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3 hours ago, Mr. Gerbik said:

All absolutely fair, but as a listener it's also fair that I'm allowed to say that imo he wasn't funny at all despite trying really hard - haven't had any problems with the other newcomers, just him. Never said that to him or on social just here because he seems like a decent guy otherwise. But more to the point is that he was simply unable to talk about games - you might like him or not, and I fully admit that I would be even worse than him at the job, but it always amazed me that it was acceptable to the staff and fans like you that he couldn't coherently describe a game or formulate an opinion. And if Jeff disagrees, no matter how much I like Jeff, then imo he badly misjudged this hire in terms of minimum skill requirements.

 

I agree with all of this!

 

I don't feel he's suited to an entertainment role, nor that he's articulate enough to discuss game mechanics or industry news in an interesting or engaging way. And, admittedly, within a couple of months I started to find his insistence on injecting failed attempts at humour, and a lot of his general mannerisms, intensely irritating. I think developing that type of sentiment is inevitable given the long form nature of their content. He did seem to be on every fucking video as well, although that was probably just some sort of negative bias at work in my head. My consumption of Quick Looks for almost his entire tenure has mainly been start video - hear his voice - close video, and now that he's leaving I'm looking forward to watching them again.

 

Sending him abuse because of any of this fucking disgusting, but I don't know if a few people having a cathartic whinge about him in this thread is necessarily "being utter pricks about it". I don't have any ill will towards him as a person, and it's really sad that people being cunts to him has forced him out of a job that he was over the moon to get, and enjoyed at least for some time.

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4 hours ago, SweatyTravolta said:

Jeff himself has called out this bullshit as the bullshit it is and the people listening have no idea what the fuck they're talking about but even after that you'll see someone here post "oooooooh did you see that look Jeff gave Ben after that joke? He clearly hates his guts!".

 

It's interesting, this, because as someone who listens to the Bombcast most weeks, Jeff has clearly been frustrated a large number of times at Ben's failed riff attempts and has attempted to move discussion on. I'm sure he likes him as a person, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't see his flaws as a podcaster. He isn't exactly going to tell 'us' that, though, so I'm not surprised he defends him in public whenever he can.

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Alex's top 11 games of the year is well worth a read, but his summary of the number one game (Spiritfarer) is a beautiful piece of writing. Worth reading the full article here.

 

 

Quote

 Spiritfarer

 

Spiritfarer isn't so much my game of the year as my year in video games in 2020 made manifest. In another year, it might not have taken my top slot. In 2020, Spiritfarer, through sheer insane chance, managed to intersect with so many major--and if I'm being real, tragic--moments of my year that I can't imagine putting anything else in this slot. It's a very good game I absolutely would have enjoyed had it not managed to constantly mix itself among these moments, but man...

 

Before I go any further, I need to warn of a couple of things. This is not going to be a happy piece of writing, and I am definitely going to spoil the hell out of this game. I don't think spoilers really have any bearing on what makes Spiritfarer so good, but consider yourself forewarned.

 

Spiritfarer is a game about death that is the opposite of morbid. It is a game about the acceptance of death, about finding peace in the life you lived, the people you loved, and embracing whatever comes in the great beyond. You play as Stella, a plucky girl who lands in a sort of purgatorial space, a vision of an afterlife where spirits drift around little islands on a big ocean. Charon, the ferryman of the dead, tells you that his watch has ended, and you are set to take over. Stella is assisted by her little cat, Daffodil, a delightfully fluffy helper who you can control if you opt to try Spiritfarer's co-op mode. You start out with a small boat, and meet a single spirit, Gwen. She appears as a deer--all the main spirits take the shape of animals, or otherwise inhuman forms--and instructs you on the basic tasks required of your vocation. She is at once a bit aloof, maybe even a bit smug, but there is a warmth under that exterior that feels familiar. She speaks to you as if you were long acquainted, though at this point in the game you're not really sure what that means. It is enough to know that she's here to help, and eventually, you will help her.

 

You meet a number of spirits throughout the game. Some are friendlier than others, but all are in need of assistance in some way. They have unfinished business to take care of before you can send them to the Everdoor, the gateway that releases them into whatever lies beyond. A lot of what you end up doing for them amounts to chores--preparing their favorite foods, building them residences on the boat, running errands around the world, and so on. You bop around these islands, collecting resources and building an ever-growing array of gardens, animal pens, and industrial buildings to craft and create whatever is needed. It's a lot of busywork, but it never feels tedious. I enjoyed doing these tasks because the game is so good about investing you in these personalities. Even if they're kind of jerks at the outset, there's a sense that there may be something worthwhile under that veneer, that pulling at the right threads will reveal more than initially meets the eye, and that usually proves true.

 

Long before Spiritfarer came out in August, and even before COVID fully crashed into the world in an irreparable way, there was an air of death hanging over this year for me. In January, I got a call from my mother telling me that my uncle Baron had been diagnosed with ALS. I call him my uncle, but Baron wasn't a direct relative. He was my mother's first husband, and lifelong friend. They married in the '60s, when he was working as the head photographer for the newly launched Rolling Stone magazine, and my mother was in her then-young career as a ballet dancer. They were married for many years, but eventually grew apart. My mom wanted to start a family, and that wasn't where Baron's head was at. Eventually my mom met my dad, her and Baron agreed to divorce, and their relationship shifted from a romantic one to one of deep and lasting friendship. Baron never stopped being supportive of my mother in the ensuing years. He was adamant about making sure she was financially secure following their break-up, and never stopped caring about her wellbeing. When I was born, Baron was very much a part of our lives. Even after we moved to Virginia for several years, whenever we'd go back to California to visit my mom's folks, we'd see Baron, and sometimes even stay at his house in Mill Valley.

 

I don't have a lot of close family, especially on my mom's side. Her only brother died before I was born, and very few people from her parents' families were still alive for long after I came into the world. What I did have was Baron. I don't want to overstate the nature of our relationship--he wasn't a constant in my life, but he had as much of an impact on me as any blood relative I've ever had. Baron's history in the world of classic rock was always fascinating to me, and his presence helped guide me toward music as a creative outlet. More than anything else, he was just such a warm, loving guy. One of those people who lit up nearly any room he walked into. He loved people, loved being around them. Up until a short time before his diagnosis, he was still traveling on a regular basis, going to gallery showings, socializing, showing up wherever people would have him. But in late 2019, his energy began to dwindle, and my mom started noticing his speech was becoming more labored when they would talk on the phone. My step-dad is a retired neurologist, and he immediately had a grim suspicion about what was happening. Not long after suggesting he see a specialist to pinpoint what was going on, it became clear that it was ALS. At 82, there weren't many possible outcomes for a diagnosis like that. We braced ourselves for the reality that the end was going to be coming sooner rather than later.

 

When February came, my mom and I started talking about when we might be able to go out and see him. We were still having those discussions in March when word came down that we would no longer be going into the office--or, really, much of anywhere--in the immediate future. Travel plans, understandably, were put on hold. We held out hope in the ensuing weeks that things would sort themselves out, that the COVID outbreaks would get under control, and maybe when the summer came around, we could finally go out there and visit him. Suffice it to say, those hopes did not come to fruition.

 

My favorite character in Spiritfarer was Uncle Atul. Atul is a portly and jovial frog who has a kind of boundless energy. He loves food, any food you give him. He loves to build things, and help out wherever he can. Underneath that joy, there is a hint of a deeper sadness that is maybe masked by all that boisterousness, but what's absolutely genuine is his friendliness and loving nature. A key thing about Spiritfarer's structure is that there's no order to which spirits you usher off to their final rest. You meet and unlock them in a somewhat set progression, but until you fulfill all their needs, they won't opt to leave. I had Uncle Atul on my boat for a huge portion of my playthrough, because I just couldn't bear to see him off. Though their interests and presentations were wildly different, there was something about Atul's jovial nature that reminded me a bit of Baron. The way they seemed to light up any conversation they were in. If not exactly alike, they were of a kind. I needed Atul around. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could, maybe because I was so frustrated that I couldn't go and see Baron. His presence was, in some strange way, filling a void.

 

Over the summer, Baron's condition progressed, but he kept on trucking. He made it to his 83rd birthday in June, a more somber occasion than usual, but I was glad he made it. I kept hoping some miracle would happen and travel would become possible again, but to no avail. Eventually the suggestion was made that we try having some Zoom calls with him, so we could have the chance to interact face to face. Baron was weak at this point, but seemed happy to see our faces. It was difficult to understand what he was saying, but he had assistance on that front. Blake, a close friend and confidant he'd known since he moved to Santa Fe many years ago, spent a great deal of time with Baron over the course of 2020. She assisted him with his affairs--including working to organize the donation of his archives to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame--helped him eat his meals, essentially acted as a caregiver on a regular basis. On those Zoom calls, Blake more or less served as a translator for what Baron was trying to communicate. I could tell his inability to speak was frustrating to him, a man so accustomed to having things to say to everyone around him. But Blake helped alleviate that frustration a bit, and for the few weeks we did those calls, I felt a little bit better. I was just happy to see his face, and to have the chance to interact with him, impersonal as it may have felt. However, after a handful of calls, the next one kept getting delayed. Baron wasn't feeling well, or he had other things he needed to take care of. I accepted that I may have seen him for the last time, but held out hope there might be a chance for another call down the road, remote as that possibility seemed.

 

I'd been playing Spiritfarer here and there for a couple of weeks when September came. While it was clear by that point that travel to New Mexico--or, really, anywhere--was not in the cards for likely the rest of the year, life had fallen into a sort of labored routine at home. We'd been quarantining long enough that we had a sense of how to go about our daily lives relatively safely, and with numbers in New York in a far better place than they had been in the early months of the pandemic, Sam and I had made some plans to go up to a little place upstate to get away from the city for a few days. We'd been trapped in our apartment for so long that we needed a chance to decompress a bit. It was the first thing we'd had to look forward to in a long while.

 

And then we lost Thelma.

 

Thelma was a street cat who wandered into a former coworker's backyard back when I worked at Harmonix. I'd recently moved to Boston, and I was severely missing the feeling of having a pet. I grew up with cats in our household all my life. This was the first time I'd lived anywhere without a pet, and it felt a little empty. My coworker couldn't keep Thelma. He had dogs that were not especially cat friendly, and he posted on our internal bulletin board asking if anyone was interested in adopting her. I saw her picture and I just melted. She had this face, this unbelievable face. These big, piercing eyes, with a little beauty spot on her left cheek. I fell in love without even meeting her, so I talked with him, and we agreed that I would adopt her.

 

She was very skittish at first. I had roommates at the time, and they took to her immediately, but she was more wary. She hid under the bed in my room for weeks after I brought her home, and on two separate occasions tried, and succeeded, to jump out a third story window. The first time she jumped to a neighbor's rooftop, and then eventually back into the apartment, which was harrowing enough. The second time she somehow made it from the third floor balcony all the way down the ground floor, at which point she firmly planted her butt in front of the house and just howled until someone came and got her. I was terrified after that, but thankfully she came out of that scrape with only a chipped tooth to show for it.

 

Slowly, but surely, she eventually started to warm up, and stopped with her suicidal escape attempts. She never quite abandoned her street cat anxieties, but she started to become more affectionate, and even started sleeping on the bed with me each night. It felt wonderful, because it felt like I'd had to work to earn her trust. Over the course of the next 12 years, she became my little companion, there through some of the best and worst years of my life. She was always a little stand-offish, a little moody, but loving in her own unique way. In my worst year living in San Francisco, when I hadn't quite sorted out my anxiety issues and would find myself dealing with panic attacks on a regular basis, she'd frequently find me balled up on the bed, and nuzzle her way under my arm affectionately. After Sam and I moved in together, she'd sit every night on her cat perch, watching over us as we ate and played games and watched TV. It was like she was keeping watch to make sure nothing happened to us. Every night for years, she'd climb up on the bed, nest herself on my chest, and hang out there for between 15 and 30 minutes, before getting distracted and running off into the apartment. It was our little routine, and I looked forward to it every night.

 

When Thelma died, it was very sudden. I won't belabor the description of what happened, but it was one of those situations where you go to the vet understanding there is an emergency, and come home with an empty cat carrier. This was the day before we were supposed to go upstate, and it just sucked all the air out of us. That whole day I wandered around the apartment, feeling like a bomb had been dropped on me. My little friend, who had been there with me through so many trying times, was suddenly gone. I'd lost pets before, but in every case before it had been a situation where we could prepare ourselves. They became sick, and we got to spend some time with them before ultimately making the call to put them down. There was no time this time. We couldn't prepare ourselves. Hell, we could barely believe it was happening as it did. After hours and hours of just flailing around the apartment, I, for some reason, decided I needed to play a game to take my mind off what was happening. I booted Spiritfarer up without even really thinking about it. And it so happened that where I had left off was the moment before I was to say goodbye to the first of the spirits, Gwen. Again, without even really thinking about what was happening, I went through the motions and completed the last step on Gwen's questline, taking her to the rowboat and ushering her to the Everdoor.

 

When you say goodbye to a spirit in Spiritfarer, it's a genuinely beautiful moment. The spirits talk, they tell you of the things they've learned, of what they're feeling. In each case, they seem grateful to you and what you've done for them. One of the repeated actions throughout the game is the ability to hug the spirits any time you want. Sometimes they're not in the mood, but when they are, it's always a sweet moment. At the Everdoor, you hug them one last time, and they begin to hover and glow, before disappearing into the ether. My first time seeing this was the night we said goodbye to Thelma, and in that moment, it was like my skeleton liquified in an instant. I fell to the ground in a sobbing puddle. The beauty of the moment was not lost on me, but I could hardly hold myself together. In that moment, I was lightning zapped back into that veterinarian's office, my face buried in her fur, telling her it was OK. That she could go, and that it would be OK.

 

It never stopped feeling strange to hold onto that particular grief throughout the year. After all, a pet is not a person, and 2020 was a year marked by endless, needless death. So many people lost loved ones to COVID, and that feeling like my grief couldn't--shouldn't--compare nagged at me to the degree that I couldn't quite ever fully give myself over to it in the way I maybe needed to. Plus I was still holding onto the dread of what would happen with Baron. I was caught in this bizarre place between a little death I'd already experienced and a bigger one I knew would be coming. So instead of ever really addressing it, I just let it linger there. It would pop out from time to time. I'd get an image in my head, or see a picture of her, and I'd tear up. Sometimes it snuck up on me, sometimes I sensed it coming around the corner, and considered whether to stifle it or give it some room to walk around. I carried it around like a mass at the bottom of my lungs, never inhaling or exhaling hard enough to dislodge it. It hurt like hell.

 

In early October, my mom let me know that things were getting worse. He was very weak, and had a couple of periods where it was very touch-and-go. We weren't sure if this was the end, but it felt like we were headed there. On October 4th, he posted a farewell message on Facebook letting everyone know that this would be his last dispatch. As sad as the message was, it had a feeling of gratitude and peace that put me a bit more at ease. I just hoped when his end came, it would be every bit as peaceful. ALS is a horrible disease, and when you're in its final stages, the body can't do a great deal. We knew there might be a point where he would be too weak to do anything, and arrangements for palliative care had been made in such an event. He didn't seem like he wanted to have to make that call himself, and I hoped it wouldn't come to that. Thankfully, it didn't. On November 2nd, he passed peacefully, with Blake by his side. Though I was sad and upset that I could not be there with him, I was grateful that he had someone he cared about there with him in those last moments.

 

I had only been checking in on Spiritfarer infrequently during this time. I'd said goodbye to a couple more spirits, and pushed myself to make some progress because I knew I wanted to finish it. But it was hard. For as lovely and gentle as Spiritfarer's depictions of death are, it was just a lot to deal with in those moments. After Baron passed, I didn't pick it up again for a while. When I eventually did, I realized I was nearing the end of Atul's questline. As much as I loved the dude and struggled to part with him, I knew it was gonna have to happen eventually. So I went through the motions and did what I was supposed to do, girding myself to say goodbye to my in-game uncle. Except that goodbye never came. Atul is one of the only spirits you don't send to the Everdoor. He disappears after you finish his final request, and you never see him again. Once again, I felt like the whole bottom dropped out from under me. It's not that I was angry at the game or anything, I just didn't know how to feel. I never really got to say a final goodbye to Baron, to have that moment of closure before he passed, and here this game was, once again mirroring that feeling.

 

By the time I finally brought myself to wrap up Spiritfarer's campaign, it was December. We'd had a memorial for Baron over Zoom a couple of weeks after he passed. An imperfect solution to an impossible problem, but it was the best that could be done, and though it was devoid of the hugs and in-person comfort a real life memorial offers, hearing people tell stories of his life--some of which I knew, some which were entirely new to me--helped a little bit. I was still having these overwhelming pangs of grief crash into me at random intervals. There were streams we did on the site where I was having to expend some serious mental energy to keep myself together. I just couldn't figure out what to do with those feelings.

 

On my final day with Spiritfarer, I had done everything I felt like I was going to do. There were side quests left unfinished, but I had said goodbye to everyone that had crossed my boat, and I had seen the story through. What the story revealed was along the lines of what I had suspected early on. Stella isn't happening on these people by chance. You learn through a series of scenes that in her previous life, Stella was a caregiver. She worked in a hospice, helping terminally ill people in their final days. Not everyone you encounter in the game is an ex-patient, but they're all people Stella encountered during her travels. Then Stella herself got sick, and she became the Spiritfarer, doing for these transient souls what she had done in life. Now it was time for her to go, and though I wasn't really ready, I needed to be done.

So I went. I rowed Stella and Daffodil to the Everdoor, a more silent journey than the ones I'd experienced before. There's no big twist, no big reveal at the end. You go where everyone else went, you give your cat the biggest hug, and you both take your journey to the other side. That's all there is to do, and it was all that I needed.

 

When I say that Spiritfarer was my year in video games, I mean it in totality. It was both the thing I found myself playing and thinking about constantly as I went through the miserable motions of the year, and a fairly apt metaphor for how I treated video games in 2020. Even if I never fully accepted them as such, games were my busywork, the thing I used to try to fill the spaces where my grief kept encroaching. I still haven't quite figured out what to do with all that grief, even as we work our way through the beginnings of 2021. I still have those moments where the emotions swell up out of nowhere, and I am forced to confront that empty feeling. But I also feel a little bit better than I did before I finished Spiritfarer. It's not that I think the game is saying anything deeply profound about life and death that has never been said before, but it's very effective at delivering its heartfelt notions about how to approach the inevitable. And its sincere appreciation for caregivers is something I love it for. 2020 was a year filled with people dying in terrible circumstances, often unable to be surrounded by the loved ones they'd want to see before they pass. Instead, frontline medical workers, hospice workers, were often the only people to be there to see them off. In Baron's case, it does my heart good to know that his caregiver was someone close to him, someone who helped him so tremendously through the trying final year of his life.

 

Spiritfarer is about coming to terms with the things you could not in life. It is about accepting that not everything will wrap up the way you want, and that in order to make your peace, letting go of those wants and regrets is vital. I regret every day that I could not be there at the end of Baron's life, and that I had so little time to say goodbye to my friend Thelma. It's taking time for me to let go of those feelings, but as each day passes, and I release a little more of that grief, I can feel myself moving in that direction. I don't know that I will ever get over 2020, exactly, but maybe I'll find a way to accept everything that happened.

 

More than anything, I just hope that they both know how deeply loved they were, and that I will miss them for the rest of my life.

 

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On 26/01/2021 at 22:27, Mr. Gerbik said:

And now that Ben's gone they got Danny to guest appear in the bombcast :omg:

Jesus, where's that comic about the bird yelling Ben all the time? 

 

Without Ben we wouldn't have got the more interesting categories in the GotY stuff. He pitched Best Dad and it was the most fun thing to listen to during that whole escapade. 

 

Still I look forward to the needless bitching to continue long into the future. 

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19 minutes ago, SweatyTravolta said:

Jesus, where's that comic about the bird yelling Ben all the time? 

I didn't even say anything negative about your boy! 

 

Just for you, since it's clearly a big personal deal, a small adjustment that will hopefully be more to your liking:

 

"Now that they're one staff member short, it seems like they're going to have more guests on the bombcast and they're starting with Danny which is great because I really like Danny. More guests hopefully also means Drew or Dave at some point"

 

:)

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On 23/01/2021 at 10:46, Novelty Bobble said:

No comments on the final GOTY podcast?

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I guess the number one was never really in doubt. 


 

These are always my favourite bits of Giant Bomb content, and I really look forward to them each year. I think this was the best GOTY since at least 2016. They nailed the format (having two categories a day, one serious and one not so serious) and not being in the same room had a surprisingly positive impact on discussions.

 

While I’m not devastated that Ben is leaving (although clearly I like him quite a bit more than most in this thread), he was always good value at GOTY and so it proved again. While I think Abby was a great addition to the site and will be missed, after listening to these I really think it was clear she was the one who broke GOTY - she obviously hated it, while also being one of the least articulate on staff (when it came to GOTY) and incredibly stubborn in her arguments. This is a bad combination for something like this at the best of times but when you throw in the fact that she was the only woman on staff, with very different tastes and priorities for the rest of the crew, it often made for an uncomfortable atmosphere. No one could quite figure out a way to make it work without generating real ill feeling or making the discussion tedious (see the last few years), which is no one’s fault so much as it was just an incompatible clash of personalities.  I also think Dan and Alex would tend to bring out the worst in each other at GOTY, so removing that particular dynamic from the discussions was actually to the benefit of the podcasts as a whole.

 

I actually got quite upset reading their individual GOTY lists, as they are all clearly deeply traumatised and exhausted by the past year. Obviously they’re not alone in this, but it really struck me while reading how hard it must have been for them to come out and entertain, practically every day, while being in the public eye this year.

 

Brad sounds utterly despondent with the state of the world, and almost entirely unable to care about games any more. You can tell from Ben’s list his time at Giant Bomb has left him completely emotionally spent and he needs a long break from the internet. Vinny does his Positive Dad routine and tries not to dwell on the negative, but anyone who has listened to the Beastcast this year knows that he has really been struggling with the twin demands of the job and home schooling. Alex’s piece is just a long, desperately sad obituary to his uncle and his cat, both of whom passed away last year. And Jeff’s comments about the benefits of the pandemic, namely being able to spend real time with his daughter instead of commuting 80 miles a day to the office, really hit home with me as I’ve had the exact same experience this year - my son was born in April and I can’t imagine being out of the house 12 hours a day and basically missing his whole early waking life, which would have been the case had my office been open. I can hear my own thoughts from this year in Jeff’s comments, where he openly questions his job and what he wants out of life, and I know the kind of deep existential impact that thinking had on me.

 

For the first time it really made me think that potentially Giant Bomb might not be a going concern for much longer, and as much as I’m sympathetic to the argument that it’s not quite as good as it used to be, I don’t think the drop off has been that high, a lot of it has been due to tumultuous circumstances, and ultimately I would still be really sad if they stopped. They’ve been an ever present in my life for well over a decade and I’d genuinely miss them.

 

All that said, despite being depressing af, the individual lists are all beautifully written - particularly Brad, Jeff and Alex’s - and worth checking out. Jeff’s long section fanboying over the KLF was particularly delightful.

 

Finally I’d just like to say that Jan was the MVP of the discussions this year. What a fantastic addition to the crew he has been. 


I’ve seen a lot of this and heard them talk about it themselves and I don’t really get it. They’re a group of middle-aged man children who get paid very well to sit around playing and talking about video games. They’ve got it really fucking easy. The way they complain and people empathise with them you’d think they were front line emergency staff working 72 hour shifts. 
 

I like GB and enjoy the Beastcast, but they’re very privileged people with incredibly easy lives. They don’t seem to get that a lot of the time, fair enough, it’s hard to see yourself, but others don’t have that excuse. 
 

None of this shit is remotely important and I don’t have any time for their fake stress about it. 

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13 hours ago, Pockets said:


I’ve seen a lot of this and heard them talk about it themselves and I don’t really get it. They’re a group of middle-aged man children who get paid very well to sit around playing and talking about video games. They’ve got it really fucking easy. The way they complain and people empathise with them you’d think they were front line emergency staff working 72 hour shifts. 
 

I like GB and enjoy the Beastcast, but they’re very privileged people with incredibly easy lives. They don’t seem to get that a lot of the time, fair enough, it’s hard to see yourself, but others don’t have that excuse. 
 

None of this shit is remotely important and I don’t have any time for their fake stress about it. 

 

Fake stress :lol:

 

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  • 4 weeks later...

The Valheim playdate is pretty good.  The gang head off to raid a tomb and upon arrival decide to build a small forward base so they have somewhere to respawn and repair. Later Vinny finishes building a mansion.

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As expected, the Bombcast is much better without Ben in it. I have a lot more respect for him now, though, as he realised that GB wasn’t something he wanted to do long term and did something about it. Good luck to him!

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On 20/01/2021 at 11:41, PK said:

 

I agree with all of this!

 

I don't feel he's suited to an entertainment role, nor that he's articulate enough to discuss game mechanics or industry news in an interesting or engaging way. And, admittedly, within a couple of months I started to find his insistence on injecting failed attempts at humour, and a lot of his general mannerisms, intensely irritating. I think developing that type of sentiment is inevitable given the long form nature of their content. He did seem to be on every fucking video as well, although that was probably just some sort of negative bias at work in my head. My consumption of Quick Looks for almost his entire tenure has mainly been start video - hear his voice - close video, and now that he's leaving I'm looking forward to watching them again.

 

Sending him abuse because of any of this fucking disgusting, but I don't know if a few people having a cathartic whinge about him in this thread is necessarily "being utter pricks about it". I don't have any ill will towards him as a person, and it's really sad that people being cunts to him has forced him out of a job that he was over the moon to get, and enjoyed at least for some time.

 

On 20/01/2021 at 08:23, Mr. Gerbik said:

All absolutely fair, but as a listener it's also fair that I'm allowed to say that imo he wasn't funny at all despite trying really hard - haven't had any problems with the other newcomers, just him. Never said that to him or on social just here because he seems like a decent guy otherwise. But more to the point is that he was simply unable to talk about games - you might like him or not, and I fully admit that I would be even worse than him at the job, but it always amazed me that it was acceptable to the staff and fans like you that he couldn't coherently describe a game or formulate an opinion. And if Jeff disagrees, no matter how much I like Jeff, then imo he badly misjudged this hire in terms of minimum skill requirements.

 

Meh. Hugely disagree about the "he couldn't talk about about games articulately"  Plenty of times he talked about what he'd recently played and and did it well.   And each time I thought, I bet those fuckers on rllmuk will just not listen to this bit or conveniently forget about these bits.   And I was right!  

 

ah well. Onto the next moan about having a non middle aged dude talking about games!

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I know this is controversial round here but Danny annoys me more than Abby or Ben ever did. So does Mary ‘ooh look I’ve got a dog’ Kish. They’re both sort of weird wannabe gaming hipsters if such a thing exists. Danny always seems to get at least one thing wrong every time he opens his mouth and I assume is deliberately lying about how things are in the UK and Ireland, such is the consistency of his errors whenever he chips in on the subject. 

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2 hours ago, Pockets said:

I know this is controversial round here but Danny annoys me more than Abby or Ben ever did. So does Mary ‘ooh look I’ve got a dog’ Kish. They’re both sort of weird wannabe gaming hipsters if such a thing exists. Danny always seems to get at least one thing wrong every time he opens his mouth and I assume is deliberately lying about how things are in the UK and Ireland, such is the consistency of his errors whenever he chips in on the subject. 

This is when I fell in love with Mary.

 

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