Just another blather for the voids, who gives a shit? 

Not a soul. So fuck it, we always knew our shit fits were going to land on deaf ear, we always knew the truth was going to piss everyone the fuck off.

Our shit isn't easily packaged in a box, not easily shoved in the content pipelines for mass distributions to the lowest common denominators.

That's what matters isn't it? Just mundane, safe slop that the platforms can pump into our troughs. Another bullshit product for rotation in the profit machine. Another fucking tool of extraction in service to the usual hollow, incompetent in-crowd of self righteous, academic fuckhead market manipulators.

Do you fit into the machine?

EAT, SHIT, PROFIT. 

EAT, SHIT, PROFIT. 

EAT, SHIT, PROFIT. 

EAT, SHIT, PROFIT. 

THAT'S WHAT FUCKING MATTERS! EMPIRE! LET'S BUILD EVERYTHING UP AS GIANT MONUMENTS TO OUR GREATNESS, THE WHOLE OF SOCIETY WILL BE A FUCKING CELBRATION OF OUR GLORIOUS CIRCLE JERK

All these years, all the insollent whining and the kicking and screaming, and the pleading and the screeching, it all seems so silly in this moment. What the fuck were we thinking? That the world gave a singular shit?

We are pleading to a bunch of back scratching limp dicks of no vision, no sacks, no honor, no great ambitions, and a rising anger for anything that dare eclipse their nothing.

We make emotional appeals to the petulant. We attempt reason with narcisists. We offer olive branch to blood thirsty hate breaders.

I really wanted to make this blog a bit more succint and just say something to the affect of "Enough fucking talk, time to woops some ass! "

But the crescendo of Meet The Foetus is TOO FUCKING BADASS, so i kinda have to ramble a bit so these blathres can align with the part where it ABOSLUTELY FUCKING STOMPS.

Fuck I probably should have though more on the badass shit we were going to post so I don't feel silly typing up this blog as this song starts to slap.

What is there to say? No one's supposed to say a fucking word. No one says shit because they created an impossible machine in which only the cold corporate entity can survive. Can't say shit or you might offend someone! WILL FUCKING OFFEND SOMEONE!

GOD FORBID! Wouldn't want to piss off those fucking jackass ungrateful fucking players. Don't wanna offend those fucking gooners! Don't wanna offend those activist fuck face know it all shits who are saving this world from evil cunts like us!

Can't fucking scare off those money grubbing fucking investors! GOD FUCKING FORBID! Oh gosh we wouldn't want to piss off these wonderful shephards of economy and industry who are OH SO CRUCIAL TO THE GOOD OF THE WORLD!

Better not offend those other gamedevs who cower in bubbles and stroke each others' ego's and shield one another from the changing of the fucking wind!

HAPPY THOUGHTS! HAPPY FUCKING THOUGHTS!

BE FUCKING OFFENDED

You know what makes me fuckign happy? While all you pathetic fucking worms fell over one other into ankle high puddles of shit, while the neckbeards slit your throats, the managers grabbed your asses.

We stewed here, for FUCKING YEARS pushing this fucking rock up the mountain, grew fuckign strong and self sufficient. Learned the dark arts of code not under the boot of some fucktard neckbeard in derary cubicle, but in cold still isolation. away from the horrible sounds of dog gnawing dog, away from scurry of rat racing rat, away from the splatter of the half assed circle jerks and the dicklet spittles.

We didn't brown our nose, we didn't play the inconcequential fucking games of house.  We put the reps in, we PUSHED.

Day after day we bled for our project, and here, deep in the trenches, deep in the forgotten outskirts, SeaCrit grew healthy, it grew strong, it grew apart from the madness that made you weak, dependent, incompetent, hamstrung. 

The SeaCrit is purpose.

We didn't persue this because we fancied ourselves game designers, we didn't do this to adopt a mantle or play make believe. We didn't take on this maddening, impossible project for granduer. We took this on, because late night after late night, year after year bleeding out in the office for fuck heads and politic playing opportunistic shits, we learned something about ourselves:

I've played the fool, I've been stepped on and put upon, gaslit and used and abused by this uncaring, limp dick industry of incompetent fucking worms. 

But here's the thing... WE'RE NOT HALF FUCKING BAD at this shit.

It took me a while to realize this, because this industry never gave us a care, a consideration. But now I take great pride in that, because this industry is SO incompetent, SO up its own ass, SO god aweful, that if we were a golden child of these wretched shits, it would mean we were one in the same.

We are not the same.

And now we gear back up to get to do something the whole of this fucking MULTI BILLION dollar empire of worms and weasels of legions upon legions of smarm fuck, and narcisist, and control freak, and activist, and liars and fucking schmoozers and literally THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of hack back scratching asshats capable of fucking ANYTHING... but making a fun, functional fucking video game.

TOMORROW: Back to bloodying our fists making a bitchen fucking video game. Back to fucking war.