I used to think that’d be awesome. Basically getting paid to live every boyhood dream of growing up to be a radioactive, fire-breathing, BAMF smashing everything from model cities to rows of mini armies. Even thought the nickname “Godzilla” might be bestowed on whoever had the honor to wear it.

Then reality and adulthood set in and it dawns on you that it’s probably just some guy making a lousy amount of money in a stifling rubber suit stomping his feet, flailing his arms, and occasionally beating on other guys in stifling rubber suits all day. A glorified mascot.

Fuck I hate growing up sometimes.