Look, kid, I get it. Social media’s tough out there. Twitter’s a cesspool, Facebook is hell, and even the best of us need to take the edge off with a few posts of a puppy befriending a baby goat, just to make it through our timelines. But I’ve been around the block a few times, and well, the amount of cute animal posts I’ve consumed has almost completely desensitized me to even the most adorable content.

Look now, don’t take it personally. I’m sure this post you’ve sent me from “@FrenchBulldogEmergency” is just heart-melting. But when I open Twitter and see a softly smiling teacup piglet tenderly holding a freshly picked daisy in its mouth I feel nothing but the barren void.

I’ve seen it all, kid. I’ve seen otters wearing sweaters embroidered with baby pugs wearing sweaters. I’ve seen a newly hatched chick think its mother was a golden retriever and its father was two baby bunnies riding on the head of a miniature horse. You ever see a giraffe wearing oversized galoshes try to dance, but it keeps tripping over itself on account of its ill-fitting galoshes? It would turn your brain to mush.

You know what? No, go ahead, show me. By all means, please, show me a pudgy corgi in a sailor suit playfully nipping at the ankles of a newborn doe taking its first tentative steps in the glittering morning sun. Do it. I won’t bat a fucking eyelash. I saw an orangutan clad in denim overalls pull a red Radio Flyer wagon brimming with chinchillas and wondered if I left the oven on.

Oh, what’s that? Did I know baby stingrays are cute too? Kid, I’ve seen infant versions of animals you’ve never even heard of, and I’ve seen them nervously go down water slides in tiny little floaties before turning to the camera and flashing an expression of such pure, uncut joy it would turn your insides to jelly.

You got somewhere I can ash my Parliament? No? That’s fine, my arm will do. Ahhhhhhhh… That’s almost something.

Look, I got nothing against you, kid, it’s just going to take something a little stronger to get my fix. Nothing less than a baby seal sporting a tiny propeller hat while it plays the role of “Tree” in its second grade Thanksgiving play, at least. At the minimum.

Don’t you get it, kid? There’s nothing left for me out there. I’ve gazed upon hordes of baby sloths trying to keep their footing on a slippery surface while an army of labradoodle puppies looked sheepishly guilty for knocking over a thousand flowerpots. I beheld a red panda trying to mini golf and felt only empty space.

I’ve watched, stone-faced, as hedgehogs swaddled in blankets nibbled on mini blueberry muffins before sharing them with ducklings wearing tiny footie pajamas. Yeah, you heard me, someone specifically tailored the footie pajamas to contour to their little webbed feet. And if you think those footie pajamas weren’t the kind with a butt flap, and both buttons on that butt flap were securely fastened, that one wasn’t undone, causing a corner of the flap to droop and partially expose a fuzzy little duckling butt? Well, think again, motherfucker.

So I appreciate kid, but spare me the theatrics. There isn’t a tweet in your bookmarks, not a photo in your camera roll, not a viral video out there with enough cuteness to elicit even a modicum of emotion outta me, and if you think otherwise — holy shit, is that fat raccoon learning how to ice skate?!?