The Nintendo Condition (or: The State of the Fandom)

Criticism

This would be funny if it weren't sad. The Absolute State is grim imo.

The thing about nintendo fans is they’re literally forged in failure like every single era was a humiliation ritual and instead of breaking them it just made them weirder and stronger like n64 had no games at all you had mario 64 and goldeneye and like four others and they acted like that was enough like they convinced themselves that the lack of games was actually a kind of purity like yeah man we don’t need games we just need vibes and four controllers for no reason and then gamecube came out and it was a lunchbox that got outsold by the freakin saturn in japan which is basically like getting dunked on by a ghost and they still smiled about it like they took the L and carved it into their hearts and said “this is who we are” and kept going like psychos

and then the wii happened and that was supposed to be the comeback but instead it was bowling and grandmas and people pretending to have fun at thanksgiving and it sold like a hundred million but nobody respected it and the true fans were like “no it’s fine it’s art” but deep down they knew they were living a lie and then the wii u came and that was just pure nothingness like you could walk into a best buy and not even know if it was a console or a tablet or a prank and no one cared and no one bought it and it was like the apocalypse for them and still they persisted like some sort of religious sect that keeps praying after their god stops answering

so by the time switch 1 came out they were absolutely feral like they were ready to buy anything like they were so spiritually conditioned by years of owning consoles with no games that when nintendo finally gave them something—even if it was just mario kart again—they went berserk like yes take my money yes sell me the same game again yes call it deluxe yes charge seventy dollars for it i deserve this and now they’re everywhere acting like they won the generation because their console actually turned on and sold copies and meanwhile they’re still playing the same zelda and the same pokemon and the same everything pretending it’s a miracle when it’s just the same recycled product loop forever

and like the pokemon adults oh my god they are something else they’re sitting there bragging about catching shiny rats on their switch while the textures are melting and the frame rate’s three frames per second and they’re like “best gen yet” like what’s wrong with you it’s the same game since 1998 and somehow worse every time and you’re still there like a dog eating its own vomit smiling and clapping and saying thank you nintendo please ruin me again

it’s insane because it’s not even fandom anymore it’s like a trauma bond between man and corporation forged in decades of humiliation like they need nintendo to disappoint them or they don’t know who they are anymore and that’s the scariest part like they don’t want change they want to suffer they want the drought they want the silence they want to feel that ache of loyalty because the emptiness has become their home and they’ll never leave it because it’s all they have left.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5793553&forum_id=2#49402153)

Literally LOL’d

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5793553&forum_id=2#49402329)

boxing joshing is the only serious person on that sub. provide him with an xo invite

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5793553&forum_id=2#49421198)

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The thing about Spaceporn is he’s literally forged in failure, like every birthday party for his Asian son was a humiliation ritual—clowns tripping over their own shoes, kids laughing at the wrong jokes—and instead of breaking him it just made him weirder and stronger. Back when the kid was just a purple lunchbox with a handle, Spaceporn wheeled him out to the park and got outsold by a ghost from the ’90s, the freakin’ Saturn drifting by on a breeze of nostalgia, and Spaceporn still grinned through the greasepaint, took the L, carved it into his big red nose, and whispered, “This is who we are,” then kept juggling the same four balls like a psycho.

Then the Wii years hit and that was supposed to be the comeback—bowling pins for arms, grandmas waving at the screen—but nobody respected the act, just clapped politely while the true believers in the front row shouted, “No, it’s fine, it’s art!” Deep down Spaceporn knew the kid was just swinging a plastic racket at air, but he kept smiling, kept pretending the Thanksgiving crowd loved him.

Wii U rolled around and that was pure nothingness—you could walk into a circus tent and not even know if the kid was a console, a tablet, or a prank—and the ringmaster forgot to announce him, the tickets stayed unsold, apocalypse in polka dots, and still Spaceporn persisted like some sort of religious sect that keeps honking after the big top burns down.

So by the time Switch 1 showed up, Spaceporn was absolutely feral—ready to shove any shiny new prop into the kid’s hands, spiritually conditioned by years of juggling air. When Nintendo finally tossed him something—even if it was just Mario Kart again—he went berserk: yes, take my floppy shoes, yes, sell me the same trick again, yes, call it deluxe, yes, charge seventy dollars for squeaky honks, I deserve this. Now he’s everywhere, acting like he won the generation because the kid actually turned on and sold copies, meanwhile the boy’s still breathing the same fire, catching the same shiny rats, textures melting like ice cream on a hot stage, frame rate limping at three honks per second, and Spaceporn’s bragging, “Best gen yet!” like what’s wrong with you, it’s the same routine since 1998 and somehow worse every time, and you’re still there like a dog lapping its own confetti vomit, smiling, clapping, thank you Nintendo please ruin my son again.

It’s insane because it’s not even fatherhood anymore, it’s a trauma bond between clown and corporation forged in decades of pie-in-the-face humiliation. Spaceporn needs Nintendo to disappoint the kid or he doesn’t know who he is without the cream on his cheeks. He doesn’t want change, he wants to suffer, wants the drought between acts, wants the silence after the rimshot, wants to feel that ache of loyalty because the emptiness under the big top has become their home and they’ll never leave it—because it’s all the little lunchbox has left, and Spaceporn will keep squeezing the bulb horn till his palms bleed, smiling through the bruises, forever.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5793553&forum_id=2#49421928)