1. We are going to party to an extent that has not previously been observed. This will continue all night. Constant fun will be had. Nobody will be in the kitchen or will need to visit the toilets. There is no kitchen. Kitchens have been banned.
2. I like you. In fact I may even like like you. I even go through periods of likelike liking you, a three-dimensional condition which very few mortal humans who are not being possessed by Aphrodite, goddess of love, have experienced. Please may we go together to a local hostelry and exist proximately with drinks?
3. Much like the crash of the Hindenburg, the sinking of the Titanic and the eventual heat death of the Universe, you and I are no longer together. You are like the editor of the conspiracy theory site upon which I spend my hopeless days. You have convinced me that the answer lies in this dead-end canyon. Meanwhile the Earth’s horizons are cluttered with oncoming meteors. You could delete all this but do you? No.
4. I am in the club. The club is in me. Together we have reached a higher and more lucrative state of clubbing. I am no longer even sure which club, it is more of a metaphorical club that I carry everywhere with me, so that I can be in the club even when I am walking down the street or popping into the shop for some rizlas or that sort of thing.
5. The people who are running things are not doing so adequately, I wish to write a letter of complaint.
6. I prefer to think of it less as a guitar and more as a sword for slaying demons but maybe it is also a giant laser with which I can write my name on the sky in flaming satellites. Anyhow, it is awesome to have a guitar like this. It is THE most fun to play with and you can use it standing up and everything.
7. Let’s go somewhere, possibly in a car. Streetlights have an ineffable poetry. Also we could share a hotel room, had that thought occurred to you too?
8. Hey you, yes you, it’s OK to be you. More than OK. You’re really quite awesome. Your existence makes the world a better place.
9. I am good at sexing, please allow me to demonstrate.
It’s kind of ironic that Wheatley from Portal 2 has become enshrined as the iconic example of fan-artists anthropomorphising everything under the sun as skinny, ambiguously twentysomething white dudes in dapper suits, given that he’s like the one character who actually deserves it.
i saw the explanation one time of “he’s a bumbling idiot with a maddening insistence all his horrible ideas are right, of course he’s a white man” and i’ve never heard anything so true in my life
Definitely there’s that, but I’m more referring to the fact that Wheatley’s literal function in the game’s plot is to stand as a monument to white male mediocrity. Like, it’s not even subtle!
(Him and Cave Johnson both, really, albeit in different ways. Cave is a takedown of how that mediocrity can become romanticised in the sufficiently privileged: an ineffectual blunderer with more money than good sense becomes a daring visionary whose ideas fail to change the world only because the world isn’t ready for them, and any damage he’s managed to cause is reframed as evidence of how far ahead of the curve he is. Wheatley’s the flip side of that coin, the wheedling sycophant who thinks he’s got what it takes to sit in the big-boy chair, but wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of influence if he got it.)
I would’ve called Cave Johnson a “wow, they’re not even trying to be subtle” ripoff-slash-parody of Elon Musk’s career trajectory, were it not for the fact the game came out 7 years ago
Jab loves robots 