2032. “lets playing” is a major in several reputable universities across the country. markiplier is the head of the lets playing department at Yale. a student walks into his office. “sir,” she says, “a boy in my intro to battletoads class was making antisemitic comments towards me.”
“and you’re telling on him?” he questions in his way too charismatic voice.
“um,” she says, “yes?”
“well” he says. he positions a camera light onto his face and presses record on his very expensive camera. “i really just think you’re showing a lack of respect by trying to bring down this man who did nothing but–”
meanwhile, in an apartment in SoHo, the beat letsplayer movement is in full swing. cassandra, a cigarette dangling from her lips, sighs. “my mom still thinks i’m insane for leaving NYU”
“she’s insane,” says donovan, “the letsplayer major there is total corporate bullfuckery. they only care about the numbers, man, and defending each other’s near impossible to escape racist jokes (why is that so prevalent wtf), not doing new and interesting things with video games.”
“whatever,” she says, “once my series where i play fallout new vegas while suspended 30 feet in the air on a trapeze drops, then i’ll break it into the mainstream. then she’ll see.”
they make love, both secretly pretending the other is nick robinson