It’s still very strange that the creator of minecraft, arguably the biggest video game released in the last decade - something that has had an immense cultural impact worldwide - went on to become a sheltered, miserable and lonely racist billionaire. The creator of an immense achievement that has inspired millions - who also hasn’t had anything to do with it for years and spends his time regurgitating /pol/ right wing talking points on twitter as he lounges in his mansion, all alone. He sends the tweet and closes his phone, discouraged by the bloated pockmarked face he sees staring at him in the reflection, before attempting to clear his mind with a visit to his candy room.
It is an unsuccessful venture. The candy room can’t soothe him - none of his excessive, wasteful wealth can. “.. a car showroom, vodka and tequila bars, a 54-foot curved glass door that opens onto the pool, eight bedrooms, 15 bathrooms, apartment-sized closets, and a movie theater..” This opulence does not bring him relief, but he hoards it regardless - it’s his, damn it, and he deserves it. He will die in this mansion - this tomb - in bathroom #6 of #15, on the toilet, in the middle of writing a racist inflammatory tweet, because that is the closest thing he gets to human contact anymore. A real connection.