I’d steeled myself to feel all the feels and FINALLY go see Inside Out.
But what I did NOT prepare for was the bullshit short cartoon they showed before the movie. It was about a lonely boy volcano, with a face, looking for volcano love, singing an insufferable song about being a lonely volcano and not being able to find a lady volcano.*
Now I have a goddamn VOLCANO reminding me that I’m dying alone?! A VOLCANO needs a soulmate?
Thanks for reminding me I’m at the movies alone, Bitch Volcano. Maybe you need to look inside yourself for validation — did you ever think of that?
Pixar can go fuck itself. In 3D.
* “Lady volcano” is my new favorite euphemism for my vagina.
“A big aircraft just fucked up Wall-E’s wasteland, and he was scared and sad-eyed under rubble, and I may have felt terrible for him and started to cry, and now Girl Wall-E just landed. I might not be able to handle this movie while on a hormonal ‘I’m gonna die alone and sexless’ bender.”
I sent the disc back to Netflix and will be replacing it with Despicable Me 2. Minions don’t require romance, only shenanigans. (I promise to try Wall-E again some day.)
But I can’t be the only person who thinks that, in a certain state of mind, Pixar movies could easily lead you down a severe depression rabbit hole. I’m definitely not the only person I know who wanted to jump off a building after watching Up!, and that was when I was in a happy relationship. And Jesus Christ, the first 10 minutes of Finding Nemo, I was on the floor in tears.
Pixar movies should come with Prozac. Best tie-in ever, even better than the free-refills vat of soda my theater offered with the purchase of a Hunger Gamescollectible cup.