Someone asked me if I was excited about the new Dumbo movie. I had to restrain myself from responding with one or more of the following:
“I would rather replace every strip of bacon I eat with a similarly sized strip of duct tape that was used to pick hairs up from a crime scene that occurred on a bus station bathroom floor.”
“I would rather be locked in a room with Adam Levine (who I prefer to refer to as “Gonorrhea Jesse Pinkman”) and forced to listen to him wax philosophical about his ab routine for three days straight.”
“I would rather go back in time and replace every Love Boat cast member with a Kardashian/Jenner. Kylie is the new Gopher!”
But, oh no! You can’t be honest in those situations! People get all, “Geez! Sorry I asked!”
You know, people claim to want honesty above all else, but I can tell you from experience, the last thing most people want from you is honesty. What people really want is for you to agree with them.
And you know what I don’t agree with?
Subjecting myself to Dumbo for a second time in my life.
Yeah, I saw it when I was five years old, and that was frankly more than enough to emotionally scar me for life. The only way you could make me watch the re-make is if you were to put me in a straitjacket and hold my eyes open a la A Clockwork Orange. Even then, I would just try to use The Force to choke myself unconscious.
Don’t act like I’m the only adult who still tries to use The Force. I attempt it at least a few times a week when presented with “unpleasant situations” in public. It hasn’t worked yet, but I swear last week a guy in front of me in the Walgreens line started to loosen his top collar button to get some air when he asked for a raincheck on a sale item during rush hour. Had he turned around at that moment, he would have seen me doing this:
He continued breathing air despite my righteous efforts of justice, happy as a raincheck-clam to torture all of the people he was holding up in line. I could deal with it if it were some poor little old lady in a muu-muu and knee-highs, but this guy walked outside in his fancy golf outfit and suede driving moccasins and climbed into his S-Class Mercedes, raincheck in-hand for two canisters of almonds.
I pictured him sitting at a table later that night at Long John Silver’s, complaining that the seafood “just simply wasn’t up to snuff”. THEN GO TO A REAL SEAFOOD RESTAURANT, JOHN “BUDDY” REGINALD RUTHERFORD-WINCHESTER III. You clearly have the money and are just playing mind games with the rest of us! You can pay full price for almonds, you rich prick!
In case you’re wondering, The Force also doesn’t work on making the tires of an S-Class Mercedes explode and rain down from the sky in hot tar ashes onto the tops of someone’s suede driving moccasins. I place equal blame for that one on: (a) my rejection letter from Jedi school, and (b) quality German engineering.
Back to the Dumbo thing.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, then first of all, sorry, and second, you know I was an anxious worry-wort of a child. A nervous wreck. A real Sensitive Sally. I didn’t really require supplemental things to worry about.
So imagine my surprise, sitting in front of a television screen, kindergarten-dangly-legs-happy to see “the cute elephant movie”, when Dumbo appears on the screen, gets mercilessly tormented by all the other circus animals, his mother defends him, and then she gets taken away from him and locked up in a cage, leaving Dumbo to fend for himself in a harsh, cruel world.
Hey you know what I shouldn’t have had to worry about when I was a kid? My mother being taken away from me and locked up, leaving me alone to traverse a cruel world. I don’t care if it works out in the end – little kids shouldn’t have to worry about those things. Yes, sometimes it happens, mothers get locked up, kids get taken away, but worrying about it in advance will do absolutely nothing beneficial for you as a kid.
Same with Bambi. Kids shouldn’t have to worry about their mothers getting shot by hunters. How about we just let them cross that bridge when it happens and address it at that time, because odds are pretty damn good that it’s not going to happen in the first place? In the meantime you’re just terrifying children for no good reason.
If you want to teach kids about things like life and death, forego the Disney films and get them a hamster, and then never, ever, ever, ever, ever let them actually hold the hamster, because having to watch a child hold a hamster is the most nerve-wracking thing I’ve ever experienced.
You know what? No hamsters. Get them a fish with a locking lid on the tank, put barbed wire around the outside of the tank, and keep the tank in a locked room that the kid can never get into.
Children around small pets is just too much for me. I can’t take it.
“Look how cute Bryson/Greyson/Flotsam is holding the baby chick!”
GET THAT CHICK AWAY FROM THAT KID RIGHT THIS SECOND. I KNOW HE’S SQUEEZING IT.
So, no. I’m not seeing the new Dumbo movie.