Disney World has been designated the happiest place on Earth, but the fact that they don’t recognize our rights as Americans proves that moniker false and that they have no problem trampling on the Constitution for a couple of bucks.

Hopefully, you read the first installment to this story yesterday. If not, you can get up to date by going HERE

If you’ve already read it, let’s jump back in!

We left off at the end of the night of our first event of the FreedomWire Disney retreat.

The boys and I had just had a great night and it was time to go our separate ways.

I was feeling great — after meeting a lot of people I had only talked to over email and making a lot of connections — so I was walked back to the monorail station with fellow FreedomWire editor,Ryan James, without a care in the world.

It’s always great walking through a Disney hotel — the atmosphere just feels good. All the kids look excited or wiped out — depending on whether they’re going to the Magic Kingdom or coming back — and I was enjoying watching that magic happen for them…

Had I known what I was in store for, though, I’d have been more prepared.

I followed Ryan through the line. He walked through without a problem and, still feeling good from the evening, I put my stuff in the little bowl and followed.

I didn’t even give my knife a second thought…

I mean, they let me through once … I’m just going back to my hotel. They’d surely just let me through again, right?

Wrong.

When I went to grab my stuff, the guy stationed at the table held the bowl and made a face.

Not knowing what was going on, I looked up at the metal detector to see if I had set it off … It was green, so it must have been something else…

And then I saw his eyes track down to the knife.

“Hey, man,” I said jovially. “The guy at the other hotel let me through. I’m just going back there to hit the hay.”

He looked at the knife and said, “I don’t know if I can let you through — this knife is too big.”

I said, “Yeah, the other guy said it was ok. I’m just going back to my room where I’ll leave it for the rest of the weekend.”

He eyeballed me wearily. “It’s not my call, sir. It’s up to this guy,” he said, motioning to an older guy.

Ryan was already through at this point, but came back to see what the hold-up was. The older man pulled out his ID, held my CLOSED knife up to it, and said, “Yeah, I can’t let you through. I’ll have to keep this here if you want to go back on the monorail.”

“Seriously?” I responded. “The guy on the other end let me through. I’m not going to a park — just back to my room.”

The man shook his head, “I’m sorry, sir, but if you want to keep this, you’ll have to find another way.”

Ryan was as shocked as I was…

But there was nothing he could do.

“Hey, bro,” I said to him. “I’ll see you back at the hotel. Go on without me or you’ll miss the next train.”

Reluctantly, he left me at the monorail checkpoint.

“Well, what are my options? I’m not leaving my knife…” I said. The knife itself held no sentimental value to me, but at this point, it was the principal of it…

I’d have walked all the way back to my hotel if I had to.

I noticed that — after the older guy told me I couldn’t go through — the younger guy, the one to first balk at the knife, started bowing up. He was trying to make himself look bigger and the smile that had greeted me was gone. He was feeling his authority and loving it.

He piped up and said, “You can go downstairs and try to get an Uber or something.”

But he didn’t say it nicely. At all. He said it with attitude — and I didn’t take kindly to it.

I shook my head. “Nice … Is this how you guys treat all your guests? Or just those whose rights you’re violating?”

“Wh-what?” He said.

“Look, man, I get it. Disney has a problem with knives. However, this knife is 100% legal in the state of Florida,” I said, holding it up in front of him. “I get that Disney may have a rule about it that I didn’t know, but there’s no need for you to get an attitude with me.”

He stammered, “Bu-bu … Do I need to call the police?”

“For what?!” I demanded. Now I was angry. I had done nothing wrong and this guy was threatening to call the police on me.

“What am I doing that’s illegal? Nothing. Call them,” I said.

That’s when the older guy jumped back in. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “You can go down the hallway and the attendant down that escalator will get you a ride back to your hotel.”

I eyed Deputy Dog for a moment and then turned back to the older guy. “Thank you, Jim. I appreciate you being cordial,” I said, and then motioned back to the tough guy. “But that guy needs some more training.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jim said under his breath. “I’ll talk to him.”

To that, I nodded and started my adventure home — which is a story for another day…

I’m still dumbfounded about what happened.

I still can’t fathom being in America and told I can’t exercise my American right to bear arms. My concealed carry permit should be all I ever need to bring a knife or a gun wherever I damn well please in my country…

As a matter of fact, I shouldn’t even NEED my permit. The Bill of Rights is all I should ever really need to carry whatever I want! If I wanted to open carry a freakin’ bazooka, I should be allowed to!

But Mickey Mouse and his gang of thugs wants to harass me for a 3.4-inch-long bladed tool.

Un-freakin-believable.

Welcome to America in the 21st century, folks!

Are you starting to understand why we need Trump as our president?

I sure am…

 

“When you believe in a thing, believe in it all the way, implicitly and unquestionable.” – Walt Disney