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I've Got You Dumb Motherfuckers Eating Right Out Of My Hand

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I've Got You Dumb Motherfuckers Eating Right Out Of My Hand

When we released the first Toy Story movie back in 1995, my colleagues and I were nervous about the response from critics and audiences. Sure, we knew we had crafted a brilliant, earnest film that intelligently explored the human condition—a story that resonated with both children and adults alike—but we didn't know for sure if moviegoers would come out in big numbers or not. Well, fast-forward 15 years, 11 movies, and $6 billion later, and I can tell you with full confidence that I've got you stupid fucking sons of bitches exactly where I want you.

I mean, Jesus Christ, we've got you dummies eating up this works-of-cinematic-beauty shit like your miserable little lives depended on it.

Yes, after the success of our first few movies we had a hunch you'd continue to enjoy the wonderfully designed animation and our smart, lyrical writing, but I didn't think we'd create a horde of drooling morons ready to drop everything just to watch a fucking rat cook dinner. Time and time again, though, there you chumps are, lined up around the block with your stupid little kids, eager to have your stupid little hearts filled with whimsy.

Admit it: You numb-nuts are addicted to our genuine, three-dimensional characters. And you just can't get enough of our ability to make an idiot robot that can barely even talk feel relatable. It's okay to say you love it.

It's truly pathetic, but it's okay.

Let me share a little anecdote with you. Three years ago, I was watching an early edit of the movie Up, and I swear to God I only had to watch five minutes of the thing before I turned to Andrew Stanton and said, "Boy, the sheep are gonna flock to this." And I said this while that old fart's house was still on the ground. Up had everything you nimrods have come to expect from Pixar: an endearing main character, that follow-your-dreams bullshit, and that razor-sharp humor garbage we can basically barf out anytime we need a hefty payday.

Admittedly, not everything in that movie was perfect. Were the talking dogs a cheap gag? Absolutely. Did it matter? No way. We're fucking Pixar! We've built enough credibility that we don't have to worry about talking dogs ruining a movie, because we own the audience, we own the critics, and when we say "Jump," the jack-offs who give out Academy Awards say, "How high? Best Picture high enough?"

Come to think of it, you're like a bunch of talking dogs that rush to their water bowls every time we refill it with timeless narratives and indelible characters, aren't you? Here, boy! Sit. Stay. Roll over. Feel more of an emotional connection with a cartoon fish than anything else in your own empty life. Good boy. Good.

Pixar is bulletproof, assholes. We can put out any old piece of shit that perfectly examines universal themes of love and friendship and just walk away with record box-office numbers. In fact, I think I'll have my award-winning design team get cracking on an anthropomorphic piece of shit right now. Yes. Shit. I'm talking actual human feces here, folks. We'll give it eyes and limbs, and—I don't know—call it Danny Caca. Brad Bird can make a story about how it got lost on its way to the sewage treatment facility. Its best friends are a used sewage-logged tampon and a hypodermic needle. Then we'll just sit back and watch the receipts come in.

Yeah, it'll have heart and depth, but still, it's going to be a talking piece of shit. Kids won't flush for years because of it.

So here's what we got coming out soon: Cars 2, Brave (I actually have no clue what that is, but I'm sure our little toady at The New York Times A.O. Scott will say it fits perfectly into Pixar's grand tradition of excellence), and Monsters, Inc. 2. I see we have a couple sequels in there, but I'm willing to bet you dunderheads are excited as hell for them because Pixar has that rare, we-don't-do-sequels-unless-we-genuinely-have-a-good-story-to-tell integrity thing that you just absolutely love and respect and that can't be found anywhere else in Hollywood. Hell, it's like it's 100 degrees out and we're the only ones selling snow cones.

So, enjoy the movies, dipshits. And remember, you've got a friend in us.

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