have fire-red hair like Ariel, full lips like Pocahontas, exotic skin like Jasmine, and the bold confidence of Mulan. She’d be impressed by my important occupation.

Our children would learn valuable lessons from the likes of Scar, Captain Hook, Cruella DeVille, and Gaston: that evil will always be thwarted. Our home would be modeled around Cinderella’s Castle. My Volkswagen Beetle—with the vanity license plate: MOUSKTR—would be customized so half would be red and the other half black, and I’d mount two circular ears to the hood. There would be no expense spared in adorning it with souvenirs from Orlando, Tokyo, Paris, Hong Kong, Shanghai, and of course, Anaheim. Every July, I’d embark on the cruise.

One day, Walt will rise from the dead to help defend his rights and keep his work from entering the public domain. They’ll thaw him out from the Vault and he’ll thank me and he’ll tell me he’s proud of me. That’s all I want. Maybe one day they’ll make a movie about it.

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Adam Michael Nicks had one goal in life: to remove Tom Bergeron as the host of America’s Funniest Home Videos. Now that he’s accomplished this he’s decided to try his hand at writing. So far his work has appeared in Typehouse-Ink, Crack the Spine, Five on the Fifth, Dual Coast Magazine, and ReCap.