dumbo’s mom was so gangsta

So I decided to reacquaint myself with kid’s movies now that I am in the charge of a kid, and it only took a few minutes for me to realize THEY MAKE ME UNREASONABLY FURIOUS AND I AM NOT EMOTIONALLY EQUIPPED TO HANDLE THEIR PROFOUND LEVEL OF SADNESS.
I decided to plumb the Disney vault of racist golden oldies in search of a heart warming, PG good time. Why? I DONT KNOW WHY, CUT YOUR JUDGING EYES SOMEWHERE ELSE, YO. I am aware that I could’ve literally picked ANYTHING ELSE. As I flipped through netflix’s meager leavings of a movie collection, I came across Dumbo. Seemed harmless enough, right? Simple. To the point. Short as hell (forreal, it’s like an hour long). An innocent elephant with a physical deformity has to make it through life without becoming suicidal despite his handicap and we all have a good laugh at his expense. Right? WRONG, SON. I wasn’t ready to have my heartstrings manipulated to the point where I felt like I was watching Requiem for a Dream and needed to take a soul cleansing shower afterwards. When I was a kid, I was too busy watching gangsta classics with my dad like Big Trouble in Little China or Full Metal Jacket. You know, the foundation of any little girl’s movie repertoire.
Anyway, let me introduce you to the players of this aspca nightmare:

This gangsta

This gangsta

This cross section of bigots

This cross section of bigots

THIS LITTLE FRECKLE-FACED BASTARD

THIS LITTLE FRECKLE-FACED BASTARD

And the titular character himself

And the titular character himself

Dumbo has to navigate this stupefying technicolor maze all alone after being ripped away from his nurturing, protective mother because¬†she got thrown in the clink for protecting his adorable ass. This movie is a conglomerate of my worst anxieties, pressurized and refined into a cartoon nightmare diamond. WHY ARE YOU SO HELLBENT ON TRAUMATIZING EVERYONE, DISNEY? Granted, there is a happy ending, Dumbo and his moms are vindicated and reunited, BUT ONLY AFTER A LONG SERIES OF ONE INJUSTICE AFTER ANOTHER. And then you’re supposed to just forget all the trauma at the end and be like, yay! They made it out alive! SCREW THAT NOISE. I DON’T FORGIVE, NOR DO I FORGET THAT EASILY, DISNEY. I had to take a Crying Game shower when it was all over, reassess my new rank as mother and really scrutinize how swiftly and/or mercilessly I would CHOKE another little kid for assaulting MY kid. OR ANY OTHER FOOL. There was an endless lineup of jerks waiting to take a shot at Dumbo for one flimsy reason or another, and I don’t appreciate the fact that a mere cartoon has the power to drive me into a homicidal rage. I’m at an emotionally sensitive time in my life, and this was clearly the WRONG movie to watch.

I learn from my mistakes. I take inventory, and I move on. But not before I put a jabbering rant about it on the internet.
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