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I love “Frozen.” Actually, no. I fucking love “Frozen.” My obsession knows no bounds. I own the movie, I own the soundtrack, and I’ve even gone so far as to hijack the shit out of our office’s playlist and add every single little magical beat to the list of songs my coworkers are subjected to listening to on a daily basis. No, seriously. I’m not talking mainstream hits like “Let It Go” And “Do You Want To Build A Snowman?” Oh, no. We’ve got the whole fucking soundtrack — even those lyric-less ones like “Winter’s Waltz” and “Wolves.” What can I say? We’re dedicated fans here at Grandex. Or, rather, I’m a dedicated fan. The rest of my coworkers hate me — at least that’s what I’ve gathered from their refusal to sit with me at lunch. Whatever, I’ve got my bitches Anna and Elsa at my desk to keep me company. And I mean that literally, as in, I have the dolls on my desk. Like I said, I fucking love “Frozen.”
You see, the craziest thing about being an adult and having an unholy obsession with an animated film featuring two blonde sisters and a whole lotta reindeer is that this obsession of mine is not actually crazy. In fact, I’d say that not only is it not crazy — it’s normal. Everywhere we (I sometimes like to put on my dictator hat and speak for the troops) look it’s “Frozen” this, “Frozen” that. Disney songs on the radio. Soccer moms beating the shit out of each other over the last copy of the “Special Edition” Blue-Ray. Idina Menzel (otherwise known as “What’s-her-face-from-“Wicked” to John Travolta) at the Oscars. Seriously, “Frozen” is all over. And it’s magical. No, seriously, it’s magical: Elsa has powers and shit.
While I obviously am firmly planted in my “Team Disney” seat over her in ATX, there is one poor bastard (who will henceforth and forever more be referred to as “King Triton”) in Japan who isn’t having it. And by “it,” I mean sex…because his wife is divorcing him…for not liking “Frozen.” LOL. OMG. I can’t even. Also, I’m white. Have you noticed?
Anyway, some bitch (who will henceforth and forever more be referred to as “Ursula”) completely fell in love with this tale of two European-ish sisters who sorta kinda hate each other for a lot of the movie, but, whatever, Disney told us that all that matters is what happens in the end — and, obviously, because we’re not terrorists, we do what Walt says. You know, even though that sooooo goes against everything Aerosmith ever taught us.
So, yeah, Ursula fell head over heels and was all like “Hey, King Triton, get your bitch ass to the theatre and come watch this bomb movie “Frozen” with me.” And KT (King Triton) was all like “Ehhh, I don’t know. Not really feeling it. I’d really prefer to see a movie that doesn’t make me feel like I enjoy being near small children in confined, dark spaces. Get what I’m saying? How about “August: Osage County?” You know I love me some Meryl.”*
Except homegirl did NOT want to see “August: Osage County.” She didn’t give a shit about Meryl and her road to total Oscar takeover. No, sir, she wanted to see her beloved “Frozen.” So, she gave her husband an ultimatum: either love “Frozen” just as much (but not more, you asshole) as you love me — or take a fucking hike. And take a hike he did…all the way to an anonymous online forum where unhappy Japanese people bitch about their awful marriages. KT’s online cyber group told him his wife was absolute bat shit and sounded like the kind of person who spends a lot of time talking to some QVC operator named “Heather,” juggling between crying, eating away her feelings, and spending her husband’s life savings on glass dolls in creepy lace outfits. You know, just a typical suburban wife.
Apparently, Ursula and KT are now at a standstill. But it doesn’t look good. And how could it? What the fuck kinda person doesn’t like “Frozen?” Seriously. God speed, Ursula. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this troubled time. And, honestly, in the words of our girl Elsa: “Let It Go.” Actually. No. Let him go. A life without “Frozen” is not a life worth living.
*All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…kinda.