It’s old friend Joerg Sprave. He’s jolly. He’s the Saint Nick of destruction. He’s the Mister Rogers of ruination. He’s the Captain Kangaroo of crushing. He’s the Alan Alda of annihilation. He’s the Tom Brokaw of breaking stuff. I could listen to him all day. I’m ambivalent about the mayhem. I’m only here for the chuckling.

Chuckling while he wrecks stuff. He’s obviously a Goth. No, not the moody kids prone to eyeliner and unstructured haircuts. I mean the real Goths. I mean the guys that sacked Rome, and made the Huns run. I can just picture an army of guys like Joerg chuckling while he staved some Jute’s head in. I can’t tell if he’s a Visigoth or an Ostrogoth or what, but it’s one of those guys with a twinkle in his eye and a flail in both hands.

Whoah, what if he’s not a Goth? I’d be disappointed to learn he was a Burgundian. They were only cackhanded at sacking, and if you find it to be an effort to burn a fortified city to the ground, there’s no time for chuckling. No, Joerg is definitely not Burgundian.

I’ve got it. The chortling while he breaks stuff leads me to the conclusion that he’s a Vandal.