Let's be real – the sheer scale of Red Dead Redemption 2's world makes a bison look like a teacup poodle. With all those story missions whispering "urgent!" in my ear, sometimes I just wanna throw my cowboy hat in the river and do absolutely nothing productive. Who needs Dutch's grand plans when you can watch virtual grass grow? That's right, I've become a professional time-waster in America's wildest playground, and here's my sacred scroll of glorious pointlessness.

Gambling: Hypnotic Cardboard Therapy

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Saint Denis poker tables are my digital Xanax. There's something magical about watching pixelated mustaches twitch over terrible bluffs – it's like watching sloths compete in synchronized swimming. The clinking chips and grumpy dealer murmurs create a lullaby that sucks hours away faster than a saloon whiskey shot. I once played till Arthur's beard reached his belt buckle. Did I win? Barely. Do I care? Less than a cactus cares about compliments. Pro tip: Bring virtual peanuts. It completes the illusion you're not wasting your life.

Fishing: Zen and the Art of Rod Maintenance

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Forget survival – real anglers fish for existential vibes. Find a spot where the water giggles and trees whisper gossip, then cast your line into the void. It's as profoundly useless as knitting sweaters for tumbleweeds, yet somehow more soothing than a lullaby sung by hibernating bears. Do a full 24-hour cycle: Dawn's pastel hues → midday dragonflies → sunset painting the sky like a drunk artist → moonlight turning ripples into liquid silver. Bonus: Your controller becomes a meditation cushion.

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Kill your HUD. Murder that minimap. Now pick two map points and navigate like it's 1899 GPS-free hell. Trying to reach Strawberry using only moss patterns and squirrel directions feels like doing algebra with a potato. Avoid roads like they're poisoned candy – scale cliffs, swim suspiciously still ponds, get gloriously turned around. It's wilderness orienteering meets dementia simulation. My record? Three hours to travel half a mile. Achievement unlocked: Confused Badger Award.

Horse Pampering: Equestrian Spa Day

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Your horse isn't a Uber – it's a moody fashionista. I spend hours curating looks: "Will braided mane complement this saddle? Does this bridle scream Thursday energy?" Tracking down specific apples becomes a sacred quest. Brushing virtual horse flanks is weirder than teaching trigonometry to armadillos, yet watching that bonding meter rise gives dopamine hits Rockstar never intended. Warning: May result in whispering sweet nothings to pixels.

Hunting: Caveman Cosplay

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Ignore shops – become a wilderness guru! Track rabbits using only broken twigs and existential dread. Stalking legendary animals is like playing chess against Mother Nature's drunk uncle. I once spent four real hours tracking a ghost panther through fog thicker than pea soup. Found it? Nope. Found seven mushrooms and an identity crisis. Perfect. Hunting without purpose is the gaming equivalent of reorganizing alphabet soup by letter curvature – beautifully absurd.

Swimming: Arthur the Unlikely Merman

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Arthur swims like a brick with anxiety issues, making watery treks the ultimate self-punishment. Try crossing Flat Iron Lake – it's like watching a sloth attempt parkour. Stamina drains faster than my bank account during Steam sales. But oh, the views! Gliding past lily pads while fish mock your flailing is peak comedy. Remember: John can't swim. Like, at all. So drown Arthur repeatedly while you can. It's therapeutic!

Bounty Building: Crime Tourism

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My favorite sport: Annoy lawmen till my bounty could buy a castle. Start small – steal a hat → escalate to porch furniture theft → end with full-town chaos. Fleeing becomes a ballet of bullets and bruised dignity. It's Grand Theft Horseback! Hours vanish paying off bounties... only to rebuild them immediately. Like scrubbing tattoos with bleach – painful yet addictive. Try it co-op: Hand controllers to newbies mid-chase. Their panic is sweeter than camp stew.

Wanderlust: Digital Flâneur Mode

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The crown jewel of wasting: Amble aimlessly. Disable quest markers. Let the world happen to you. I walked from Colter to Saint Denis at horse-strolling speed. Discovered:

  • A ghost train singing show tunes

  • A hillbilly demanding I find his pet raccoon (named President Fluffernutter)

  • A waterfall that made me question capitalism

Random events pop up like mushrooms after rain. You'll find more secrets wandering than following yellow mission dots. It's gaming ASMR.

Activity Time Sink Rating Absurdity Level
Gambling 🕒🕒🕒🕒 🤠🤠
Fishing 🕒🕒🕒 🤠🤠🤠
Navigation 🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒 🤠🤠🤠🤠
Horse Care 🕒🕒 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠

So here's my paradox: In meticulously wasting time, did I actually experience RDR2's soul? Or was avoiding Arthur's destiny the real point all along? Like a snow globe collecting dust, maybe beauty exists only when we stop shaking it. Now if you'll excuse me, I must argue with a shopkeeper about canned pea aesthetics...