What I have concluded about Toy Story

Fucking toys are miserable, and hate you no matter what you do. If you play with 'em, they're traumatized. If you don't play with 'em, they're depressed. You can keep 'em in the box, hang 'em from the ceiling, set 'em up in a tea party, return 'em to the store, melt 'em down, replace 'em, throw 'em away, give 'em away, give 'em to the dog, put 'em in a geocache... it's all the same. "How could my owner do this to me?" Moody little shits. Why do we make any toys at all?