Hey, Toy Story 3, Stop Sucking
by Michael Bay
Holy shit, Pixar. All that computing power and know how, and you still manage to create the suckiest one hour and 49 minutes of boring, ever.
It’s not like you can’t do fire. That giant flame at the end of the movie, it was hypnotic, bracing, beautiful, and it kind of made my weiner move in a weird way.
I’m just kidding.
I know I’m sexually attracted to explosions.
And it’s not weird.
You could easily do a slam-bang, rip-roaring, Pete-Hammond-fellating, summer cockbuster in the tradition of America and Bayhem, but, no, I have to watch a gay cowboy try to rescue his boyfriend who’s some kind of raver in a hazmat suit.
Which, homoerotic overtones aside, sounds like a fantastic pitch, but dear Action Jesus, you prissy little girls fucked it up.
I mean, the “heroes” of this entire movie just keep taking shit from everyone. Every single thing in this entire movie just shits on the main characters and they have two choices, 1.) take it or 2.) escape to somewhere someone else will make them take it.
And then you have fucking Randy Newman do the soundtrack? Maybe that’s why every character in this movie is a blubbering pussy because they got that nasally penis accompanying every move they make.
Where’s the guitars? The booming drums? The synth? You listen to Linkin Park and tell me you don’t want to destroy the whole fucking world.
I had high hopes when the astronaut used his space karate on everybody, but oh, hey, wait, let’s switch it off and instead give him the ability to dance. For fuck’s sake, you’re so goddamn close.
You have cowboys, and dinosaurs, and jetpacks, and arm lasers, a wise-cracking potato, some hot blond slut, and you manage to mix it together into the boringest, touchy-feeling pile of crap I ever had to sit through.
I like you guys, and when you grow up and start making movies for people who stay up past 9:30, eat red meat, and love pussy, I’ll let you start working on the projects that I’m in charge of, but that’s not going to happen if I have to keep sitting through cars falling in love and monsters not eating children.
It’s just what they do.
Okay, first off, all arm lasers are actually lasers. They aren’t lights or any other bullshit. They are lasers and they slice buildings in half.
Second the cowboy needs to be less like a single woman in her 40’s who makes sweaters for her cats. He needs to be man. A goddamned fucking icon of grit and shooting people who don’t agree with him. And if that girl cowboy mouths off, he gives it to her, hard and fast. You know, Bay-esque.
All knowledge comes from the dick. Remember that.
Third, new music. You got a friend in AIDS, am I right? Look, we need to tell the audience how to feel about stuff and it turns out some people want to watch a movie where the central conflict is more than who can be each others’ best friend the hardest.
Fourth, more of the wise-cracking potato. I love that cynical motherfucker. You need a sassy character to tell it like it is, and the potato is perfect. I assume he’s black.
Finally, you have to get rid of those peas. I’m serious. They creep me out.
When they came out of the potato’s butt, I threw up all over the seats in front of me.
They need to go.