From the Archive: A Letter From Walt Disney To His Favorite Prostitute, Bambi

In an effort to better society and enrich the Thing X Intellectual Property Division, we continually acquire, through every means necessary, letters, journals, and other writings of historical import. A sampling of these documents is shared with readers here. Due to the delicate nature of the original copy, the text has been transcribed below.

“Bambi”
c/o Madame Olga von Hildegard
1375 Wilshire Blvd.
Hollywood CA 90213

Dearest Bambi,

I realize it is unusual and not without risk for me to correspond with you by post rather than wait for our next clandestine rendezvous, but I simply cannot contain my excitement! Upon leaving your embrace two nights ago, the fire you stoked in my loins traveled straight to the tip of my drawing pencil and did not extinguish itself until this very evening; I’m happy to report that I’ve completed the first storyboards for my next animated motion picture, a film about a young forest deer which will surpass even Snow White in its depth and beauty. And I have you, my favorite of all of Madame Hildegard’s girls, to thank for it. In fact, with your permission, I’d like to call the film Bambi. 

The muse first struck between shuddering climaxes numbers five and six, while we lay naked and entwined underneath your vanity and you told me the heartbreaking tale of how your mother was gunned down before your very eyes when you were just a child. I thought to myself, while preparing to once again bend you over the ottoman, “Golly, if handled just so, this would make a wondrous opening scene in a children’s movie!” 

Now, my sweet, I hope you don’t think I’d be so presumptuous as to use your bittersweet life’s tale without first seeking your approval; at your command, I will happily tear these storyboards into a thousand pieces. But it is my hope that you’ll consider this film as my humble way of immortalizing both your memory and our profound—and, some would say, unconventional and deeply disturbing—erotic relationship in the only way I know how: through adorable animated animals frolicking.

I just know you’ll love the film! Your delicate essence, your raw innocence, is reflected in the young prince of the forest, while your bravery and willingness to try even the most compromising sexual positions, no matter how painful or humiliating, shines through when the fawn grows to be king.

Oh, I even incorporated that silly phrase we made up, “Twitter-pated”—only in the movie it means “smitten,” not … well, for decorum’s sake, let me stop right there ...

I am now massively, almost painfully erect.

I hope you’re not jealous, but I should mention that a few other of Madame Hildegard’s talented women have worked their way into the script. For example, the late bombshell, Flower, will be memorialized in the film as a skunk, because who could forget her perfect, perky breasts and her jet black hair, with that lonely streak of white down the center? At the very least, we can take solace in the fact that she died doing what that immensely obese customer loved.

And it would be a crime not to pay homage to the remarkably skilled Thumper, who, though blind and deaf, always manages to give me exactly what I want: two thumps to the ground for fellatio, and five thumps for “Please release the cord, I’m choking to death.” Our dear Thumper will be a young, impudent rabbit in my film, though it pains me that she will never know it.

But allow me to return to your young Bambi, the fawn: he will look and sound like a girl, but actually be a boy, just like you, my dear. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone as long as you keep mum about the little “games” we play with the wooden marionette puppet that has the conveniently long nose.

What else can I say, Bambi? You’re one in a million: your technique, your elegance, the way you gently hum “Heigh-Ho” on my scrotum while fingering my asshole. So please let me do you the honor of naming my latest masterpiece after you. For all the mind-boggling sexual horizons you’ve show to me, it’s the very least I could do.

Yours,
Walt D.

P.S. I know that you are embarrassed about your cloven feet, but what some may call a genetic deformity, I call the most beautiful gift of all.