Somewhere in Raleigh, in a ground floor apartment mostnotable for the quantity and variety of birdfeeders outside it, a woman is sitting on the couch. She has red hair, a Roman nose* and the wide, worried, faintly hopeful eyes of a baby seal. She is wearing a soft grey bathrobe and immense fluffy pink socks, and she is drinking peppermint tea out of a mug with gamboling sea otters on it. You suspect at a glance that this is a woman who feels bad for roadkill and always leaves her change in the “Help a Homeless Pet” jar at the vet.
There is an enormous tomcat on her lap. He would be asleep, but every time he starts to doze off, she screams “EAT IT, YOU SONS OF WHORES!” at the TV, and his ears twitch. Occasionally he gives her a reproachful look, usually after she’s accidentally beaned the controller off his head. One particularly dramatic gout of on-screen gore causes her to yell “HOOOYAH!” and pump her fist in the air, forcing the cat to retire further down the couch. He puts his chin on a fluffy pink sock and thinks dark feline thoughts.
In conclusion, “God of War” is more fun than one person ought to be able to have by themselves.
*One of the Romans who write epic poetry, probably. Unlikely to stab anyone on the Senate steps. Lacks attention span for serious vice. Voted most likely to fiddle around while Rome burns.
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