Last night, I was watching an old Disney movie with my son. I think it was Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas. Christmas is near, so we decided it was the right time to put on a Christmas movie. Right around Halloween. Makes perfect sense, right?

So I dug out my family’s old VCR, picked up the dusty copy of the movie, and spent fifteen minutes setting it up on our old box TV. Then I pressed play. Needless to say, we had a lot of fun. My son was having the time of his life, and I sat there reminiscing about my own childhood, watching these same characters on some random evening I’d forgotten about until that moment.

All the classics were in this movie. Mickey Mouse, with that perfect, unbothered smile. Donald Duck, screaming at nothing like he always does. Minnie, Daisy, and Pluto, who I’m fairly sure has never had a single problem in his life. Huey, Dewey, and Louie, three little bastards who, again, belong to a nephew situation. Nobody was hiding anything. Everyone was just standing around, being wholesome, and then there was Goofy.

There were little versions of them too.

My son was laughing. My wife laid her head on my shoulder. I was smiling through the whole thing, and for a moment I felt like the happiest man on earth.

Until it hit me.

Mickey doesn’t have children. He has nephews. So does Donald. So does every other character in the Disney universe.

Except Goofy.

Goofy has a son… named Max. I mean, you could assume he picked the kid up off the side of the road like fresh roadkill and decided to adopt him… but that’s simply not the case.

Max looks just like him. Just like fucking Goofy.

The moment that thought landed, I locked the fuck in.

I must have looked like a man watching his own house burn down, because my wife turned to me and asked what was wrong.

“It’s Goofy.”

“What about him, darling?”

“Goofy has had sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“Goofy has had sex… with presumably a female, drawn version of Goofy. That means, canonically… Goofy has known a woman. Goofy made love to a woman… and he… oh God. I can’t breathe…”

My son looked at us and started crying.

My wife said, tears welling in her eyes, “So does this mean…”

As she was about to finish, we heard it. It came right out of the TV’s speakers.

“Yhuck yhuck.”

Goofy’s voice.

All three of us froze, staring at the screen. It felt like that motherfucker was looking us dead in the eye. Into our souls. Taunting us, because he had fucked a girl and planted his yucky seed in her, and out came the abomination that was Max.

And all we could think about was that fucking voice.

Yhuck yhuck.

His moans… oh God, those were his moans.

The VCR burned out. The lights died. But the TV stayed on, frozen on a single still image of Goofy. A chill ran down my spine, and the horror of it crawled all the way up to my skull.

Until I woke up. Drenched in sweat, gasping for air.

And I realized… I didn’t have a son. Hell, I didn’t have a wife either.

Hell, who the fuck even owns a box TV and a VCR in 2026?

It all came back to me slowly. I was a 26-year-old loser who writes blogs on Medium for a living. None of this matters.

But every day when I wake up, I still think about him… that cold stare… those moans.

Yhuck Yhuck

If you made it this far

Congratulations. You carry this with you now too. Clap if you felt it, comment if you’re a victim as well, and if you’ve got your own cursed cartoon thoughts, come write them at Unhinged Bastards. Goofy is watching.

The Only Disney Character to Have Sex Is Goofy was originally published in UNHINGED BASTARDS on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.