Every precious child on this earth is an angel sent from heaven; one deserving of love, support, and compassion – no matter how irritating or ugly. Every child, that is, except Caillou, because what the fuck is his problem?!

Some think Caillou’s near-unbearable awfulness is merely a symptom of being Canadian, while others contend that his whiney, momma’s boy demeanor is just the product of an unfortunate, run-of-the-mill shitty personality. There is also a surprisingly large contigent who think Caillou is being intentionally molded into such a spineless pussy by a vindictive mother unable to forgive him for stretching her vagina out so badly; because surely a child possessing such a wrecking ball of a head caused some MAJOR vaginal trauma. Whatever the reason, the mere sight of Caillou has driven otherwise rational adults to kill themselves. So, what is it about Caillou’s physical appearance that causes such angst? Let’s start at the top – with that head.

THAT HEAD: What is going on there? One would hope, for Caillou’s sake, that a head so large might be capable of housing vast amounts of knowledge, but judging by Caillou’s inability to identify even the most basic of objects, such as a whisk broom or lightbulb, this doesn’t appear to be the case. And what would this huge head be without a few indiscriminately-placed, random markings. Otherwise known as: Caillou’s face.

THAT FACE: As if the boy’s head weren’t large enough already, Caillou’s tiny, beady little eyes and miniscule nose and mouth create the illusion of even greater cranial enormity. The worst part of this above-the-shoulder trainwreck, however, is actually not physical. It’s verbal. It’s what comes out of the boy’s offensive mouth, in terms of both what is said and how it’s said. First, that voice.

THAT VOICE: No human voice on earth is worse. Period. Its bitchy whine is almost indescribable, but here goes: Imagine what a squeaky, saccharine-sweet, entitled child’s voice might sound like as it escapes a very tight Canadian asshole. But it’s what Caillou says that will cause you to involuntarily punch at the air. Oh, the shit this weasel says.

THE SHIT THIS WEASEL SAYS: “I don’t waaaant to!…No!…It’s Mine!…Mine!…I don’t like sharing!…Why can’t I stay with Grandpa?!…” You just have to watch it. No amount of description here, without knowing the voice, can effectively communicate the awfulness of the child that is Caillou.

While the combination of Caillou’s big head, grating voice, and crappy face certainly play a huge role in his overall hateability factor, it’s the nauseating display of pussyness that puts it over the edge for many adults. Caillou seems to react to the world around him as would an easily-spooked, jumpy two-year-old; hugging his mommy’s puffy, bright blue pant leg and shitting himself over a scary pop-up book or unexpected car horn. Some think this is a function of Caillou’s weak constitution, while others blame his coddling, goofball parents; but if you think watching Caillou is bad, imagine…for a moment, the idea of actually living with this abomination. DAY after DAY after DAY after…

Jesus Christ. How the parents of Caillou manage to endure is perplexing. Perhaps these saints muddle through with the help of heavy drugs or invisible earplugs which drown out the steady stream of loose stool that dribbles from Caillou’s constantly-flapping face hole. Or maybe, at the end of the day, Canadians really are just a better people; a more patient, tolerant people than us. But something tells me that for every American who’s ever threatened to move to Canada for some injustice committed on American soil, there is another…equally incensed Canadian threatening to relocate to the US: too ashamed of his or her country’s most embarrassing export: Fucking….Caillou.