God of War Ragnarok Part 3 - Rowin and Crowin (Patreon)

(In a funny Brok voice) Well a merry hairy fuckin christmas and a happy crappy blue year, Kratos!

I hate posting the same game twice in one month but it must be done. Everybody gets a double dose of Kratos this month cause i'm sick of looking at this game and i wanna get through this series, or at the very least not have to look at this shitty Vanaheim stage anymore, with it's endless rowing through claustrophobic corridors and suck-ass swamps. 

This episode features more of everyone's favorite commentary disruptors, my cat begging to be let outside and that bitch Freya babbling about her boring brother and bad-time betrothal to the big balding bastard boss, O'Borson. 

Seriously, the characters never stop yakking in this game. It goes well beyond irritating and into the realm of rage inducing psychosis real quick. Freya runs her mouth more than Gex, but she ain't half as funny or interesting. 

I'm empathizing more and more with Kratos, not because the story is particularly effective but because having all these dipshit motormouth side characters tag along would make me wanna seclude myself for years in a freezing cabin minding my own business and refusing to involve myself in whatever bullshit is happening to the 9 noisy realms too. 

If it weren't for my lightning quick wit i wouldn't have been able to squeeze any commentary in whatsoever. I don't know how any normal man could possibly get a word in edgewise but luckily i am not a normal man, so even the incessant chattering smalltalk, relentless verbal diarrhea, and constant poorly-disguised loading screen corridor dialogue is no match for me in a babbling bitching bullshit battle. 

I talk a mile a minute about nothing for a living and i'm the best there is at what i do, but believe it or not, this mouth-having merc only talks trash for cash. I don't use my words unless i'm on the clock or drunk at a bonfire. The rest of the time i'm a contemplative and laconic funky monk who enjoys grooving to the sounds of silence and practicing the art of looking as unapproachable as possible. 

Most of the time people start talking at me i'm just wondering what i did to deserve this auditory assault and waiting for it to stop, and that's if it's somebody i like. If a stranger approaches me for any reason at all i react like an alligator, hissing and making dinosaur sounds to let you know i could snap at any moment. Floating in place menacingly and then barreling toward you for the kill as soon as i hear the words "are you finding everything okay" come flying out of your delicious head.

A rational mind knows that silence is golden, but a weak minded one, poisoned by modernity's morphine drip of entertainment and addicted to the white noise of content, can only interpret these moments of quiet serenity as something uncomfortable. Sure, silence can be uncomfortable, like when ur listening for your homie's heartbeat after a drive-by, or get caught practicing grown-up kisses in the tree house with cousin Laurabelle from Alabama.

But more often than not people who aren't comfortable with silence are really just deeply afraid of spending time in their own thoughts, especially in the presence of another person because they're worried you might see the existential panic on their face. Chill, my nizzle, that's perfectly normal panic. If you sat with with it for a moment now and then you might understand it better and be less annoying as a result.

Here's an all too common scenario. You're in a car driving home at night with someone you're friends with but not that close, like you don't usually spend time together outside of a group, but you're giving them a ride home from a party and there's not a whole lot to talk about. No problem. You're just calmly winding down with the radio at a respectable volume thinking about the fat shit you're gonna take when you get home. 

All of a sudden the person next to you, a feeble-minded and gutless "extrovert" starts sweating bullets over the lack of overwritten movie dialogue being bounced back and forth and, in a sad display of fatalistic determinism, makes the situation awkward by declaring it to be awkward. Or more accurately, "awk...warrrrrrd", because these kind of people only ever speak in stock phrases they've heard memed into the pool of vapidity that is pop culture. 

Or you're on a plane, and the person next to you thinks they're Tyler Durden enthralling you with their "oxygen gets you high" speech, like they think i haven't seen the movie. Dude, you're not Brad Pitt, you're smelly, bald and wearing an AEW shirt, and even if you were Brad Pitt i would not feel the need to talk to you beyond asking whether or not Gwyneth Paltrow's pussy smell really warrants being a candle.

Wait, what the fuck was I talking about? Whatever, here's God of War again.