[Copypasta] War Thunder is like playing chess

It's not that the game is addicting, it's just that there are no decent alternatives. War Thunder is basically the intellectual version of the FPS games that all the stupid children and mongoloid brains play. Instead of just being based purely on twitch "skills" which require as much intellectual ability as closing popup spam windows, in War Thunder you have to use at least some tactics and strategy. FPS games are like playing Pong on high speed. War Thunder is like playing chess. The art of gaming is simply dead for big brains. 20 years ago there were tons of games that required brainpower because PC gaming back then was by nerds and for nerds, but then the corporate suits took over and were like "broaden the appeal to we can make more sales" so everything got dumbed down to the lowest common denominator. My GF asked me if I was "having fun" playing War Thunder, and I looked at her like she was a fucking retard to even consider that sentence a valid question. I don't have FUN playing War Thunder. This game routinely pisses me off and makes me rage. However, when I stomp the entire enemy team and crush them so utterly I can hear the lamentations of their mothers, I feel satisfaction. I spent weeks grinding for Operation Winter. The vikings had a word for this. They called it Valhalla. Endless war. Endless combat. Knowing only victory and death. Bathing in the blood of your enemies. You get 15 kills and bask in glory and rewards, and think: what should I do now? Should I get in my Honda Fit and tour the local strip mall for my Triumph? Should I microwave some tendies and throw myself a great Feast? But there is only one option. There is only ever one option. To Battle! Various cultures have alternatively described the gameplay loop of War Thunder as their vision of Heaven or Hell. It is both.
January 2021
(▀̿Ĺ̯├┬┴┬┴ Psst... kid, you wanna disable adblock?
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I finally did it. I out-pizza'd the Hut

I finally did it. I out-pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out-pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out-pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. M-mom, dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi-" a single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out-pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty county road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out-pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.
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