The Disney Vault. It could have been a beautiful place: fields of grass, a never-ending chorus of some of our favorite songs, and Bambi’s mother, alive and well and basking in the golden rays of the sun with her beloved son.

But in a cruel kowtow to American capitalism, Disney didn’t choose this path. They close a steal barricade and twist the comically large lock at the end of their commercials: “Get it before it goes [dun dun dunnnnn...] back in the vault.”

What goes on behind those close doors? I’m still waiting for the Jane London Dateline Special–I’d even settle for a congressional investigation led by the esteemed Michelle Bachmann–but in the meantime, I might as well let my (terrifying) imagination run wild.

Ebenezer Scrooge, as played by Academy Award Winner Daffey Duck, leads you down a dark hallway, his torch flickering. You pass by an emaciated Aladdin, gnawing at the remains of what I suspect to be his monkey-sidekick, Abu.

Next comes a locked door, with only a sliver of eerie red light creeping out beneath the door. Suddenly, you hear the distinct cry for help of what has to be Belle, her melodic voice muffled by what I imagine to be a gang of handicapped pirates straight from Captain Hook’s boat, having their rough way with her. Daffey explains that the enterprising Mrs. Potts has organized a brothel in this cruel underworld, and instantly, all my doubts about the deceptiveness of Angela Lansbury are validated.

Another room, another horror: Mowgli, from the Jungle Book, and his gaggle of feral African creatures, passed out on the couch watching reruns of CSI and Law & Order, the remnants of drugs littered around the room. And not even classy drugs like cocaine or ecstasy….no no, the metallic smell that can only come from burning meth and empty bottles of oxycodone strewn about make it clear that these wretched souls have ingratiated themselves with some of Western Appalachia’s best, as they claw at the pot marks on their faces.

Then, you arrive at the end of hallway: steal bars separating you from a faint outline of those two iconic circular ears, barely lit by Daffey’s flickering torch. Mickey’s turned around in his cell, and you grab the torch from Daffey and run to the bars:

“Mickey, is that you? Say it isn’t so, Mickey!”

Without turning his body, Mickey turns his head a complete 180 degrees. There’s just a blank expression on his face, his face even whiter than normal, and as he opens his mouth, a terrible demonic voice comes out:

“What an excellent day for an exorcism.” Then he just spews fluorescent green bile on your face, like a horrible Nickelodeon game show.