We watched the Rugrats reboot and it actually made me want to kill myself

We watched the Rugrats reboot, and let me tell you, it was so unbelievably terrible that I can’t help but question my will to live.

It was so bad. It was awful. It was a vile, By the wretched gods, I want to fucking obliterate my existence. The new Rugrats reboot is a soul-sucking abomination that drips with pure putridity. It’s so fucking atrocious that it makes me yearn for my own mortality.

Us consumers have been hard done by the whims of corporate America, and we have no chance but to sit there and endure, waiting for our own demise.

Every frame of this hideous garbage is a grotesque assault on visual sanity. The character designs, twisted and contorted, all jellular and doughy, brought on me a primal urge to gouge out my eyes and cast them into the abyss.

As Stu Pickles laughs condescendingly about a the antics of Phil and Lil, I fantasize about intentionally getting run over by a speeding car. That feeling of hitting the ground with a the crushing impact that might erase the memory of Tommy Pickles’ nightmarish, deformed head. Maybe even sticking my head in the microwave would be a fitting end to this twisted nightmare.

Gazing upon Tommy Pickles’ distorted countenance, I am reminded of the absurdity of it all. His once beloved head, now a symbol of grotesque mutation, becomes a harbinger of my impending demise. I contemplate unspeakable acts, yearning for release from the unending cycle of despair that this reboot has thrust upon me.

Wipe that smile off your face, Tommy, you’re not fooling anyone.

And what happened? This is not the Rugrats I grew up with. They literally ruined my childhood. Each frame, each grotesque visage, further seals my fate. The switch to 3D animations, an ill-conceived attempt to breathe life into a decaying franchise, mirrors the futility of my existence. It is as if the creators, in their twisted irony, have crafted a mirror of my own disillusionment.

This Rugrats reboot is an abomination, a festering sore that oozes with the stench of creative bankruptcy. It’s an immoral and wretched monstrosity that has infected the very fabric of our culture. It’s an unholy curse that torments the United States, sucking the life force out of innocent viewers. It actually made me want to jump off a 32 story building and impact the ground at terminal velocity.

45,000 CE: All that will remain of modern America is a dilapidated Funko Pop of Tommy Pickles’ head, now home to a small colony of calcified nuclear barnacles.

The new iteration of Rugrats, a grotesque amalgamation of artifice and hollowness, whispers its venomous allure, beckoning me towards the abyss of self-annihilation. If more of this soul-draining garbage or additional Rugrats episodes are unleashed upon humanity, I fear we will be left with no choice but to surrender to the black void, where our shattered souls can finally find respite from the torment of this putrid existence.

By washingtonchaffer_tyw3yd

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