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@spacevoid44

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Anonymous asked:

What is your counterargument to "Americans have no culture"? Serious long-form answer, no imageposts.

As a Greek-American, I have a unique perspective on this; because I can compare American culture to my ancestral culture; the culture; the culture that gave the world mathematics, natural science, medicine and works of literature that are still mandatory courses of study for high school students world-wide. A culture so vibrant that the Romans themselves just Romanized the names of our Gods and eagerly adopted them as their own; not so much adopting our culture as merging our enlightened ideas of intellectual pursuit with their pragmatic, down-to-earth engineer’s mindset to build works of architecture still revered today for their beauty, functionality and longevity. 

And all that glorious, beautiful culture has done Greece diddly squat. 

Look at it. Look at Greece; a nation impoverished, mocked and maligned; a nation that’s become the Mexico of Europe. That’s not a joke; back in the 70s the rail line between Greece and Germany was called the “Athens express” for how many Greek migrant workers rode it. The EU’s One Currency To Rule Them All guaranteed that someone in the bloc, unable to devalue their currency to manage changes in the global market, would emerge the loser, and once again it was Greece. The Greeks only participated in the 1930s Olympics because wealthy Greeks in America took up a collection and sent it over to them, and Greeks in America are still better off than they are in the homeland. Greece, the nation that invented democracy, soon forgot how to use it; they were ruled by a military dictatorship from 67 to 74 in a tragicomic reversion to the spasms of tyranny that sometimes gripped Athens in Classical Antiquity. Their civil government denies them many important rights; such as firearms ownership, and is only held in check by a combination of Greek’s inborn anarchist spirit and a woefully incompetent civil government that makes Italy’s civil service look like the fucking Swiss. Building a house in Greece is sometimes tantamount to filing a lawsuit due to this. And that’s to say nothing of the “anarchists,” i.e. the fucking communists who still firebomb the occasional building and contribute to a constant, low-level civil unrest significantly worse than anything antifa has managed stateside. 

So tell me, if you can - what has Greece’s vaunted “culture” done for it? What has it done for Greece, with its worm-riddled civil government, its impoverished people, with hoards of Middle Eastern refugees that Europe refuses to deal with? What has it done for Greece, having married into the globalists wet dream of a Unified European State, only to find that it was the designated loser? What has it done for Greece, which, having forfeited its economic independence to the globalist agenda, then finds itself left to defend itself with what little GDP it has left for military expenditures, now that Germany has gutted its own army, France still doesn’t give a single begotten fuck about alliances that don’t immediately impact their own interests, and the UK is worried about scraping the cash together just to defend themselves? Pray tell, what, exactly, does Greece have that America does not? 

America has media empires that resound across the world; the reach of Hollywood is vast. Donald Duck, Porky Pigs, Bugs Bunny are recognized from the Mongolian steppes to the savanna of sub-Saharan Africa. Our cultural influence on the globe is so mighty that Buick is still a big fucking deal in China, despite the globalists having willingly given away our role as world manufacturer to China itself, for the Chinese remember the impoverished days when the Party big-wigs all rolled around in American-built Buicks. American culture is a unique cultural attitude towards violence where a finger-poke counts as assault in many jurisdictions, but lays the necessary groundwork for the only country of its size on Earth where most people have the right to carry a loaded weapon on their person for the purpose of self defense. American culture is a strain of individualism matched only by its innate suspicion of government; a frontiersman attitude, not an inability to work together, as alt-right collectivists allege, but a pragmatic mindset that says nobody is coming to help you, or even nobody is going to help you in time, and thus frees people to help themselves. 

Even the comforts of our modern age cannot dull this; as it is written too deeply in the structure of our laws and the stories of our national mythos; the default reruns on daytime broadcast TV around here are old Westerns like Bat Masterson or Rawhide. One of the most incisive observations of Japanese culture I’ve ever seen I found in The Atlantic of all places; the commentary on how Japanese TV is always played in the background, a passive venue for programming responses that people then execute, word for word, at social events, as the author grouses towards the end. The American version is nowhere near as deliberate, of course; just our culture’s older mythos being churned up like a cow chewing her cud, but it’s there - and it’s all cowboy western ass-kicking or, at night, 80s action-movie asskicking. We mine it because that’s all there is to mine, from the bottom up. 

And what are the effects on Americans? If you strip away innate advantages of provenance and wealth? If you deny him his technology and money and pit him against enemies of homogeneous ethnicity and Strong Ancient Cultures, rifle to rifle, bayonet to bayonet, hand to hand? What emerges then? 

You find the men who took the Omaha and Utah beacheads with only rifles and grenades, after half their armored support floundered in the channel, preparatory bombardments missed their mark, and American faith in technology and firepower overall failed, and miserably. 

You find the Marines who held Edson’s Ridge against the Japanese, emerging victorious from brutal hand-to-hand combat in the dark. 

In short, you find victors. Of the governments who’ve opposed us, many no longer exist - and yet we are still here. 

So where, exactly, am I supposed to detect America’s alleged lack of “culture?” The performance of our society in total war has been superlative; even our most astounding fuck-ups demonstrate just how bad an idea it is to piss us off. We have a national mythos of our own, complete with great heroes and their noble quests. We have icons and monuments built by our own hand, often to venerate those heroes. We have our own land; one we had to fight for, bleed for, and tame, one that is ancient and filled with natural wonders of staggering scope and beauty. And we have the same collectivists and fifth-columnists and globalists that Europe has, except they hold less sway here, despite the much-vaunted Culture of Europe’s ancient nations and peoples. 

So where is the tell-tale? Where is the casual link between America’s fortunes and her alleged “lack of culture?” For that matter, where is the casual link between Europe’s cultures and their fortunes? Where is the evidence? What even is the point of that phrase, “America has no culture?” 

The truth is that there is none; it is empty sloganeering of the “just asking questions” kind; trading entirely on trolling witless neoliberals incapable of defending the inconsistencies in their own platforms due to their inability to acknowledge reality. The alt-right never has to defend their platform as a coherent theory, because their only detractors are either fellow collectivists who share their basic premises and care nothing for critique, as they are of the out-group to them - a different collective - and thus not even human. With the lolbertarians trivially easy to keep on the defensive, that leaves nobody, nobody at all, as the actual constituency of the GOP, that have rallied behind Trump would’ve been called centrists thirty years ago and want nothing to do with collectivism, no matter what collective it claims to defend. 

The vast majority of them are full of shit, and it is not hard to prove it. 

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An interesting sci-fi short story from 4chan.

That is some fine writing.

The Imgur link is broken so:

[Series of posts on 09/16/11]

About twelve years ago, a man died in high orbit over Tau Ceti V.

His name was Drake McDougal, and aside from a few snapshots and vague anecdotes from his drinking buddies, that’s probably all we’ll ever know about him. Another colony-born man with little records and little documentation, working whatever asteroid field the Dracs deigned to allow them. Every now and then a Drac gunship would strut on through the system, Pax Draconia and all that. But that was it.

One fine day, one of those gunships had a misjump. A bad one. It arrived only ninety clicks above atmo, with all its impellers blown out by the gravatic feedback of Tau Ceti V’s gravity well. The Dracs scraped enough power together for a good system-wide broadbeam and were already beginning the Death Chant when they hit atmo.

People laughed at the recording of sixty Dracs going from mysterious chanting to “’what-the-fuck’ing” for years after they forgot the name Drake McDougal. The deafening “CLANG” and split second of stunned silence afterwards never failed to entertain. Drake had performed a hasty re-entry seconds after the gunship and partially slagged his heatshield diving after it. Experts later calculated he suffered 11Gs when he leaned on the retro to match velocities with the Dracs long enough to engage the mag-grapples on his little mining tug.

Even the massively overpowered drive of a tug has its limits, and Drake’s little ship hit hers about one and a half minutes later. Pushed too far, the tug’s fusion plant lost containment just as he finished slingshotting the gunship into low orbit. (It was unharmed, of course; the Drac opinion of fusion power best translated as “quaint,” kind of how we view butter churns.)

It was on the local news within hours, on newsnets across human space within days. It was discussed, memorialized, marveled upon, chewed over by daytime talk-show hosts, and I think somebody even bought a plaque or some shit like that. Then there was a freighter accident, and a mass-shooting on Orbital 5, and of course, the first Vandal attacks in the periphery.

The galaxy moved on.

Twelve years is a long time, especially during war, so twelve years later, as the Vandal’s main fleet was jumping in near Jupiter and we were strapping into the crash couches of what wee enthusiastically called “warships,” I guaran-fucking-tee you not one man in the entire Defense Force could remember who Drake McDougal was.

Well, the Dracs sure as hell did.

Dracs do not fuck around. Dozens of two-kilometer long Drac supercaps jumped in barely 90K klicks away, and then we just stood around staring at our displays like the slack-jawed apes we were as we watched what a real can of galactic whoop-ass looked like. You could actually see the atmosphere of Jupiter roil occasionally when a Vandal ship happened to cross between it and the Drac fleet. There’s still lightning storms on Jupiter now, something about residual heavy ions and massive static charges or something.

Fifty-eight hours later, with every Vandal ship reduced to slagged debris and nine wounded Drac ships spinning about as they vented atmosphere, they started with the broad-band chanting again. And then the communiqué that confused the hell out of us all.

“Do you hold out debt fulfilled?”

After the sixth or seventh comms officer told them “we don’t know what the hell you’re talking about” as politely as possible, the Drac fleet commander got on the horn and asked to speak to a human Admiral in roughly the same tone as a telemarketer telling a kid to give the phone to Daddy. When the Admiral didn’t know either, the Drac went silent for a minute, and when he came back on his translator was using much smaller words, and talking slower.

“Is our blood debt to Drake McDougal’s clan now satisfied?”

The Admiral said “Who?”

What the Drac commander said next would’ve caused a major diplomatic incident had he remembered to revert to the more complex translation protocols. He thought the Admiral must be an idiot, a coward, or both. Eventually, the diplomats were called out, and we were asked why the human race has largely forgotten the sacrifice of Drake McDougal.

Humans, we explained, sacrifice themselves all the time.

We trotted out every news clip from the space-wide Nets from the last twelve years. Some freighter cook that fell on a grenade during a pirate raid on Outreach. A ship engineer who locked himself into the reactor room and kept containment until the crew evacuated. Firefighter who died shielding a child from falling debris with his body, during an earthquake. Stuff like that.

That Dracs were utterly stunned. Their diplomats wandered out of the conference room in a daze. We’d just told them that the rarest, most selfless and honorable of acts - acts that incurred generations-long blood-debts and moved entire fleets - was so routine for our species that they were bumped off the news by the latest celebrity scandal.

Everything changed for humanity after that. And it was all thanks to a single tug pilot who taught the galaxy what truly defines Man.

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I follow exactly two regular posters on Tumblr. I never, ever thought I’d see this old work of mine show up again on @charminglyantiquated‘s feed, much less with THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND NOTES, years on. 

I gotta sit down

I've been in VRChat for over a year and a half and have Seen Some Shit™️. But nothing will top when I stumbled across people holding a legitimate Sunday Service this past week.

This was literally a world with a Bible passage panoptically encompassing the area, a scarecrow was praying and delivering a sermon, played entirely straight to a crowd of 30 people. And these people were made of the typical VRChat crowd: weed shader nanachi's, anime eboys and egirls, some sort of Sonic/knuckles amalgamation shaped like a toilet, the little pidgeon birds, even Ronald McDonald was there too.

But despite this it was played completely straight, they prayed together, somebody had a evangelical testimonial, the scarecrow prayed to help develop everybodies talents or something.

I was waiting for a punchline but it never came, it was serious, it was real.

I thought the act was going to drop when somebody with the GMod Jesus model got up front and started screaming Hail Satan, but they all managed to collectively ban him in less than a few seconds and resumed without missing a beat.

Oh yeah and there was somebody up front next to the scarecrow interpreting in ASL FLUENTLY.

kings honestly

me: america is dead or dying. We are entrenched in evil and oligarchy up to our chests and there may be no way out of it besides collapse or balkanization

some europoor: yeah fuck america!

me:

Me: America has a lot of problems that might be insurmountable, and has a blood streaked history

European From Some Armpit Of The World: Yeah, fuck Americ-

Also Me: I’M NOT GOING TO STAND HERE AND LISTEN TO YOU BADMOUTH THE GREATEST DEMOCRACY THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN

Me: Man this county really needs to get its shit together and address the numerous looming catastrophes on the horizon.

Some Euro from a country with a GDP smaller than my state: Haha yeah the US is garbage-

Me:

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Flanos

Flanos
Flanos

Everyone in the notes being like “UGH why do AMERICANS have to change the NAMES for EVERYTHING!!!” like dudes…flan is what the Spanish called it so that’s what Latin America call it. Which is why we call it flan in the western hemisphere. Which is the same reason we call it cilantro instead of coriander, because that’s the Spanish word for it. Chill out.

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I just wanted to make a Funny Pudding Head Thanos Joke. People come onto my post and tell me a widely-used regional term for a dessert is wrong. I point out that both words refer to the same concept, in different places. Everyone loses their minds. I am so tired of every note being yet another person showing up to condescendingly explain to me that actually, it’s a fruit tart. I know. I don’t care what you call it. You can call it a Burned Sugar Egg Thing. You can call it a Colin Mochrie if you want. People call things different things sometimes. That’s how language works. There’s creme brulee in the google image search. I know. Google put it there. Please. Look at Custard-Head Bad Evil Man. His face is a dessert. In the movie, his face wasn’t a dessert, but in the image, it is. That’s slightly entertaining. It says Flanos above him. That sounds like his name but also like what some people call a dessert. Know peace. Breathe. Please. My crops are dying. The well has run dry. The mine is empty and all the workers have left the town bare and uninhabited. Finally, dejected, I ball up my 3 plaid shirts in a handkerchief, tie it around a crooked stick, and slowly trudge along the train tracks, into the sunset. Time passes with all the slow inexorability of a glacier. The roof of my little shack caves in, and the once-bountiful fields lay fallow and dry. The pavement cracks. In 30 years, people will speed by on the freeway, only sparing a half-glance at the faded facades of empty storefronts, memories themselves bleached away by the unforgiving, unrelenting sun. In time, the buildings themselves crumble. The crows who perch on the rusted sign by the forgotten turnoff caw uncomprehendingly, never reading the faded words spelling out:

Welcome To Flanos

Population: Flanos

Find me a more powerful response to criticism than this guy’s. do it.

Where’s the fucking post of the guy with the huge chain whipping the swat team

yea these exact fucking pictures

ALRIGHT, SO

Everyone and their mother has gushed over Majima’s arc in Yakuza 0, and while many fans agree that Shibusawa was a badass final boss, I haven’t seen too much of the thematic reasons why he makes Kiryu’s arc amazing as well.

For people first joining the series, Yakuza 0 introduces Kiryu as this young Yakuza thug who swore up because he wanted to be like his adoptive father Kazama, a well-respected man who ran the orphanage Kiryu came from. With his best friend from the orphanage, Nishikiyama, by his side, Kiryu joins his father’s yakuza family and has a dragon tattooed on to his back as the symbol of who he is as a person. As a legendary symbol of strength. 

Kiryu’s naivete plays a major part in both the games’ serious and comedic sides. He’s a yakuza, but he doesn’t really enjoy hurting people or being a bully. He’s a polite young man who treats everyone he meets with respect. He only ever fights in self-defense, and no matter how crazy, weird, or dangerous the people he meets are, he does his utmost to not hold any prejudices and makes an effort to be open-minded if he DOES find he has prejudices. After all, he sees himself as just a dumb brute who’s only good in a fight, so everyone he meets is potentially a new source of wisdom. He acts a little reluctant to preserve his tough-guy image, but he always helps out anyone in need, hoping to learn from them and grow as a person.

In Kiryu’s eyes, yakuza are respected, powerful men who hold a strict set of ideals and never get innocents involved. It’s a highly idealized image of the yakuza, one that gets challenged early on when Kiryu is framed for murder by his own yakuza family, the Dojima, for a land development scheme.

Betrayed, exiled, and with the honor of his father Kazama on the chopping block, Kiryu vows to fight his own family and find the real killer. Along the way, he meets allies, many of them ordinary citizens, who help his dumb ass on his quest. Some of these ordinary citizens are then attacked, even killed, by the Dojima, horrifying Kiryu as he realizes his own family had no qualms with harming civilians. 

Kiryu is nothing if not tough, however. No matter how much the Dojima hurt him, no matter how hard they come for the civilians who help him, Kiryu’s spirit refuses to break. He protects everyone he can from the Dojima while trying to understand how anyone could throw away their honor for something like real estate, all until he finally comes face to face with the man who had him framed for murder.

Enter Shibusawa, one of the three Dojima family lieutenants and a man under Kazama. If Kiryu’s ideals were challenged by the gauntlet he went through, Shibusawa reveals himself as the cold, hard reality Kiryu’s fought so hard to deny.

Never involve civilians? Be men worthy of respect? The yakuza are part of the criminal underworld. We write [our legends] in other people’s blood. Shibusawa comes hard for Kiryu’s way of living. It’s a stupid, naive lie Kiryu tells himself because he’s not living in the real world, where respect is given to those with power, and power is obtained through bloodshed. Kiryu could never become a yakuza of any real merit, not when he spends his time walking around the city helping street musicians or buying drinks for the homeless or dancing with Michael Jackson Miracle Johnson.

Shibusawa comes for everything Kiryu knows, even his father.

The respectable Kazama who uses his yakuza power and wealth to run an orphanage? A legendary assassin. One who killed an untold number of people to obtain the power and influence he now wields. And that’s not all.

Tachibana and Makimura, the civilians entangled in the whole Dojima family civil war, were dragged in there due to Kazama’s meddling. Tachibana, who gave his life to keep Kiryu alive, got involved due to Kazama’s orders. they were sacrificial pawns meant to suffer and die, so that Kazama’s final piece, Kiryu, could win against Shibusawa.

Kiryu’s own father, the whole reason he became a yakuza and the man he looked up to most, was every bit as dishonorable as Kiryu’s enemies, and a man who would bring civilians into the line of fire if it suited him.

In one last method of provoking Kiryu, Shibusawa reveals what he wears on his back.

A dragon. Just like Kiryu, only Kiryu’s is a mere outline, while Shibusawa’s is colored in after decades of experience and battle. Shibusawa is everything Kiryu could be if he continues to go down the path of the yakuza. A dangerous, power-hungry, manipulative man who stomps on those below him and pulls down those above him to get where he needs to be. Shibusawa is every bit the picture of a dark future, down to the very bossfight featuring three fighting styles that mirror Kiryu’s own.

Should Kiryu continue to act as if honor means anything in the underworld, he will be in for a brutal fight for the rest of his life, the price he will pay for the lie he’s living. Eventually, all the pain and loss will break him as it did to Majima, that is if Shibusawa does not kill him here.

Despite everything Kiryu’s just heard, he does not back down a single inch. 

Unfortunately for the older yakuza, Kiryu’s as strong as an ox and about as uncalculating as one. If he is told that the world he’s living in won’t let him be a good person because one cannot be good in a world that respects only power, he will simply keep fighting back until he’s either beaten or the world finally allows him to live the life he wants.

So to recap, Kiryu’s story in Yakuza 0 is about a young, idealistic man whose very way of life is denied by the ghost of a painful future. The young man’s ideals, outlook on life, and even the image of his beloved adoptive father are decried as lies by his enemy. Told that his ideals are worthless, his life forfeit, and his beloved father a cold-blooded hitman, the young man nevertheless presses on, all the more determined to fight until his lie of a life becomes real. Until he satisfies not just himself, but everyone who died for him to get here.

Kiryu’s Yakuza 0 arc is, in other words

Not just actors are theater kids ♥️ A shout out to the rest of the team!

as an ex crew and part time actor for my high school productions, i feel like this anon towards this comic’s sentiment

I was in the marching band and we used “theatre kid” as a derogatory term, because listening to the soundtrack of glee or other mediocre a capella arrangement of an otherwise perfectly fine song is not a distraction from the inability to talk about anything but what clever thing the sassy drama teacher said during rehearsal yesterday… that none of us care about because no one here is in drama.

me: america is dead or dying. We are entrenched in evil and oligarchy up to our chests and there may be no way out of it besides collapse or balkanization

some europoor: yeah fuck america!

me:

Me: America has a lot of problems that might be insurmountable, and has a blood streaked history

European From Some Armpit Of The World: Yeah, fuck Americ-

Also Me: I’M NOT GOING TO STAND HERE AND LISTEN TO YOU BADMOUTH THE GREATEST DEMOCRACY THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN

Me: Man this county really needs to get its shit together and address the numerous looming catastrophes on the horizon.

Some Euro from a country with a GDP smaller than my state: Haha yeah the US is garbage-

Me:

We can all come together over our hatred of Europeans.

Hey can a Central European join? I imagine most of that crap is coming from Western Europe so…

Me: Okay so Poland has problems, corrupt politicians, financial problems, excessive influence the Church has on politics and life, and…

Some western European twat: Poles are fascistic, Jew-hating Nazi-helpers

Me: Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła kiedy my żyjemy! Co nam obca przemoc wzięła, szablą odbierzemy! (beginning of our national anthem)

Hell yeah! You’re in! If I’m not mistaken, I think there was a Polish guy who came over and helped out with our revolution back in the day.

Tadeusz Kościuszko, yeah.

Oh good. Glad I didn’t just imagine that. Lol In my book, that makes you guys honorary Americans!

The world of modern aesthetics owes so much to Jean Pettine yall dont even know

To clarify, shes the graphic designer of EVERY can and container of AriZona tea

damn she knows how to choose her colors

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her website is literally a picture of the arizona green tea bottle and her contact info

what a legend

to be fair, that’s exactly what you do if you’re a full time graphic designer lmao

“Here is what I worked on, and these are the biggest projects I ever did or the ones I’m most passionate about”

and with her? it’s like

“I designed pretty much every AriZona bottle and can. I don’t have anything else to prove. Here’s my contact info.”

big.

dick.

ENERGY.

me: america is dead or dying. We are entrenched in evil and oligarchy up to our chests and there may be no way out of it besides collapse or balkanization

some europoor: yeah fuck america!

me:

Me: America has a lot of problems that might be insurmountable, and has a blood streaked history

European From Some Armpit Of The World: Yeah, fuck Americ-

Also Me: I’M NOT GOING TO STAND HERE AND LISTEN TO YOU BADMOUTH THE GREATEST DEMOCRACY THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN

Still one of my favorite things to come out of the internet. 

Whomever came up with “Those are my shoes, give them back” is either the most brilliant mind of our generation or just an average guy who was whacked out on some good shit.

I’m in pain and have hiccups because of how hard I laughed at this

big dick energy

a few people have replied stuff to the effect of “damn this looks cool but i don’t know anything about Doom” and that is officially my cue to start nerding out about it

This is the Doomguy. Demons call him “The Doom Slayer,” but everyone who loves him calls him Doomguy.

Once upon a time, Doomguy was a security guard working for the Union Aerospace Corporation. He was stationed on a remote space base on the Martian moon Phobos. He used to be in the Marine Corps, but he was dishonorably discharged after his CO ordered him to fire on unarmed civilians and he responded by putting his CO in a full-body cast. He spent most of his time as a security guard jerking off to porn on the clock, according to the original game’s manual.

One day, his bosses at the UAC fucked up super bad when experimenting with teleporters and opened a portal to Hell. Demons quickly swarmed the base, possessed Doomguy’s fellow security officers, and started taking everything over. Doomguy thought that wasn’t very cash money of the demons, grabbed a shotgun, and started asking them politely yet firmly to leave.

Doomguy does this on Phobos for a bit, dies, finds himself on the Martian moon of Deimos which had been swallowed in to Hell itself, and gets right back to fighting demons. He rappels down from Deimos in to the depths of Hell, kills more demons, and then escapes through a portal in Hell to Earth.

When on Earth, Doomguy discovers that the demons killed his pet rabbit Daisy. This motivates him to power through a bunch of extremely difficult levels designed by American McGee, a bunch of really shitty rushed ambitious levels designed by Sandy Petersen, three expansion packs designed by fans, a short jog through some levels designed by Nerve Software, and an entire game that was exclusive to the Nintendo 64. During these games he kills a lot of demons, saves humanity, stops the demonic invasion of Earth, and resolves to stay in Hell for the rest of eternity to make sure this never happens again.

And… he does that. He spends eons traveling between Hell and parallel dimensions, putting a stop to demonic invasions across the multiverse. He does this for so long that the demons canonize him as a part of their weird demonic religious belief system, dubbing him The Doom Slayer. The demons chronicle Doomguy’s rampage in a collection of stories called The Slayer’s Testament. He meets an order of alien knights in Hell called the Night Sentinels, whose own home world was pulled in to Hell by the demons and who had become just as effective at killing demons as he had. He pals around with them for a bit but eventually the demons get the better of them all and all that’s left is the Doomguy. This pisses him off really bad, so badly that when he went on his latest rampage he didn’t notice that the demons were leading him in to a trap. The demons drop an entire temple on his head, knock him unconscious, and lock him in a sarcophagus.

An undisclosed amount of time passes, and eventually the UAC from an alternate universe busts in to Hell by accident again. The UAC starts pulling natural resources and artifacts from Hell and using those resources to power all of their technology. Turns out, using Hell Energy to power your electronics makes people go crazy, and eventually this turns in to another full-on demonic invasion. This is where DOOM (2016) starts, with the Doomguy waking up from his nap in a UAC lab where they had been studying his sarcophagus. Doomguy realizes that he’s in a “same shit different universe” situation and gets to work stopping the demonic invasion and angrily ignoring the input of every single person that tries to talk to him. He’s seen all this shit before countless times and is sick of hearing excuses and monologues. He’s through with the niceties of it all. Characters tell him to “carefully deactivate” all of the different science machines that let humanity safely use Hell Energy. He smashes them to bits with his feet. Characters assure him that this was all for the “greater good,” he knows that the greatest possible good for humanity is not fucking with Hell anymore. They don’t know what they’re messing with, he does, and he has to fix the problem in his own special way.

The clip above is from Doom Eternal, set to release March of next year. The clip of Doomguy casually strolling through his UAC base and just sort of asserting himself is the result of the character having experienced several thousand years of this bullshit and being just So Through with it all. He’s not gonna hurt these people because ultimately he’s fighting to protect humanity, but as far as he’s concerned he doesn’t owe anyone in this scenario the luxury of his politeness or respect.

The demons are coming from a portal at the core of Mars? What a coincidence, he’s on one of the Martian moons and there’s a gun designed to blow up planets right outside. There’s also a bunch of demons outside, so that’s gonna need to be addressed. This guy has a key to the door out? Sweet. He’s just gonna borrow that right quick. That guy has a plasma rifle? Doomguy always liked that one. It belongs to him now. Time to go outside and hit things until the industrial metal stops playing.

Source: youtube.com