Apologies in advance that I’m about to ruin your day by introducing you to a horror sprung from the depths of hell itself. Know that, after you’ve seen what I’m about to show you, you can survive anything life dares to throw your way. Your skin will be turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
This utter horrorshow is the adoptive son of Godzilla. He was introduced in, appropriately enough, 1967’s Son of Godzilla before popping up again in 1969’s Destroy All Monsters, notable for having a group of female, alien villains dressed up like sparkly, cape-wearing condoms.
I like the glitter condom aliens. I do not like Minilla. Minilla scares me, as he would scare any man, woman, or child with a modicum of respect for the natural law the Lord our God set down for humankind to live by, in Jesus’ name amen.
I look at Minilla, and I believe that God abandoned his creation long ago.
There’s no reason for the existential dread that Minilla causes in me, rising from my gut to claw at my throat until I long for the sweet release of death. His defining characteristics are "small and cute." He never says "I want you and everyone you love to die in a fiery holocaust." But I see it in his beady little eyes. He's like Baby Sinclair from Dinosaurs, but more annoying. He's Scrappy-Doo, but somehow more determined to bring about the destruction of mankind.
Also, he breathes smoke rings of nuclear energy.
I'd say we should nuke the site from orbit, but I'm pretty sure it would only make Minilla stronger.