It is time for me to finally speak of that which terrifies me in the dark. It is a monster, a foul creature from beyond. I know not from whence it came. I wish it would return to its hellhole and leave me in peace. But my hopes are false. There will be no escape from its pale eye. It calls to me. One day, it shall have me. And then will my insanity be made complete.
Don’t get me wrong. I like It’s a Small World. I think it stands as one of the few (if not the only) works of pure art in theme parks. It is an expressionist world devoted to the idea of happiness. Somewhere along the line, Small World has become the butt of jokes, something non-Disney people seem to think an especially easy target.
“I rode Small World, and the boat got stuck! I had to listen to that theme song for an hour! Ha ha ha ha!” Oh just shut up and go back to watching Maury Povich.
“They should turn it into a shooting gallery! That might make it entertaining! Ha ha ha ha!” Yeah, and next time why don’t you bring a can of spray paint to the Louvre.
“Any lost kids we find will be taken to Small World, have their feet glued to the floor, and be forced to sing that song over and over and over! Ha ha ha ha!” Really, why don’t you just — actually, I think that’s an old Jungle Cruise joke.
Anyway, the point is, I love It’s a Small World, the theme song doesn’t bother me, and whenever I hear a joke about it, I can always come up with a witty comeback in less than three days.
“Oh yeah? Well the Jerk Store called, and they’re running out of you!”
So it is a painful irony that Small World contains one of the most gruesome monstrosities in all of Disneydom, a creature that tears at very fabric of your mind, and whose image will haunt you forever. The Haunted Mansion has nothing that can compete. I live in terror of waking up at night and finding this thing staring at me from my pillow.
Don’t look at it!
It’s some kind of Siamese snail-goat thing, and it appears on the right hand side of the boat, in the South America portion of the ride. Maybe you never noticed it, because the cactus playing mariachi guitar is a little creepy in its own right, but it’s sitting right there. I have no idea where it comes from. Is this a common thing south of the border, this two-headed demonspawn of Quetzalcoatl? Why must it besmirch a ride about children and happiness and quilt-covered kangaroos?
If you want to be scarred for life, look for it next time you ride. And try not to look directly into its misty gaze. Not if you want to live to see your grandchildren.
I swear it moves when I float past. Really. Every trip, it’s just a couple inches closer to my boat.