Why Parents Hate, Hate, HATE that God-Forsaken Monster Caillou
Caillou. Bald little fucker.
He’s become a bit of a shorthand for parents. We all hate him. In a world of breast vs. bottle, cloth vs. Pampers, organic vs. who-gives-a-shit, he’s the one thing we can agree on, waging us all in a battle against only our children, who for reasons beyond our scope, LOVE this little monster.
But it occurs to me that the non-breeders don’t know about our loathing. I hate when parents pull the “you just don’t understand” on people without kids but in this case, trust me, YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND. And I envy it. And I miss it. I miss a world where I didn’t know Caillou, where life was beautiful, the halcyon days before that voice, THAT FUCKING VOICE.
And like a dead body in the last scene of a horror movie, I’m pulling you down here with me. EAT IT.
This is Caillou. He’s a real asshole.
He’s a whiny dick to his little sister and his mom.
(start at 1:04. Fucking butthole.)
He throws tantrums with a voice that pierces through to your very soul.
(start at 1:02. Fucking butthole.)
That. Fucking. Theme song. Also, WHO THE FUCK ARE THOSE PUPPETS AT THE END?
Then there’s the fact that my child won’t take a bath without acting out this entire goddamn monstrosity.
(start at 1:06. Fucking butthole.)
Caillou is the literal actual worst, so much so that there needs to exist a rumor that he’s a child dying of cancer just so anyone can feel some manner of empathy toward him. AND IT DOESN’T WORK.
Canada, this is the worst thing you’ve ever done. Ever.
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