The 2008 animated Pixar film, WALL-E, might be a severe societal criticism of capitalism, corporatocracy, environmental degradation, and global catastrophic risk, but above all: it’s a love story.

The protagonist we all know and love, WALL-E, is a dumpy trash-compactor that looks vaguely like a set of binoculars attached to a cardboard box. He lives in a truck, his best friend is a cockroach named Hal, and he has a concerning hoarding problem. 

EVE, the love interest, is a sleek, foxy probe surprisingly feminine despite a lack of cartoon boobs— that strongly resembles a bullet vibrator. When WALL-E first lays eyes on her tempting figure, he practically wets himself. But EVE is not having it; she’s too busy signaling her main starship about some little plant she found that might indicate Earth is finally inhabitable after years of being toxified by mass consumerism, or whatever. 

When EVE is whisked away to the starship, WALL-E follows her, obviously desperate for some action after spending 700 years as a virgin planet-janitor. But EVE has more important things on her mind, like getting the plant to the ship’s captain and returning the human race to Earth, consequently rebelling against the status-quo of the disconnected, digitized life aboard the ship and returning a sense of humanity to the world. WALL-E, that horny motherfucker, doesn’t care and only wants to hold hands.

Though WALL-E just can’t keep that perverted little mind of his at bay, don’t worry, because eventually, EVE returns the sentiment. After everyone returns to Earth, the two share a little electric shock that is meant to be a kiss. First base for WALL-E! 

But then, all of their robot friends are ushered away to give them some privacy!! And if that’s not a clear sign they’re about to bang it out, I don’t know what is. WALL-E, mazel tov. You made it.

Fellas, I’m sure you’ve all gone to great lengths for some pussy, like saying you listen to Clairo, looking up your birth chart, or maybe pretending you think women deserve rights. But WALL-E traversed through the cold, meaningless vacuum of space, all for EVE’s Jiffy Lube-cooch. Beat that.

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