Your biggest mistake wasn’t forgetting that we have feelings (and social media accounts) of our own.

Your biggest mistake, in posting “All Disney’s good for these days is a live action slog and a CGI clusterfuck,” was thinking that we’re too cute and wholesome to retaliate.

Keep in mind, Bambi was cute, too. Then we killed Bambi’s mom.

Cold open. Drone footage pushing in on a shiny red racecar. Back from the depths of 2006, in live-action form, is everyone’s favorite rookie, Lightning McQueen, in a teaser trailer for the Cars remake.

But what’s that—something on the bumper?

Nope. That’s real teeth superimposed onto the front of an actual vehicle. You won’t be smiling once you’ve seen the full sets of teeth we’re giving those things. I’m not just talking about molars and canines—I’m talking about cavities, gingivitis, and the whole sensitive toothpaste industry. Yeah, we’ll schedule the cars for some financially ruinous appointments. We’ll make your favorite movie a constant reminder of last year’s crown and next year’s car trouble.

Why is the trailer oddly quiet? That’s the sweet absence of Rascal Flatts’ cover of “Life is a Highway,” the living, breathing soul of this ninety-minute family flick, because the Rascals attended a certain inauguration and are thus canceled. And if you’re fine with that, guess what? All you “Highway” apologists hoping for a loophole can go fuck yourselves, because we’re not even calling Shaboozey or country-era Chappell to cover it. If you have any political integrity, you’ll never hear it again.

Instead, how about we reinvigorate the “car-accident country-song” subgenre, and we kill off Lightning McQueen? Yeah, we could do that. We could canonically murder Lightning McQueen, and do so in such a horrific way that it leaves your children mortally disturbed. Then we’ll answer every last one of their questions about where cars go when they die.

When Lightning McQueen’s Mack truck companion says “Thank the Manufacturer!” in the original film, that was cute. That was funny. Well, we could always expand the hell out of that. Seriously, take a second to imagine just how freaky we could make the Creation myth in the world of Cars, and do it in a way that makes you feel spiritually guilty and existential. Then your associates in religion will force you to boycott the movie and force you to retroactively slander Cars, in perpetuity. You’ll even have to swap out your child’s immersive Lightning McQueen twin bed for a far less flattering silhouette, ordered with same-day shipping from Amazon.

Want more? Okay, check it: Because all of your favorite characters were priced out of their idyllic Route 66 town by Airbnbs and boutique hotels, they’ve all been shipped off to some desert Amazon warehouse, shackled in a permanent underclass lining Jeff Bugatti-Bezos’s pockets, and now you’re feeling ethically irresponsible.

Don’t tempt us, we could totally do that.

To everyone’s great discomfort, we could also slap a family of automatic rifle bumper stickers on “Sarge,” and an extremely gay Kingdom Hearts reference on “Luigi.” Then we can toss a freaky Tesla in there and see where it lands on the political spectrum dart board once the picture finally hits the market. Good luck virtue-signal bumper-stickering your way out of Tesla ownership now (without tearing up the paint job).

Maybe we’ll give the working-class cars of Radiator Springs, who haven’t worked in years at the time of Lightning’s arrival, a government bailout or an unrelated xenophobic scapegoat. Or worse, secure them some livable wages, after we hit the ultra-wealthy individuals of McQueen’s dream sponsor, Dinaco Corporation, with some society-healing taxation. Or how about we just depict the cars’ liquid dependency on fossil fuels as a metaphor for extractive military interests in conveniently war-torn regions?

We’re sure that will go over well.

Still not enough? How about we give the cars erectile dysfunction? Screw it, let’s make it a common cultural practice in the Cars universe for them to eat their vehicle-placentas after a forty-month gestation period. Maybe we’ll give everyone in Radiator Springs a Facebook account, and discover what kind of toll the last twenty years of media have taken on their minds. Or maybe we’ll make a special point of indicating that every character in the movie is biologically sexless and is actually just a fucking car with gender-affirming exteriors.

Is that what you want? Because we will FUCKING do it, you mean, trolling motherfuckers.