Finally, Mickey Mouse decided to grace me with his royal attention.
One private-number ring. Just once. No voicemail, no follow-up.
Apparently, in Mickey’s kingdom, this is how you signal that you’re serious.
And sure, I believed him — not because he was serious (he’s about as serious as a balloon sword), but because, frankly, there were no other options. And yes, that’s a big difference.
Enter the Elite & the Devil’s PR Team
The Elite, in their infinite wisdom, decided to partner with the devil himself on a noble mission: break me. The devil, always a showman, sent his top demon along with a full production crew. I was to believe they’d be playing against the Elite.
Because, of course, nothing says “trust me” like a devil-sponsored team pretending to be your friend.
The setup? Simple:
One team is the stick, the other is the carrot.
As if this outdated “stick or carrot” routine hasn’t been used in every bad action movie since the invention of film.
The devil’s top demon plays the “friendly guy” role, waving the carrot just enough for me to think I might get a bite — until I get close, and surprise! The carrot has teeth.
Meanwhile, the Elite’s squad insists they’re not that different from the devil’s crew — and that I should simply choose whichever flavor of poison suits me best.
Bing-Bong Diplomacy
Soon enough, the whole thing turns into a diplomatic ping-pong match. If I insult one team, the other team demands equal insult rights. If I hold one team accountable, they claim it’s the other’s fault.
Both teams sit in the same office, share the same coffee machine, and probably celebrate birthdays together — but they still want me to believe only one of them should be blamed.
When I dare to hold both accountable, they act shocked.
“Ah, stupid! You’ve made enemies of both of us!”
Yes. How careless of me to treat my enemies equally.
The Never-Ending Game
I try to find common ground, thinking maybe we could wrap up this circus.
But no. The rules are simple: I’m to “suck it up” indefinitely while they keep the game alive, patting themselves on the back for their genius.
They couldn’t care less about what I want or think — as long as the ball is bouncing and the laughter is loud.
And now, I’m left wondering: How will Mickey break the silence next time?
Hopefully, with a bit less aggression than last time… you know, when they were so terribly afraid.