To say that inventing Disney March Maleness is the highlight of my month would be an understatement. We’ve gotten the hashtag trending in several places in the United States, thousands of votes have been cast, people are pledging money to great charitable organizations, the contestants are raising awareness for those causes with fantastic videos, and people are having a great time with the wackiness of it all.
Beginning Wednesday, 3/25, you’ll be able to cast votes in the matches below, determining the Disney March Maleness Final Four. To vote, simply @ mention the man who sets your heart aflutter with the hashtag. E.g. if you want to vote for Drunk At Disney, just tweet “I vote for @DrunkAtDisney in #DisneyMarchMaleness!” It’s that easy.
Remember that our guys are playing for great causes, so be sure to read up and vote for the guy with the most compelling cause. Now, on to the Adonis Eight…
You, standing on the shores of Asbury Park, looking out on an ocean so vast that it feels like your love could never bridge the distance between you and him. Meanwhile, on the beach-side fields of Portishead, he stands at the edge of England looking west. He longs for your kiss, to be wrapped in your warm embrace, and to tremble when you hold him. “Keith,” he’ll say to you. “I can’t abide the distance between us any longer. Let’s move to Disney World.” You’ll hold him tightly in your arms, look longingly into his eyes and say, “Rob, I simply can’t afford a bungalow at the Poly. It just won’t work.” Heartbroken, you’ll pull away from each other as the coming tears make your eyes burn. “I guess this is goodbye, my love,” he’ll say to you. “Yes, ’tis,” you’ll reply. “Goodbye, my dearest Robbie. Or as they say in your country—cheerio, mate!” Your love was never meant to last; now you must battle to the death.
Ricky awoke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat, and filled with terror. He had been hearing them for days: their persistent marching, their truculent voices growing ever louder, their haughty breaths pulsating like heartbeats out of their flaring nostrils. They came with pitchforks—torches in hand, with a mantra so ferocious as to shake heaven itself with its velocity: “NOW IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PRICE! NOW IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PRICE! NOW IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PRICE! NOW IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PRICE! NOW IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PRICE!” Ricky shuddered, shoved the dystopian nightmare from his brain, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He thought it was early morning, but saw from the clock that it was already 10:30. His wife Megan was at the table, a half-eaten bowl of Fruit Loops in front of her, utterly engrossed in her phone. “Morning,” he said to her. “Hey sweetie,” she replied, not looking up. “What do you want to do today?” she asked. Ricky considered his options for a moment, smiled, and said, “The same thing we do every day, my dear. Live that sweet ass Stump lifestyle.” Megan, startled, dropped her phone, looked up at her husband, and cried out with a passion she hardly knew lived inside of her, “I love you so freaking much, Ricky Stump!”
The chickens could not fly for they had no wings. They waddled around the coop, unbalanced, and yearning for the air. They wanted to escape this place before the drunkard and his smoke monster returned. Gertrude, the oldest and wisest of the chickens had devised a plan of escape—they would construct an airplane large enough to fly all of them over the fence and on to safety. The chickens completed their makeshift plane just as Drunkie and the viciously sexy smoke monster entered the coop to grab them. Gertrude led the chickens in an open revolt against the fearsome duo. In the ensuing melee, the chickens were able to board the plane when Gertrude created a diversion. The chickens continued their flight to freedom, eventually establishing their own sanctuary far from the deadly coop outside Maryland Fried Chicken. The Drunkard and his smoke monster, having no more chicken wings to eat, simply devoured each other with their love.
Turkey Leg Jeff vs. Schmoofy
Consuelo and I are sitting on the balcony outside the Main Street station of the Walt Disney World Railroad. She’s eating a box of the salty popcorn from the cart at the bottom of the stairs, and I’m chomping on a turkey leg (naturally). “Tilda told me that you are in the quarter finals of Disney March Madness. She says she’s voting for you.” “That’s cool. It’s been a fun contest. Whether I win or lose, I’ve had a lot of fun. All the guys have been really nice and they even posted videos and pictures and stuff.” “Did you meet anybody special? Get any dates out of it?” she asked. “No,” I answered curtly. “That sucks,” Consuelo replied. “Yeah,” I said. “Life sucks.” “It sure does,” I replied, as I put a comforting arm around her shoulder and looked out on a perfectly sun-splashed right down the middle of Main Street USA.