To the hipster parents who thought The Hateful Eight was an appropriate film to bring your obviously under 10-years-old, and possibly autistic, child to, I have just one thing to say: FUCK YOU. I was a bit shocked during your child's first emotional outburst—right in the middle of *SPOILER ALERT* Major Warren's speech to racist confederate General Smithers about making the general's son suck his "black dingus," but the real outrage among my row-mates and I didn't really begin until your child yelped out uncomfortably when a poison victim violently vomits blood into Jennifer Jason Leigh's face. But the final straw was when, again, your obviously traumatized child yelped again just as one of the film's stars has bits of brains blown onto their face by a large caliber pistol. Your child's traumatic outbursts subsided the final 35 minutes of the movie so I can only assume you finally had the good sense and common human courtesy to remove your kid from the the theatre, or fed them a sedative. Either way, a big thanks on behalf of the rest of the theatre to you for whatever you did those last few minutes of the movie to spare us your child's waking night-terrors, and a big fuck you on behalf of your child whom one can only assume is doomed to a life of intensive therapy due to your shit parenting skills.