Soda cans star in an erotic romance — and the pitch says it is stream-safe
No deadline: it stays in the catalogue until the store pulls it.
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The praise keeps circling back to Stupendium's soundtrack, and the studio resurfaced on its community board years later to flag a new game that is every bit as odd.
Photographing soda cans is the whole game
Safe for anyone streaming live on Twitch and YouTube — that is the official promise behind a game that bills itself as the definitive experience of photographing soda cans erotically. Mechanically it is a click-based rhythm game: hit the beat to crack open and spray each can, build combos and a high score, and draw reactions out of the can characters themselves. As the player works across the flavours, from the classic to the downright eccentric, the game unlocks pieces of the fictional history of the Shize brand and rolls out a gallery of cans with personalities of their own — all of it single-player.
The brand itself wraps the premise in corporate-memo language in its own blurb: it promises corporate drama, family tragedy and unspecified horrors inside what is, at bottom, a joke about photographing cans. The creators warn, tongue in cheek, that the campaign runs one to two hours — unless the player grows too attached to one particular can. This is adult content, no hedging about it, and the store files the game under indie and simulation.
After the final update, the board came back to life only for another game
The studio's board preserves the end of support for the game: the final update landed on 25 May 2021, unlocking the achievements that were still missing, recasting the voice of the character Taro Tease and thanking everyone who played, recorded a video or wrote a review. If you followed the launch, your name is in there, dissolved into that collective thank-you. The patch notes of the period keep the same corporate-memo register even for trivial fixes: one of them tinkers with a fictional internal “ratio” in the drink, and another deletes, with no reason given, an unidentified reference to someone called “Linden Hill”. The bit never breaks — the studio treats the can as a real company, with metrics and secrets to keep.
The most recent post on that same board changes the subject. Published on 2 January 2026, it announces that part of the original OnlyCans team, plus some new hands, is putting out a game called Polyarmory: High Calibre Love — described in the same overblown register as a plunge into tangled love affairs with firearms, divorces and surreal side effects from government-funded psychedelics. The invitation goes straight to anyone who enjoyed the mythology and emotional absurdity of OnlyCans, with a promise that familiar faces — or cans — should turn up. Years after closing the books on this game, the same crew is working the same vein of humour.
Nobody writes about this game without mentioning Stupendium's score
You come in for the joke about the erotic can and you leave hooked on the music, at least according to the people recommending it — and one name comes up more often than any flavour: Stupendium, who wrote the songs. The most enthusiastic review in the batch is dated 16 September 2026. Its author had already put 6 hours into the game and claims to have mastered the stages, chasing the top grade on each one — an almost physical pleasure in landing the right click. From the same day, someone else took their write-up into verse: with 2 hours played, they turned the game's offer to accept any can, any orientation, into a cheeky rhyme of celebration.
Not every compliment comes easy. A review from 13 September 2026 recommends the game. Its author had 5 hours on the clock and admits that the can characters' voices, loaded with sexual innuendo, made the thing uncomfortable to follow. The latest review in the batch is dated 6 October 2026. Its author, with 1 hour played, wants to scrub what they saw from memory and, in the same breath, declares love for Stupendium's score. The music is why people stay; the can is the toll they pay to get to it.
If the joke lands, you are in; if you only want the score without the can, stay out
It is for you if you like internet humour pushed to its limit and a passing bout of discomfort will not kill the laugh: the erotic can photography is deliberately cloying, and much of the comedy lies in how the studio never steps out of its big-corporation character, not even in the most trivial patch notes. It is also for you if you want to hear Stupendium write for a ridiculous subject and see where that goes.
It is not for you if you are after simulation or a narrative with real weight — the plot is a pretext, not a destination. And it is not for you if you took the stream-safe promise as a guarantee that the content is tame: several of the very players who recommend it say they ran into stretches they would rather not have seen. The soundtrack convinces; the can does not always.