So we’re sitting there enjoying The Ring, and all of a sudden there’s this terrible racket: some inconsiderate bastard has brought a small child to the movie theater. And, as children are wont to do, it is bored and cranky and crying. I sit there for a few moments, getting more and more angry that my theater-going experience has been tarnished.
And then it hits me.
who THE FUCK brings a little kid to a fucking horror movie! Did you somehow fail to notice the R rating? What, did you think that the movie’s tagline: “Before you die, you see the Ring” was actually just meant to frighten others, thus granting your precious an exclusive on the whimsical joy and noble but free-spirited animated creatures contained within?
Maybe after you saw the first gruesome corpse, you figured: “Oh, what the hell. Little Jessica needs to learn about decomposition somtime. And anyone can clearly see that those hideous sores are the result of careful makeup artistry. It’ll be like fun little game to note the erroneous minutia in this portrayal of fear and death.”
Maybe you also misinterpreted the glares of hate and pity directed at you and your child by the audience near you as admiration for your refusal to bow to any societal concept of propriety. Next time we’ll throw sharp things at you until you get it.
It’s 4:30 in the morning and I’m still up because I know that, when I go to bed, I’m going to have nightmares. How dare you subject a child to that out of your own selfish desire for entertainment. How dare you.