The year is 2026. Walt Disney is rubbing his groggy eyes. His sixty year cryogenic slumber is up. You see, that urban legend about Walt’s frozen body wasn’t really a legend. The American government decided that for the benefit of all mankind, his body should be preserved. So they froze him, back in 1966. First he was stored in a deep freeze in the basement of the Magic Kingdom. But the science evolved and they removed him from the deep freeze in 2025, and placed him in a state-of-the-art Freeze-Sleep chamber, made by Kyocera (a company that decided to go into cryo-beds instead of cell phones). The Feds stored him at a secret facility in a jungle in Bolivia with Che Guevara. The CIA froze Che in 1967 after killing him. They never knew when a Latino-communist revolutionary body would come in handy. (McCarthy wouldn’t have let that fly!) Walt’s and Che’s memories were stored in a rickety super-computer at the base in Bolivia. They were both dead for about 60 years, until a small group of black scientists discovered a resurrection method. They had hoped to resurrect Harriet Tubman to be the metaphorical Moses for the still locked-out, yet hopeful potential Mexican immigrants. (We don’t really know why they still want to come in, it’s not like there’s any jobs for them anyways.) Nevertheless, the white people running the federal government stole the technology to resurrect Walt and Che for a mission. You see, by 2026, drug problems in Mexico escalated so far out of control that all cops in the hemisphere have quit for fear of their lives. No Policia, no COPS, and definitely no Mounties. They all weaseled out. So with no cops, the Drug Wars have flushed the western hemisphere into the toilet of chaos. The cartels etched fear into the people of the Hemisphere. The Pozolero (a.k.a. soup maker), a Mexicali-Mafia hit man who made “soup” out of victims by dissolving the bodies in barrels of lie, cooked up a nice stew out of the retired American president Barack Obama who was in Tijuana on spring break. His remains were never found.
The American government had enough. The Feds decided to intervene (we all know how that goes…). They told the remaining three members of the FIB (a federal organization birthed from the bureaucratic copulation of the FBI and CIA) that they needed to hire some new agents to take care of the drug problem. The head of the FIB, a now shiny bald Nicolas Cage, finished watching Bambi the night before with his genetically enhanced children. He saw the name on the DVD cover, Walt. He suggested resurrecting Walt and Che for the job. The other two remaining FIB agents, Jack Bauer and Kosmo Kramer, agreed so mindlessly, you would have thought they were kindergarteners answering yes to every question asked by the flabby yet lovable teacher, Mrs. Phillips. They took the next flight out of D.C. to the Cryo-base in Bolivia. They have still not yet decided whether or not to give Che and Walt their memories back.
Walt picks a few remaining icicles from his nose hairs. After 60 years of being dead, being born-again is pretty difficult. He peers around the room in awe. With no memories, rebirth is quite an abrasive task. After he sits up, Jack and Kramer, open the door to the cryo-bed chamber, and take the bleary Walt to the memory computer. Nick waltzes on in with the beardy Che, head resting on Nick’s shoulder. The FIB agents sit Walt and Che down in the memory replant chairs and wait for the Federal scientists to get off lunch break.
As they waited, Kramer twitches and yelps, “OOOHHH! YEAAH!”
Nick’s eyes pop open real wide from the startling yap, “What the heck?”
Bauer is fast asleep in the corner of the room, so deep into his REM cycle that a TV crashing to the concrete under the stadium bleachers at a small liberal arts college in Iowa couldn’t have woke him.
“I had an idea!” Kramer rakes the air with his raggedy voice.
“Spit it out already!” blurts Nick.
“Let’s give them both Che’s memories!”
“Why the heck would we do that?”
“Che was a fighter. Walt was an animator.”
“So…”
“So, we give them both the fightin’ spirit, they will be better off fighting the Mexicans!”
“Ok, I’m intrigued. Continue,” ponders Nick.
“Well. Uh, yeah. You see, we got both Walt and Che sitting here waitin’ to get their memories back.”
“Yeah?”
“You see, instead of giving Walt back his memories of animation and kids movies, we should give him his memories, and some of the more violent-causing memories of Che.”
“Why?”
“So that he has that fighting spirit!”
“Oh. If we combined his memories with Che’s, he would cease to be Walt.”
“What?!” spouts Kramer.
“If Walt didn’t have his memories, or if he had different memories, he would no longer be Walt.”
“He still has his body. So he’s still Walt.”
“No, you dingus! If he had different memories, he would cease to be Walt!” shouts Nick.
“Why? Memories are what make us who we are. Think about it. Would you still be Kramer if we swapped memories?”
“I don’t know?”
“No you wouldn’t still be Kramer, you would be Nick. Our memories shape the essence of who we are, so if they are changed, then we are ‘essentially changed.’”
“What?” wonders Kramer.
“Listen, we are constantly making new memories, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And these things that are happening and making memories are constantly shaping us emotionally, psychologically, and physically. They are always changing the essence of who we are. They are changing who we are.”
“Ok.”
“So, Walt’s memories are the essence of who he is, because they shape him.”
“I see.”
“So if we change his memories, the essence of Walt will be fundamentally changed.”
“Exactly!” blurbs Kramer. “But Walt’s memories were always changing, so doesn’t that mean that he changes over time?”
“I guess so.”
“Think of yourself, Nick. You are always forgetting things, and learning and experiencing different things. So doesn’t that change the ‘essence of who you are’?”
“So you’re saying that we are all constantly become different people?”
“Oh! Yeah!”
“As I grew up, I changed so much and am changing now in this conversation, so my essence is changing and therefore I am changing?”
“Yeah…pretty much.”
“So you aren’t opposed to changing Walt’s memories because technically ‘Walt’ never existed because his essence is constantly changing because his memories are constantly changing?”
“Yeah, we should change his memories so that he can help us rid the hemisphere of the cartels.”
“And he would cease to be Walt?”
“No. You dope. Have you been listening to me or yourself this whole time?”
“Yes I have been listening, even though he would qualitatively change in that his memories would change, his brain remains numerically the same brain.”
“What?”
“His memories may change, making him qualitatively different, but he is still the same old Walt Disney because he is the same object, though his body and brain have always been changing as well. He is still numerically the same person.”
“Oh, I see, so you’re saying that what makes him Walt is his body, or the fact that he has always had the same body, no matter what memories we change?”
“Yeah.”
“So we can still change his memories even if we ask him now, because he is Walt Disney now regardless of his memories, but just because his body is Walt?”
“Crap, I guess so.”
“Let’s ask the now fetal-state Walt Disney if we can give him some of Che’s memories.”
“I still don’t feel like we are justified in changing his memories. Walt is in an infant-like stage right now, and has no ability to communicate his opinion on the matter…”
“He doesn’t get an opinion on the matter!” cuts Kramer.
“That’s like choosing what kind of child you want to have.”
“Like your kids, who you genetically enhanced, just so they wouldn’t inherit your brighter-than-the-sun-bald-spot!”
“Ok, nevermind.”
“Ooohh! Yeah!”
“But I still think there is something wrong with not letting Walt decide whether he wants his memories back.”
“You’re being inconsistent,” interjects Kramer.
“What?”
“Earlier you said that memories are the essence of who we are.”
“Right.”
“Well, right now Walt has no memories, so he is no longer Walt.”
“Oh, ridiculous, we agreed that he is numerically Walt Disney, so he can choose now!”
“I think that in order to be Walt, he needs a little bit of the numerical and the qualitative. So we should give him back his old memories and then ask him if he wants some of Che’s.”
“What?”
“He is not Walt right now. We will get the actual Walt when he gets his old memories back. So maybe we should let that Walt decide whether or not he wants to combine them with Che’s at that time.”
“I can agree to that.”
“I wanna ride the pony…” snores the fetal Jack Bauer.
“So we will give them both their old memories, at which point their original essences will be restored making them the true Walt and Che. Then we will give Walt the option of hybrid memories?” asks Nick.
“Oh! YEAH!” bursts Kramer.
Jack Bauer pops to his feet and whips out his glock and points it at Kramer, “Put em’ up!” Jack slowly wakes up and lowers his weapon. Kramer has plastered himself to the wall, struck with fear. He eases up and the three of them take a seat. Nick calls the lunch room and tells the scientists to hurry up.
After a few minutes, three scientists show up. These are the type that are always pushing their glasses up the bridge of their noses. These are the type that has pocket protectors on both sides. “Oh well,” thinks Nick, “maybe these PH.D. types will have some insight. Or maybe they just have rods up their butts.”
“Calibrate the MRF.”
“Calibration complete.”
“Authorize sequence initiation phase.”
“Initiate memory restoration function.”
“If they use any more of that jargon, I’ll stick a rod up their butts,” mumbles Nick.
“In five minutes, they will have full memories restoration,” geeks in one scientist.
“Ok, thanks, don’t work too hard you guys, take a break,” Nick sarcastically chimes.
“Sure, we’ll take five, right guys?”
On that note, their symphony of jargon crescendoed with their exit.
“What a bunch of dingbats,” says Nick.
Five minutes pass, and so do a few pointless comments from Kramer and Jack. Walt and Che wake up.
“Viva la revolucion!” spouts Che.
“Where is my pen?” asks Walt.
“Hi, my name is Nicholas Cage, top agent of the FIB, the current American CIA/FBI.
It is 2026, you have both been dead for almost 60 years, but have been resurrected to help us. I know that we haven’t always been on the best of terms, Mr. Che, but we need your help. The Mexican Drug Cartels have corrupted the whole hemisphere, and we need you to destroy them.”
“Wait, you need us to kill a bunch of people for the greater good?” asks Walt.
“Yes, that is what we need you to do.” Says Nick.
“You say that these cartels have infiltrated almost every level of society?” Asks Che.
“Yes.”
“So in order to eradicate them, we will have to kill a lot of people?” asks Che.
“Yes.”
“Why not just let the drug cartels rule?” asks Walt.
“Because they are evil, and evil only triumphs when good men do nothing.”
“So are you saying that evil is the absence of good?” asks Walt.
“No, evil is found in the motive and consequence of action, and in the hearts of the Mexican drug cartels. They aim to destroy our good American culture.”
“Who says that American culture is good?” asks Che.
“Americans.”
“I don’t. I want power and authority, I want to rule the world. Why shouldn’t I just join the cartels?”
“Because true greatness is found in creative redirection of those instincts.”
“What?” asks Che.
“Look at Walt. According to Nietzsche, he had just as much potential as you did to rule the world. But he chose to redirect those desires into creativity. Walt’s company put out some of the greater works of art in the twentieth century, and revolutionized human entertainment forever. He became the ‘overman’ or the superman because he was able to redirect his instincts of ruling the world for evil, and instead ruled the entertainment world. He achieved fame, and you achieve infamy.”
“I guess I never looked at myself that way.” Walt proudly huffs.
“Che, you tried to fulfill your desires to rule and govern by using violence, and it drove you to evil. In the twentieth century communism killed over one hundred million people, and that’s a low estimate.” Nick states. “If you could just redirect those energies creatively, then you would be truly great.”
“That’s what I’ve always wanted.” says Che.
“Well, I need both of you to redirect your evil instincts of domination and help me, and help America. You will find creative ways to fight the Mexican Cartel parasites off of our society, and in this task you will find true greatness.”
“One problem,” says Che.
“What would that be?” asks Nick.
“Mr. Disney is very different from me.”
“Not as much as you would think. He made Robin Hood, who stole from the bourgeoisie to give to the proletariat. This character embodies communism in every way, but he’s green, not red.” says Nick.
“I guess that’s true.” mutters Che.
“But even though he may agree with your ends, he doesn’t agree with your means.” says Nick. “So Walt, do you mind if we give you some of Che’s memories in order to give you the violent tendencies necessary for our purposes?”
“Wouldn’t I cease to be me if you gave me somebody else’s memories?”
“Numerically you would remain the same. You will always be numerically the same since your body is called Walt, however you would change qualitatively. Since both play into who you are, then you would change. But we can justify this since your essence would always be changing anyway.”
“Oh, ok. Well, go ahead then, qualitatively change me.”
With that, the scientists fired up the machine, and began to put some of Che’s violent memories into Walt so that he would be able to better help out FIB in their war against the drug cartels.
“How’s the transfer?” asks Nick.
“It’s going well.” Says one of the scientists without glancing up.
The lights go black. The room goes dark. The scientist start to argue over what the problem may be. “What the heck is going on?” shouts Nick.
“Well, we seem to be going through a power failure,” says one of the scientists.
“Is that going to affect the process?” panics Nick.
“Well, yes, it’s going to temporarily end it.”
The building hums back to life.
Walt wakes up and starts babbling in Spanish.
Che wakes up and starts blubbering like Goofy.
“Oh, fork,” interjects Nick, “did they come out half-baked?”
“It appears as though their minds switched because of the influx of power after the black out,” pleads a scientist.
“They switched? Well, is there anyway to switch them back?”
“Not really, the power will go out again, and they will just get all jumbled up, their memories are still isolated, and we don’t want to risk them getting mixed up, it could take years to sort them all out again.”
“We want them to get mixed up, so that both have some of the other, then they will be more effective. OH! YEAH!” screeches Kramer.
“But if they get mixed up then they will cease to be themselves.” Says Nick.
“They already aren’t themselves because their memories are all switched around.” Says Kramer.
“Are you sure about that?”
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