You know what really grinds my gears?
YOU, Capcom. FUCK. YOU.
I’ve been a loyal fan ever since I picked up “Mega Man” on the Nintendo Entertainment System when I was only 6 years old. I became a paying customer later that same year, the first time I fed a quarter into a “Street Fighter II” arcade cabinet.
Year after year, I’ve continued to be loyal to you, spending my hard-earned dollars (as well as my mother’s) on “Ghouls ‘N Ghosts,” “Resident Evil,” “Onimusha,” and many titles in-between. In short, I loved you, Capcom. I’d do anything for you. Even the weird stuff. But lately it seems like all you do is come home at 3 in the morning, reeking of cheap beer, and then throw me on the bed and take what you want, leaving me laying on my stomach, sore and unsatisfied, while you steal cab fare from my wallet.
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