The dream of a game where you get to pretend to be Mickey and Mouse has already come true many times. But a game where you get to pretend to not be Mickey but live near him, and then pretend to make pancakes, has always been such an unattainable dream that most children didn't even bother to have it. Well now it's here. You're in a housing project with Mickey Mouse, and this is a kitchen simulator. Explaining this at any greater length would do nothing but humiliate us both.
The problem with the game does not come from the simulation itself. If you have enough wrong with you that you'd want to simulate a kitchen, I'm sure My Disney Kitchen is adequate for your strange, simple needs. The problem is with your neighbors. Mickey and Minnie are the nosiest filthy rat-people you could ever live next to. They peek their heads through your window and sometimes just walk right in your home to invite themselves to dinner. And if you go through the lengthy click-click-click process to actually cook something, one of them will call to tell you they can smell it.
"*HISS!* I can smell your cooking." (click)
They're horrible leeches and they can't be killed. Believe me, I tried. My first plan was, of course, rat poison. I was going to decorate a box of it with cake frosting and leave it near the front door they were constantly barging through. The designers thought of this. The game does not allow you to include any poisonous materials in your baking. I did the next best thing. I made a turkey stuffed with cheese and hot dogs and set it on the floor. Then I left the Playstation on, for three days. When I was sure it had grown a thriving colony of toxic bacteria and diseases, I served it. Mickey found it delicious. I've never been so pissed at a filthy thing for not dying from bacteria poisoning.
In my review of VIP, EGM really liked the award I invented for it, the Presidential Boob Award for 100% Awesome. They wanted me to give these out more often, so I gave My Disney Kitchen the Safety Council's Award for Rodent Infestation Awareness. Some of the others I pitched were The Out-of-Hand Marketing Award Brought to you by The Scorpion King's Four Cheese Rollerblade Ravioli and The Evel Knievel Consolation Prize for Failing in a Magnificent Way.
My favorite might have been The Zooming Wheelchair Rainbow Trophy for At Least Trying Its Best, and I probably looked condescending when I described its icon to the art department as "picture of a wheelchair speeding over a rainbow." I made about ten more of these including The Society of Nudist Haitian Game Show Enthusiasts' Very, Very Specific Audience Award and The Singing Orphan Ribbon for the Spirited Spreading of Friendship. To give you an idea of how ready I was for anything, I even had a The Army Men: World War: Final Front: Part 8 Award for Never Giving Up on a Stupid Idea, but we understandably lost our enthusiasm for the entire idea. A weak joke should only take 25 words to get through if someone's smashing a watermelon after it.
Originally appeared in issue #164