The shop and I

I am a slave to the Nintendo eShop. Hoping to feel relief from the void, I seek a refreshing fix given to me by another dose of materialism and capitalism. I browse the deals, but feel nothing, seeing a steady and endless stream of mediocre attempts at some form of stimulation, indie male artists caught within the whirlwinds of artistic mediocrity, desperately trying and clawing to make a sound. Nothing seems to create a spark within my soul, nothing can distract me from the hollowness I feel. I see a new game, one featuring cardboard cars. The idea of cardboard cars appeals to me. And yet, I still feel a cold indifference, other than perhaps at most a minute bubbling semblance of an emotion.

Some say soycucks look like this.


Perhaps my soyy is too low, dangerously too low. Like Leoric I wander the endless shelves of capitalism, making small purchases to give me momentary relief before wandering to the void, a symbolic death and resurrection with only minute purchases of capitalism giving me fugacious sustenance before returning to the void.

I wander from the boredom by posting online. Posting online gives me purpose, gives me focus. In the background I hear the foul noise of a large television, streaming retarded and stupid masculinist shows in the background. The new sherlock homles, devoid of culture, devoid of grace. Solace is not found.

Soyboys are a myth. An invented concept. They were used to describe male feminist game journalists but it’s mostly a myth.

If real soys exist I would be in support of them, but masculinism has taken hold of all of society.

the real soys are the friends we made along the way