Dear Mickey Mouse,
We can't believe you're already 80 years old. It seems like just yesterday you were bouncing around with Uncle Remus and all of your mildly racist friends, gallivanting in the delightfully colorless world of the 1920s. In today's thoroughly PC world, it's probably best that we ignore Remus for a while...
Actually, come to think of it, we can't really name any particular thing that you're famous for — other than simply being the token Disney anthropomorphized animal character. Donald Duck had his hilarious speech impediment, Roger Rabbit had his hot tranny alter-ego, but you're just a mouse. And now you're an octogenarian with a shady past.
Then again, there's always the off-chance that since you've already made it this far without visibly aging, you're some sort of immortal. We don't doubt that you and Walt Disney's cryogenically frozen body made some sort of pact to meet up in 2025 and systematically rid the world of everyone but yourselves, extending copyrights left and right as you impose your skewed sense of morals on everyone.
It's a well-known fact that Walt was an anti-Semite, and you have some unpleasant connections yourself ... no one has seen Remus for years now, and the obviously-Jamaican Sebastian from "The Little Mermaid" (1989) has been leading protests in his homeland. I must congratulate you though; you've done a good job of keeping the press from reporting the beheading of Flounder.
Then again, it's hard to stay mad at you. Over these 80 years, you've changed shape, gained color and gradually renounced violence, all the while never getting droopy around your perfectly-rounded edges.
Or maybe that's just the moralizing brainwashing talking. Either way, happy 80th birthday, and have a pleasant senility.
Sincerely, The Daily Arts Department
