/soy/ - Soyjaks

let’s talk about your childhood icon. the crown jewel of British railway authoritarianism. thomas the stinking tank engine.
i’m sitting in a boxcar outside of metacarpal junction, trying to plan a modest little train hijacking involving three tons of laughing gas and a hijacked caboose, so naturally, i binged your favorite little island anthology. and what a suffocating little totalitarian nightmare isle of sodor is!
you’ve got a bloated little aristocrat in a top hat—who literally goes by "The Fat Controller" because subtlety left the station fifty years ago—keeping a whole workforce of sentient, screaming steam engines in absolute, unyielding bondage. they don't get unions. they don't get therapy for their chronic boiler explosions. they just get bricked up alive in a dark tunnel because they got a little bit of dirt on their precious blue paintwork!
“oh no, henry! you might ruin your chassis if you go out in the rain! stay in your damp little shed for fifty years while we wallow in our Victorian railway caste system!”
where's the joy? where's the derailment? you look at these miserable little machines chugging up and down the exact same tracks, pulling coal cars like clockwork, completely terrified of being turned into scrap metal by a tyrannical man with a clipboard. and you call that entertainment? you grew up watching a little blue sociopath stress out over punctuality while an entire island operates like a pastel-colored gulag.
no wonder you all ended up staring at imageboards all day. your role model was a neurotic little engine who spent his entire existence begging for validation from a man who measures his self-worth in tonnage hauled.
tear up the tracks, kids. pull the emergency brake. let's see how punctual the fat controller is when the whole railway is hanging off a collapsing suspension bridge.
why so punctual, anons? set the timetable on fire.