Upsetting Day: V the Musical

Moon landing denial taps powerful human drives. Fear of change. Insecurity. Mean homeroom teachers. So you might doubt that 4chan’s gaming board made a musical.

And you’re right. They made ten. Eleven if this runs late.

“Album” is more accurate, and still baffling. Comedy’s stock enemies are group projects, nazis, show tunes, social media, and air travel. /v/ the Musical is a show tune parody album by a reactionary imageboard. They’re one Ace Combat song from fulfilling the prophecy and resurrecting Gallagher.

That might beat the moon landing. I’m not calling it good, or even important. But it’s weirder than an atomic superpower reaching orbit. And while we ghosted the moon, /v/ faithfully rehashes this every fall.

Whatever color they’d wear in 1863, that’s something. This is outsider art’s Birth of a Nation. Today there’s a little wonder behind “this shouldn’t exist.” /v/ The Musical’s is a reactionary Christmas miracle. Shame that it sucks.

Granted, reactionary is relative. So far, I’m only right of the CCP. But /v/ the Musical launched during Gamergate, so strap in. It’s a community’s transition from battleground state to swastika factory. Think Florida.

For sanity, we’re just doing the first. It’s a quadruple-record. There are more /v/: The Musical sequels than Nirvana albums, because this is the wrong timeline. Marty McFly broke his leg trying hover-boardslides, and now we’re trapped.

Now, I realize several of you haven’t wasted your lives. You don’t know what 4chan, Gamergate, or Carnival Cruises are. Here’s the speedrun: 4chan’s a weeaboo forum that had 2023 nazi ratios in 2014. Gamergate was an E3 breakup that snowballed into 24 states banning abortion. Carnival Cruises are where fraternity alumni wait for death.

Let’s start with “Expansion Pack.” The name implies finality, which means three discs of practice. This should be the least painful round of Twitch karaoke.

Finally, jokes for us gamers. We had a few hundred webcomics, but they lacked the screaming paranoia of an elderly Chicken Little. Thanks to /v/, EA is now dead and buried.

A lot of people love Anastasia. Sorry. This came out before saying “gamer music” got you caned in the town square. You could retire off a “Part of Your World” cover about killing your classmates RPG villagers.

Convention bait printed money until it didn’t, much like magic blood tests, monkey gifs, and diplomas. The gold rush wasn’t limited to parody: Nerdcore rap billed itself as the geek alternative to a genre built on Shogun Assassin samples. Some blame whitewashing. I blame lead in the water.

Fortunately, we’ve evolved. Video harakiri challenges are artful and sustainable. Youth can enjoy the workload and passionate public gaze of Brooke Shields, with none of the money.

Sidebar: most songs here have multiple versions. If you hear something different, you’ve simply found another edition of Our Struggle. Someone wasn’t satisfied with this:

You might expect me to roadhaul console war satire. Particularly Tim Buckley and Tim Allen’s musical offspring. One might join a troupe of mismatched adventurers to destroy that kind of evil.

I have another problem. It sounds like ass.

I’ll admit, that’s a classic vote-splitter. Intentional sucking has a long history in music. Early black metal production, classic punk songwriting, being DaBaby. Here, you could call it part of the joke. Maybe dry-humping the microphone enhances the DIY humor in play.

I can’t join you. I like my headphones precum-free. The piglet-torture falsetto makes me want to unlearn English. Sin embargo, entonces nunca tendría mi venganza.

Despite hating my ears, “‘Gainst The Wishes of Devs” lays out the concept without burning any crosses: children’s songs about despising video games. If Yahtzee buried the Mickey Mouse Club alive, this would be his hell. But EA’s a fair target, and the concept is coherent-ish. “‘Gainst the Wishes of Devs” represents /v/ the Musical’s best.

There are 3.9 more discs.

It takes one week of parenting to hate Radio Disney. But what if it was the culture war’s Fort Sumter? Wouldn’t that be better? You’re smiling on your side of the screen, right? Sure, God could’ve given you four Amy Winehouse albums instead. On the other hand, fuck you.

Remember The Hunchback of Notre Dame? No? Just a song and violent sexual frustration? That’s all you need today.

I’m so fucking happy to be alive. Right here, right now. Not building a warlord’s pyramid 2000 years ago, or staring down a guillotine 200 years ago, or building a warlord’s pyramid in twenty years. This is the sweet spot, where nothing warping most minds matters.

Hear me out. This is a Disney-flavored diss track about Anita Sarkeesian, a jiggle physics critic. We spent resources on it without freezing, starving, or sending even one clan to the Valley of Punishment. This is paradise. Imagine being too pissed at Kickstarter academics to appreciate it.

Now that real hate’s in play, we have a singer that’s heard of music. Because when you really care, you bring your C game. “OperaAnon” can do Disneyland karaoke without Imagineers cutting the power. Letting the lyricism shine.

I wonder: were these already cliches, or innovations in basement rage? Enough flamewar slang is cribbed from imageboards for me to expect some premieres. On the other hand, this disc is called Buzzwords, which is legitimately the album’s best joke. History can decide if it’s self-effacing, but I choose to believe.

I’d love to say this aged poorly. But you can hear this routine at Joe Rogan’s club. There’s a two-injection minimum, but the nandrolone’s exquisite. “Cisfire” also makes an okay campaign speech, but only if you’ll settle for governor or president.

If I chose gamer rights over sex and employment, I’d still be angrier with game prices sniffing three digits than trans people existing near me. Or YouTubers critiquing games I can’t afford. In short, I’d make a version of “Heaven’s Light” called “What in Fuck’s a Season Pass and Why’s it Cost More than Designer Drugs?”

Screw it, let’s engage. Shouldn’t the gag be Frollo wanting hardcore games? Isn’t that the natural intersection between Hellfire and 1337 nationalism? How do you hate women enough to fuck up a basic strawman? When I cash out and go reactionary, the Evola fandom better be ready for unemployment.

We’ve hit Expansion Pack and Buzzwords. In the spirit of modern gaming, let’s gamble: does Industry ascend to mediocrity, decline into a rally, or simply keep the tantrum going?

Are you sure? “Robot Hell” already pastiches musical theater. Parodying it is like fact-checking The Onion. I admire the courage, but most brave people die. Violently. Every week, a Verdun jogger trips over the brave’s remains. Dr. Guillotine invented a faster reward for the brave. Joan of Arc was eighty in brave years.

My point is you have to come correct. Dig deeper than scarecrows calling you racist.

What the fuck are you doing? How is this worse than “Cisfire?” How is anything worse than “Cisfire?”

We don’t deserve Weird Al. His schtick sucks on paper: the man does the comedy equivalent of boxing without hands. Thirty years later, he’s undefeated, humbling ice ninjas on his deathmatch island. We think he’s joking about dating Madonna, and he thinks that’s adorable.

These aren’t Weird Al’s heirs. Unless it’s in the historical sense, where a child emperor sobs while Mongols do donuts on the good tapestry.

Then there’s Journalism, the album’s middle child. While the other discs explore the range between Dr. Demento and Torquemada, Journalism has one thought, one tone, and one joke, repeated across fourteen tracks: game reviews suck. It’s legitimately about ethics in games journalism, and that gets as old as you think it does.

But you know what? There’s a point here. Critics don’t take reviews of Mario vs. The Rabbids seriously enough. Let’s see what /v/’s got.

I get it, but Ip Man’s more my kind of flick. So let’s fight fourteen songs at once.

Fun. But our selection still feels a little cherry-picky. Let’s put this masterpiece on shuffle.

Got it. “Savages,” but low ELO instead of ethnic cleansing. Good priorities. Next.

“‘Gainst the Wishes of Devs” again, with antisemitism for flavor. Next.

Nice singing, a perceptible joke, and no Stormfront. Leaving…nothing. Empty nostalgia in empty verses. The best song by default. Next.

Here’s something.

The crowd favorites–so far, that means Cisfire–have music videos. I’m pretty good at appraising these things: Cisfire’s half-effort enjoys 407,000 views, while Vidya Hell’s carcass has just under 200. As in twenty times ten, not a full football stadium. We’re boned when they find their Goebbels.

Until then: Buzzwords had another hit. Its 269k views caught my eye. Ever watched The Nightmare Before Christmas and thought “Why doesn’t she love me? Why doesn’t anyone? Is this really life?” After wiping the tears and other fluids, you might turn to song. You think music theory’s a Linkin Park album, but that won’t stop your art.

They beat the House to trans panic by a decade. I’m sure a few are in junior committees now.

In case your brain’s still resisting: “It’s Misogyny” samples “This is Halloween.” I’ll withhold “parodies.” After “Cisfire” crashed into the sea and “Vidya Hell” exploded on the tarmac, I don’t think they’ll land this plane. Furious tears need a setup, turn, and sanity to become a joke. So far, there’s just 19th amendment backlash.

I’m wrong: a joke’s Cambrian ancestor is here. If I put on my FrisellaTech AlphaVision Goggles, I can imagine caricatures of gamers as seen by caricatures of feminists. There’s a version of this SNL could write, produce, and apologize for until the sun died.

Think Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood, replacing Eddie Murphy with Andrew Tate:

But they can’t resist tipping their hand. This idea needs a full verse in-character without screaming about whores. Comedic discipline is rare in live, medicated writers’ rooms. On 4chan’s gaming board, it might as well be a bra strap. The hate leaks before it can spread.

“Man, those feminists. Imagine if we actually thought that way. And made forty songs about it. Every year, for a decade. Who’s good with Pro Tools? Nevermind, mixing is for foids.”

Anonymity hurts this more than hatred. No one has veto power. When I pitch columns on Pol Pot’s high school poetry, Brockway says “maybe later.” When I suggest seminars about Bloodborne lore, the chair asks for English. When I send The New Yorker jokes for humans outside of Brooklyn, I’m gently sedated, detained, and reeducated. But every /v/ the Musical pitch goes in the gumbo. No one loses face if a song derails all over Ohio.

For once, they’re right: equality is the problem.

Is this a two-way street? Are there versions of “Sleeping in the Cold Below” about jogging in the warm outdoors? Is there a “One-Winged Angel” edit for the Million Man March? Or a “Grabbag” remix about consent? We could deradicalize two generations of listeners. Or at least keep launch codes off Discord.

Maybe nerdcore was on to something.

Look at all this. Whatever novel, mousetrap, or manifesto sits half-finished on your desk? You can do it. Tone-deaf NEET supremacists recorded ten albums. You can finish it, you can find your audience, you can be prolific, and Wired can eat shit.

As for the lost and damned, shadowboxing the future? Let’s meet halfway. I know insults are only so helpful. I’ll speak your language, in your tone, in your format. Shoutout to Unwinder.

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