Midnight at the Polynesian

[The following was inspired by a recent MMOM episode. With apologies to the many people I left out, and even more apologies to those I didn't]

It had been a chilly day, the kind of day that made Dutch regret his failure to bring any clothing other than a swimsuit, his signature blue polo shirt, and ragged green visor. He shuffled his mismatched Crocs to the edge of the pool for the tenth time that day, reminded yet again of how his daughter’s face used to shine as she frolicked in the water during warmer, happier times.

He fingered the steel collar on his neck and cursed Emperor Rosemergy once more. The collar had rubbed the back of his neck raw when it was first clamped on. The sores had mostly healed but Dutch grimaced as the collar bit into an open wound next to the electrodes inserted into his spine. He had grown used to the 10-foot glowing spire that marked the center of his new existence, but the pain from the collar still dazed him every time he moved.

Dutch realized that it had been two weeks since the collar had given him a crippling electrical shock. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was glad to have escaped the unbearable pain, but it also meant he had not tried to escape or otherwise push the boundaries of his invisible prison.

He pulled out his phone and checked Twitter again to check up on his fellow prisoners at different places in the World. Howie had posted another ride photo from Splash Mountain, this time holding his phone over his mouth mid-drop, with a giant picture of a tongue on the phone. Another reminder that Howie managed to get two premium boatrides in his circle. Dutch didn’t have the heart to tell Howie that he didn’t actually like boatrides that much; mostly he just liked the catchphrase.

Russ was apparently still engaged in his long-running argument with Victoria & Albert’s management over the coat requirement. Russ had been so proud of his selection at the Grand Floridian, but his failure to bring a dinner jacket had dampened his enthusiasm considerably. Dutch had stopped urging Russ to buy a sport coat from Commander Porter’s weeks ago since he was tired of hearing Russ complain about the principle of the matter. A principle Dutch didn’t understand, something to do with the intersection of the Third and Eighth Amendments.

Wes was still trying to figure out how to get a jackhammer into Tomorrowland, and Kip claimed that tonight was the night he was really going to climb the pyramid. Sure thing, Kip. At least it sounded more interesting than last night’s activity of calculating the square footage of his beloved pavilion. Still no word from the two locals; that was good news, Dutch figured.

Right on cue, Emo Sports Tweeting Kivus Ren started flooding his inbox with a series of deranged messages. Half demanded to know the whereabouts of these locals. The other half contained reasons why Dabo was almost but not quite as good as Belichick. The tweets weren’t really that bad, all things considered, but then again the Pats didn’t play until Sunday.

Dutch shook his head again, wondering how someone as obviously unstable as Emo Sports Tweeting Kivus Ren could gain the trust of Emperor Rosemergy and then engage in a complex scheme that began months ago with a survey purportedly trying to organize a meetup. Months of anticipation had led to some measured amusement when Dutch and his internet friends found Emo Sports Tweeting Kivus Ren wearing a mask and commanding stormtroopers at the airport. Amusement had turned to horror over the next few hours as they began to realize that Emo Sports Tweeting Kivus Ren was deadly serious and had somehow obtained the shock collar technology necessary to imprison them in their chosen circles.

Dutch headed back to his room before Wishes began. He noted to himself that it had been at least a week since he had seen Wishes, a new record for him. Had his spirits sunk that low? Well, at least in his dreams he could be Viking, freed of the collar for short time. He nodded off, hoping for his favorite dream, the one involving three different brioche ice cream sandwiches and Soarin’.

A rustling sound in his room startled him awake. A hand clamped down on his mouth. His eyes slowly focused on an oddly familiar face in the dark room. “Shhhhh,” the apparition whispered. “Admiral Laycock is in the boat. I’m here to rescue you.”

(to be continued …. well, probably not, and almost certainly not by me)