If I go to a restaurant and the waiter brings me shit on a plate because the fridge is empty and all the staff suddenly left in the middle of the day I'm not gonna stay seated, finish the meal and pay for it. It's fucking shit on a plate! I couldn't give less of a fuck how and why it got there. I'm gonna call the dish for what it is, curse the waiter and leave without paying a cent.
Another fucking customer at the restaurant. What could be more stupid than this metaphor? Probably only victims of milking on a site where leaked games are given away for free.
Dude, you've got the wrong door. This isn't a restaurant, it's a nightclub. Even the bouncer at the entrance won't let you in. He says they have the dress code here and you don't fit in.
So you're standing near the club in your punk outfit with a few dudes dressed similarly. You complain that the music there is crap. That you were expecting a punk band concert here (a group of guys and girls walking into the club give you sideways glances. They think you're nuts, there have never been any punk groups in the nightclub, only DJs with dance music).
But you and your bros keep complaining. How fucking great it was here before they made this stupid nightclub. Only an idiot would go there, because the music is disgusting, the drinks are expensive and they mostly serve some fancy stupid cocktails instead of old good cheap fortified beer, so that a true punk has something to puke on.
There's laughter, cheers, and crowd noise coming from the club. More people are coming, and there's already a small line at the entrance. You and your bros comment on how ridiculous the girls look, they don't even have pink mohawks on their heads. No one's wearing black studded leather jackets. Fucking normies.
You all in a hurry to tell each other how stupid this electronic music is and how this disgusting noise twists your ears into tubes. And that real punk won't ever come close to this shit.
Suddenly, the dance floor in the club explodes with excited screams. You and your bros even fall silent for a moment, listening to the sounds from the club and trying to understand what is happening. The host welcomes the famous DJ Ocean with his ultra-popular WiAB Mafia Mix, the Steam intense edition.
You come to your senses and continue the interrupted bitching session with redoubled energy, trying to shout down each other and the sounds of music and the crowd from the nightclub.
Latecomers passing by look at the group of punks who clearly don't belong there, but who feel quite comfortable, excitedly arguing with each other: "No, this shit isn't The Clash. What Clash? This isn't even Ramones, not even close, even the Dead Kennedys would be a masterpiece compared to this shit. What kind of degenerates go to this club? Mafia thing, hehe..."
