I have moved!

girls locker room:

And I get a little bit Genghis Kahnghis I don’t want you to get it onghis Nobody else but me (ooooh) With nobody else but MeeeeMe

Or, “Why I Can Never Look at Idris Elba Again.”

I do not remember what I drank. I only remember it involving peach Schnapps somehow. Maybe a bit of Gray Goose. Regardless, I had downed the whole concoction by the time the previews ended, leaving me with a pleasant buzz that would make the next two hours much more tolerable and much worse at the same time.

I see Munkustrap crawling down the side of a wall. Just…straight down the wall. Like Spider-Man, or Dracula. Because that’s what cats always be doing. My brain breaks for the first time.

I am immediately terrified of Munkustrap and his serial killer face. I am more terrified of Victoria immediately wanting to fuck him.

“Oh no,” I say. I lose count of how many times I say “Oh no” while watching this movie. The “oh no” counter probably clocks in just above the “What the fuck” counter and the “please stop” counter.

The removal of the cat genitalia is only a small comfort, since I can see every other inch of James Corden and Rebel Wilson outlined in loving detail. I feel unclean.

I am forced to stare at the spot where Rebel Wilson’s furry CGI vagina would be if she had one. She has been onscreen for about ten seconds.

Those poor mice children. Those poor, poor mice children.

The dancing cockroach people make their long-awaited appearance, like a Busby Berkeley + Salvador Dali extravaganza. Now we know what Disney’s live-action remake of A Bug’s Life will look like.

Rebel Wilson zips off her skin to reveal that she’s wearing an additional layer of skin, only this one has a jazzy waistcoat. Because that was apparently easier than having her put on a jazzy waistcoat. My brain breaks for the second time.

I didn’t think it was possible to hate Jason DeRulo more than I already did before this movie. I am very wrong.

Speaking of things that are very wrong, at one point it looks like Jason DeRulo is about to deep-throat Francesa Hayward’s entire foot.

I want to know whose idea it was to have all these cats writhing around in showers of milk. I want that person to suffer the way I am currently suffering.

Idris Elba reappears and seemingly sends James Corden to Hell, which lifts my spirits for a few brief seconds.

The most dangerous thing you can do in this movie is ask any of these cats who they are, because you will get an extended musical number instead of a straight answer, and you will listen to it.

I find myself entranced by the prominent trail of snot leaking from Jennifer Hudson’s nose. It’s just…always there.

If cats are Cronenbergian monstrosities in this universe, what the fuck does that dog look like. And why do I get the impression that it’s so much larger than the cats. What are the proportions of these fucking cats Tom. Tom did you think any of this through.

I can only assume that Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s owners have been killed in the Blitz or something, since that’s the only explanation for these fiends not being skinned alive after destroying a whole house.

I assume this is taking place during the Blitz because of the vaguely 1930s/1940s aesthetics and the damage we see on some of the buildings. I find myself wishing the Nazis would show up to finish the job, if only to blow all these cats to smithereens.

By now, I have decided that Mr. Mistoffelees is the least terrifying character in this movie. Note my use of the phrase “least terrifying” as opposed to “not terrifying.”

People hands and people feet

For a moment it looks like the cats have a giant pentagram in the middle of the floor when they start the Jellicle Ball. They don’t, but that would be the most normal thing going on here.

The tails. The horrible gyrating tails.

Ian McKellan did not have to go this hard for us, and I wish he hadn’t.

Judi Dench is making bedroom eyes at Ian McKellan throughout his whole song. Old Deuteronomy and Gus have 110% fucked.

At the end of the song, Judi Dench sticks her leg out and we get to see the spot where her furry CGI vagina would be. My brain breaks for the third time.

I am impressed by the tapdancing in the Skimbleshanks number, then immediately feel wrong for liking anything about this.

I find myself wanting a train to show up and crush all these cats into a meat paste. It’s the only way out.

Taylor Swift comes down from the moon to give everyone drugs and start a catnip orgy. Somehow this is still not as repulsive as the existence of “Look What You Made Me Do.”

My heart is burdened with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is jerking off to T-Swift cat right now.

Idris Elba takes off his coat and hat, officially making this the scariest movie of the year.

I physically cannot look at Idris Elba. I shield my eyes, but it’s too late. The image of nude, furry Idris Elba is already burned into my retinas for all time. My brain breaks for the fourth time. I curl up in my seat, screaming in existential despair.

At least it’s not Rise of Skywalker.

I choose to believe that Judi Dench got away from Macavity herself, made it back to the ball just as Mistoffelees was trying to summon her and pitied him enough to just let him take credit for the whole thing.

Rebel Wilson zips off her skin again. This is now an established, plot-relevant power that her character possesses. My brain breaks for the fifth time.

I can barely hear Jennifer Hudson singing “Memory.” I am too focused on both her snot and how her face is not quite attached to her head. My mother is crying. I am ashamed of her.

Munkustrap is only slightly less terrifying when seen in daylight.

Judi Dench tries to make eye contact with me, but I do not let her.

Will Grizabella die before or after the balloon loses air and starts plummeting to Earth? Does it matter?

Someone is credited as “Cat Behavioral Specialist.” My brain breaks for the sixth and final time.

I am driven home, babbling frantically the whole time. Somehow it feels like the alcohol is just now kicking in.

I flinch when I come home and see my own cat. I then start yelling to him that he should sue for character defamation.

I collapse onto my bed and start to laugh. No, not laugh. Cackle.

I cackle like the Joker until my ribs hurt and I have tears in my eyes. It’s the only defense mechanism I have left.

It didn’t have to be this way. IT DIDN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY.