GYSO Reviews Part 76 - An Idea So Glorious Only the God of War Could Come Up With It

Published: 2025-10-05

Blaring from his North Pole-issued “work” laptop, the newly appointed God of War is enduring a meeting from his remote work location. It should have been an email. It’s been three hours.

Elf Two: Oh, Thim, could you please turn on your camera, it’s so nice to be able to synergize with you when we see your face.

Thim: Last time I turned it on, you told me to put on clothes. But–

Elf: A fuzzy pink bath robe and speedos don’t count, sir.

Thim: I also have fuzzy bunny slippers and a fuzzy bunny shoulder parrot thing.

Bunny: Hello, father’s minons.

Thim: See? Well, no, you don’t. The camera’s off. But see?

Elf Two: I’m sure we’ll be fine, Thim. We’ve all endured worse sights in the battlefields than your unfortunately tight speedos.

After HR insisted that Thim has to have a profile picture, being the CEO God of War and all, they applied a shoddy screenshot from a bad mobile phone video of him winning the big Made-Up-Ball game. That is, the game was big, the ball was normal sized, and that’s totally fine! You can count the pixels. On one hand. In binary, that is, but still. Right now, it’s disappearing, and Thim’s laptop is sending a beautiful picture of… darkness?

Elf: Do you have your camera block on again, Thim?

Thim: Yeah, duh. I taped that shit after I turned it off earlier. Can’t have the man watching me.

Elf: Ugh. I remind you, sir. God of War, sir. That you, are, the man.

Thim: Why thank you. Keep inflating my ego like that and you might survive the week.

Elf Two: I think all of us just want to get through this meeting, so how about we stay on topic?

Elf: Right! So, sir. What is your opinion on wars? What should be done about that, as it is your domain now?

Thim: Fuck em.

Elf: Sir? We tried copulating with war last century. It didn’t work, and was quite painful. And a lot of elfs had to be put down for getting really weird fetishes.

Thim: No, moron. After careful consideration, and something like two weeks of real-life experience in this role, I can safely say they can all fuck off. Like, go burn in a ditch somewhere.

Elf Two: You mean trench? We’ve already done that.

Thim: Oh my god. I mean, oh my me.

Thim reaches his fist towards Bunny, who reciprocates with an awesome and cutesy fist/paw bump.

Bunny: Hell yeah, father.

Thim: Really, though. I’m a lazy, borderline narcissist. But if you can stop war, you do it, duh. So I’m banning war. No more. Not for my own gain, obviously, being the God of it at and all. But because I don’t want to read the two hundred emails I’ve ignored on my candy-cane covered evil rectangle you guys sent me. Seriously, I’m not going to fight for some jank ass country that decided they should shoot instead of shit.

Elf: Uh… Sir? Are you sure?

Thim: Did I fucking stutter?

Elf Two: At least twice.

Thim: You have your orders. Get the hell off my lawn.

Elf: We’re on a conference call.

Thim: Did I fucking stutter?!

Elf: No sir!

Everyone leaves the call quickly.

Thim: Another job well done, eh Bunny?

Bunny: Let’s order cake, father.

Thim: Yeeeeeeee boi.

Albert stares in naked shock–he’s naked right now–at the newspaper headline. How he got a newspaper is beyond the scope of this article.

NEW GOD OF WAR, THIM (NO LAST NAME), BANS ALL WARS! WORLD IN CHAOS, BUT NOT THAT MUCH BECAUSE OF BAN!

Albert: I’m too retired for this shit.

He throws the newspaper down, and begins his dance practice again.

At a spelling bee…

Judge: Please spell Hungolomghnonoloughongous.

Contestant: Uh… Could I get that word in a sentence?

Visible sweat. Quenched in odor.

Judge: Instead, the master ninja po(o)ps out his unshaven head from his manly man cave enclave haven on Mt.Hungolomghnonoloughongous.

Complete silence from the audience. There’s two or three parents, so it’s pretty quiet to begin with.

Contestant: Uh… H-U-N-G-O-L-O-N–

Judge: I’m sorry, that’s incorrect. Big fuckin’ surprise. May we lament Tim and Thor, inventors of English.

Contestant: Yeah? Let’s see you spell it, jackass!

As the judge presses the button to update the scoreboard, he effortlessly, calmly, and with ease spells Hungolomghnonoloughongous.

Judge: Weird. The scoreboard isn’t updating.

The sound of circus music is suddenly and aggressively observed in the middle school auditiorium. Three clowns, a jester, three acrobats, an accordion player, and a big guy with a baseball bat bolts for the scoreboard. They rip it off like it’s your mothers night gown on a Friday night, yelling incomprehensibly all the while. Rushing out, they say…

Clowns (all at once): Thim, the new God of War, has banned all war! You’re in violation of the law!

Judge: But… what?

Contestant: Wait. If that new law has enough coverage to stop game shows hosted in middle schools, then how are they allowed to stop us using force?

Judge: Let me tell you a little bit something about governments…

In a meeting room…

Person with blue tie: I’m telling you! We won’t have our members working for 69 hours, nice, non-stop, for less than minimum wage, and with no breaks!

Geoff Beachhouse: Well, do they need the work?

Person with blue tie: That’s not the unions concern, Beach. It’s against the law, you can’t have people doing nasty things for an eternity.

Geoff looks up with a smirk from his nails.

Geoff Beachhouse: Look, I’m not sure where all this talk of unionizing the souls of the damned is coming from, I really don’t. I haven’t signed any darned deals with devil to support the rights of the dead, or made any significant political move since the war on drugs–

Person with blue tie: Yet here we are, staying on strike! There’s nothing you can do about the free will of the damne-

Circus music aggressively observed. You know the thing.

Clowns (all at once): You must end this war. All wars are banned. So is the word of Thim! All hail! Honk!

The paperwork promising basic workers rights in Hell are burnt to ashes and the circus posse exits extravagantly.

Thim: Ah, yes. I’m such a good person. I don’t have to do anything good ever again! I’ve ended war! And this cake is delicious!

The front door of the GYSO Mansion Playboy Mansion is busted in, two elfs, guess who, rushing up to Thim as he lounges after a hard day’s work.

Elf: Sir the world economy–!

Elf Two: You really fucked it this time–!

Elf: And the wild animals are all–!

Elf Two: Do you even know how many calls I’ve–!

Thim: EVERYONE! CALM DOWN! CALM DOWN!!

They calm down.

Thim: Alright, one at a time.

Elf: Sir–

Thim: Actually, fuck that. Get the hell out of my mansion.

Elf Two: But–

Thim: La la la la! I can’t hear you!

And so, the world watches in horror as the new God of War… doesn’t do jack shit. This has concequences. Big, throbbing concequences…

But that’s for next time on… GYSO BALL Z!

The dies.

The end.