Tag Archives: epic verse

Monday GUEST mailbag: Shayari

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Hi again, everyone. It’s yours truly, Shayari, filling in for Pops for one of his mailbag thingies. I’m not sure how he talked me into doing this again, to be honest. I think he caught me while I was paying attention to something else, then got a “yeah, uh huh” from me before I realized what he was asking. To be fair, I got him for a couple shopping trips the same way. Before he got wise, anyway. Oh well.

So ol’ Garry wanted me to mind the fort letter-answering-wise, since apparently he’s going to be pretty busy in Pandaria, and I guess so many people write in for this that he didn’t feel like it could just wait. Which I totally don’t get. Do that many people actually read this thing? I can’t imagine it could be more than, like, a dozen. Two dozen tops.

But, hey, a promise is a promise, so here we go.

 

Dearest Shayari,

My goodness, it’s been rather a long time since I had the luxury of being able to converse with you! Certainly not without the eager interruptions of friends and family. Not that I can complain, of course. I love conversation! And if anything, I have Korrina to thank for letting me know that YOU were taking over the next mailbag. I’d completely forgotten to go through your dad’s last mailbag. All this travelling has left me too exhausted to even read! Then again, it’s often worth it when you visit all these fabulous ethnic places and meet all kinds of bizarre new people. I wonder if you’ve ever heard of this gnome called Brazie Getz? His entire marketing campaign is on Deathbringer’s Rise in Icecrown. He’s a weird, weird guy. Don’t ever talk to him.

Anywho, I think I’d better rush to the point. I’m still travelling, of course – matter of fact, the only place I haven’t been to visit yet is Pandaria, so that’s likely next on my list! – and I found myself growing more and more curious with regards to the mailboxes of Azeroth. That is, every time I dropped a letter into a mailbox, it simply vanished! And would you believe it or not, but half the time, the correspondent’s response would appear before me a mere five minutes later.

I’m only assuming that this is a rather common stretch of magic, but as I’m not a mage, I don’t know how it works. So I ask you, Shayari, do you know what school of magic is responsible for this faster-than-Light-itself speed of delivery of mail in these boxes?

Take care, and be well!

–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade

Oh… uh, hey, Sarlin. Nice to… hear from you again. So… Korrina told you I was fielding letters for this mailbag? I’ll, uh… I’ll have to… thank her for that. Maybe thank her repeatedly. Over a span of several slow, torturous thankful days.

Or, well, I would, if I knew which one she was. She’s one of Pip’s friends, right? The ones who are always running around in the garish hand-me-down gear? She’s not the one that’s always putting her foot in her mouth, is she?

Either way… well… here you are. At least you toned it down a little this time around, though. Or… well, wait, you did tone it down, right? I’m not just missing a few pages? Because if I am, I mean, don’t feel like you need to correct that and send me a new copy or anything. You know, I’m already answering the letter now, so it’s not like there’s anything to gain at this point. Water under the bridge. That I should probably burn before it’s too late.

But, hey, speaking of sending things through the mail, that’s a question I can actually answer! You’re totally right, Sarlin — those mailboxes do use magic to make their insta-deliveries. Well, most of them do. There are still places that use old-timey mailboxes, where somebody has to go around and physically pick up the letters and stuff, but there are only a few of those left. So the magic they use for those things is arcane. The way it works — this is actually pretty weird but cool — is that all those mailboxes are sort of permanent mini-portals. You drop something in the mailbox, and poof! it goes through the portal and pops into the sorting room at the central post office. Which… well, I don’t exactly know where that is, or who runs it, although whoever it is they must have a massively fun life considering how they seem like they’re constantly on the job. But then they sort through the letters, or packages, or whatever, and send them back through another mini-portal, and double poof! they pop back out to whatever other mailbox you need to use to pick the delivery up. Pretty neat, huh?

I meant that last question rhetorically, by the way. No need to write back again, Sarlin. I mean, I figure you’re already busy enough doing whatever it is that you do. (Spirits help me, why am I talking about this like I’m going to be getting these again? Focus, Shay, focus!)

 

Dear Shayari,

Are you still taking mage lessons from our dear Mr Faranell? I am curious, what is he like as a teacher? Have you smoothed things over with him after, well, you know?

–Tandeleina, Silvermoon City

Well for one thing, let me tell you, you won’t win any points with Eddie by calling him “Mr. Faranell.” He likes that even less than he likes me calling him Eddie. I’ve seen it. One of those Kor’kron guys called him that and he got all pissy about it, “I didn’t spend a zillion years in mad scientist school or whatever so you could call me ‘mister,’ ” blah blah. Then he turned the Kor’kron guy into a sewer rat. Granted, it was just a polymorph variation. Fun fact, by the way: it turns out that being swallowed whole by a giant spider doesn’t break the polymorph. Who knew?

But yeah, I’m still working on my magic with Eddie. Pops had me stay in Orgrimmar while he’s in Pandaria so I can keep up with my apprenticeship. I’d like to see Pandaria at some point, though. I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. Pops promised I’ll get to see it eventually, so I guess we’ll see.

Anyhow, Eddie’s fine as a teacher, I guess. He’s definitely really smart. He’s just very… dry. I mean personality dry. It makes him hard to read sometimes. Like for instance, I’ll cast a spell, and he’ll say it went well, only because it’s him I’m never sure if I really did a good job or if I screwed it up and he’s being ironic. So, I don’t know, it’s been okay?

 

Dear Shayari,

Hello Shayari! My name is Clarise! I mean, my full name is Ceresella-Sareyn Sunbow but that’s like way long, and kind of a tongue twister, so I’ve shortened it to Clarise, although my sister thinks that’s a little common. Whatever. I think it’s totes adorbs. Anyways. HEY! I’m a mage apprentice too! Would you look at that, we have mutual interests! YAY! But you’re probably like waaaaay better at the kapowing than I am. I’m fourteen so I’m pretty amateur-ish at this whole pew-pew business. I can’t even polymorph properly yet! Like, I tried it once (on some idiot that was yammering on about how fire was the superior style of magic and arcane would rightfully bow at its feet one day and I just got so annoyed so POOF! Sheep he was) and it sort of lasted for about three hours. OOPS!

Anyway, so, I heard you study in the Undercity. I heard this really cool story from my sister once about there being somebody who does facials and haircuts there. Have you ever got one there? I bet they do AWESOME facials. I bet they use really frothy soap and stuff and warm water that almost feels like you’re being bathed in the physical form of perfection. Do the Forsaken have a nice sense of fashion? I like bright colours best. I specially like bright red and gold. Although leather’s pretty hip, too. Leather jackets with pink-dyed fur hoods? I would literally sell my little soul for one of those.

Coffee! Is there coffee in the Undercity!? Please tell me there’s coffee! There has to be! I would literally DIE in a place where there was no coffee. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine waking up for three hours of study in a boring room that’s way hot so it only makes you sleepier without a cup of coffee? I would just die. How many cups of coffee do you have a day? I don’t count but I think this is my twelfth. Now, that IS the physical form of perfection. In a cup!

Anyways, big fan! Can’t believe your dad responded to my first letter! MEGA FLAIL!

Ciao!

–Clarise Sunbow, Kirin Tor

So first of all, what the hell is a “ciao”? It had better not be some cool new expression that I’m behind the curve on, because you know how that goes. You start losing track of new and current expressions, then you start walking around wearing last season’s clothes, and then the next thing you know you’re thirty and it’s a quick downhill slide into sadness. Obviously, I can’t let that happen.

Oh, who am I kidding? We all know I’m not going to be out of the loop on anything cool. I am the loop on anything cool. This Clarise girl’s just talking the crazy talk.

So anyway, hi Clarise. You seem kind of weird, but you say you’re a fan of mine, so I guess you have that going for you. Wait, I have fans? Score! Eh, what am I saying? It figures I would have fans if Pops has been talking about me here on his blog. Wait, has he been talking about me here? What’s he been saying? Do I need to start working damage control?

So, um, yeah… hi, Clarise! It’s nice to hear from another mage, at least one who’s alive and not decomposing or anything. Or mordantly derisive toward everything in sight for no apparent reason. I haven’t had the chance to meet too many since the whole Jaina-schizo-Dalaran-be-gone thing. Used to hang out with nothing but mages, though. Not so much now. Seems like half the people I know are warriors. Or shamans. And I can hardly take three steps without tripping over a rogue. Which is weird considering you would think their whole deal is not being tripped over what with the sneaky. Anyway, Clarise, it’s nice to hear from another non-corpse magic user, and I’ll even let your whole arcane/fire thing slide, even though I’m a fire mage myself. You’ll come to your senses eventually. You’re right, though, polymorph is way cool.

The Undercity is… different. Not even… well, I was going to say not bad different, but… I mean, kind of yeah. I get the definite sense you’ve never actually been there. You’d probably find it, um, surprising. Probably not your cup of tea if you like bright colors. They don’t really have any. Well, other than the bright green glowing slime that’s… well… pretty much everywhere. So there’s that, at least. Otherwise, though, you’re pretty much looking at drab lifeless gray and drab lifeless purple and loads and loads of black. You wouldn’t think there could be different shades of black, right? Well you would be wrong! Don’t ask me how, but the Forsaken manage to have more shades of black than they have primary colors. Like you look around their stores and wonder “How much more black could there be?” and the answer is “None, none more black.” So I’m not sure the Undercity would really be your style.

And… I’m not even going to go near the thing about the facials. I’m pretty sure your sister was just trolling you. I mean, I suppose it’s possible that the Forsaken have salons there (would they need to get their hair cut, though? does your hair actually grow when you’re a dead person?), but I can’t imagine they’d be worried about cleansing pores nearly as much as necrosis and maggots. And if, you know, ew, I agree with you.

 

Hey, Shayari mon!

I got a question for ya! If da Lich King’s horse be Invincible, how come I be seein’ it, mon?

–Bob, Shado-pan Monastery

I don’t know, Bobby, I guess lack of sex causes enhanced eyesight? So, you know, keep up the good work with the total physical and personal unattractiveness — you’ll be rocking the full-on x-ray vision in no time!

 

 

Hey, Shay!

Here’s an #EpicVerse prompt for you.

“There was a Draenei named Shayari,”

Go, go, go!

–Valinora Lightshorn, Stormwind City

So… I’m really not sure what to make of this. I mean, I get that the “epic verse” thing is a reference to the weird poetry Pops likes to write, and how he can’t just call it “poetry” like a normal person, but has to play it up with the whole “epic verse!” thing. Which, by the way, he literally yells out loud when he finishes writing one. He’ll be sitting there working on something, and I’m not even paying attention to what he’s doing because whatever, and then all of a sudden he slams his quill down on the desk and yells “epic verse!” at like nine thousand decibels. Which is pretty startling, really. Also kind of weird, since he does it every time he thinks he’s finished. And he’ll go back and revise one line, and slam his quill down again, and yell “epic verse!” again… and then he’ll look back at it and change one word again and go through the whole slammy yelly thing again. He’s so weird, I can’t even.

So I get what the #EpicVerse part of your letter is talking about, but… I’m not sure what you’re looking for. Is this some kind of running thing in Pops’ blog? Actually, hang on, I’m going to check with greeny goblin nerd guy about this.

Hold tight!

Oh, okay. So the gob-geek guy, Spackle or whatever, says that apparently you have this ongoing thing in Pops’ mailbags, where you send him an opening line for one of his poems and then he writes the rest? Is that a thing? Does he do that? So wait, does that mean you’ve been partly responsible for all the yelling at his desk and the startling and stuff? It really scares my bird when he does that, I’ll have you know.

Only, see, here’s the thing. Garrosh is really the poet in the family. And boy, I bet there are tons of people who never thought they’d read that sentence, huh? But the point is that I’ve never been much of a writer, so maybe you should just stick to hitting Pops with these poetry requests, since I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to come up with anything all that good, mostly probably because the whole thing seems kind of weird.

Except I guess Pops will end up seeing this when he gets back from Pandaria (I mean he DOES read this stuff that me and Spackle and whoever else writes on here, right? and by the way, Pops, nice job outsourcing your own hobby, I mean could you be any more lazy? come on), and I guess if he sees me admitting I wouldn’t be good at doing something he thinks he’s good at, there’ll be no living with him. I mean have you seen him? There’s almost no living with him now. I don’t even want to think about how out of control his ego will be in a couple weeks if I go ahead and feed it. So okay, let me try this, but I’m not making any promises.

 

There was a Draenei named Shayari,
Actually half Kurenai, half Mag’hari,
Who lived in Nagrand where it’s starry,
And went on a wildlife safari,
While Pops is busy in Pandari

-a.

And maybe something about the Sha’tari,
And had calamari and Londo Mollari,

 

and okay I don’t think this is going anywhere. I’m just making up words at this point. Oh well. I tried.

 

Hello Shayari,

Do you play Earth Online? What class do you play? If you don’t play do you think you might give it a try some day?

–Greztah, Earthen Ring

So, okay, first of all, no. I keep getting asked this, so no, no, no. I’m not interested in getting into your weird virtual reality game. I don’t need my reality to be virtual. Reality reality is working out just fine for me.

And also, what is it with you guys and this game? It’s bad enough I had to find out Pops is a closet nerd with this game of his. But it seems like half the jokers around here play it, too. Fel, when I went to ask that Spackle guy about the poetry thing a minute ago, even he tried making a sales pitch on me, like for some kind of referral thing. I guess if he got me to sign up he could have gotten some kind of… I don’t even know what. A make-believe vehicle in the game that he would have to buy with real money otherwise? Is that something they make you do in this game? Fork over real money to buy make-believe things? Because if so…

Okay, people, let’s have some real talk here.

Because, look, speaking as someone who takes her shopping seriously… shopping with real money for imaginary stuff? That’s crazy talk. If I’m going to buy something, I’m for sure going to walk out of that store carrying something with actual physical substance to it. Otherwise, they’re not getting my money. Well, technically, they wouldn’t be getting my money, they’d be getting Pops’ money. But you get the idea.

The point is, are you people nuts?

 

So I guess that’s about as good a note as any to end on. Especially since that was the last letter. I’m not sure how much longer Garry is going to need before he’s back to doing this himself, but I think I might just pass it off to that Spackle guy if Pops needs things covered for a while more. Not that I don’t like hearing from everyone. Just that I have kind of a yearly weirdness quota, and just plain day-to-day life fills up that bar pretty quick as it is.

Bye!

 

[And so we’re back! As I announced before the break, our next mailbag will be Monday, September 5. I’m making one revision to the plan, though: rather than that installment being Garrosh’s return to mailbag duties, we’ve going to have one more guest mailbag — this time, from everyone’s favorite goblin tech guru, Spazzle! This is essentially me heading my bets — the Warchief is going to have a lot going on at Kypari Zar, which will involve a lot drawing that I’ll need to get done over several posts, so I wanted to make sure I’ll have time to get all that done without Garrosh seemingly having to stop in the middle of it to answer his mail. Plus, I’ve wanted to do a Spazzle mailbag for a while! (Who knows, maybe Mokvar will get one one day, too…) Garrosh will be back answering his accumulated mail for October’s mailbag (October 3, for those of you keeping score at home). As always, send your letters via email (link in the upper right sidebar) or using the form below.]

 

 

Lyrical leftovers

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Did I say that was the LAST dose of reader-prompted poetry-month-honoring EPIC VERSE you were getting treated to? WELL GUESS WHAT, MOTHERFUCKERS, I just took a cursory look at my handy desk calendar, the one where I would note down everybody’s birthday if I actually gave half a fuck, and THE MONTH ISN’T OVER YET. So even though it’s too damn late for you lazy scrubs to send in a poem of your own for the INTERNET FAME AND RECOGNITION YOU DON’T EVEN REMOTELY DESERVE BUT ARE GOING TO WIND UP GETTING ANYWAY BECAUSE THANKS GARROSH, there’s still time to grab one more of these submissions from the pile and treat you to one more of dose of awesome.

Because I’m a giver. And because I underpromise and overdeliver. And also because I’m still stuck on this damn boat heading down to Pandaria and if I don’t find something vaguely productive to do then it’s just a matter of time before SOMEONE on this boat starts to look irresistibly breakable.

So, speaking of people I would relish snapping into a couple hundred very tiny pieces (admittedly, this isn’t exactly an exclusive club), today’s reader poem comes from… <sigh>… spirits help us… Dontrag and Utvoch.

So… you know… not too much else for me to say about that. Let’s get this over with.

 

ONE MEAN, TOO MEAN.
We Mean Hellscream

By Sargeant Dontrag
And Grunt Utvoch

One mean, too mean
Garrosh Hellscream.
We mean you’re mean.
Too mean, we scream.

One mean, too mean.
Not share, no fair.
Don’t care anywhere.
Only care lemon square.

One mean, too mean
Slam door, stomp floor.
Settle score once more.
Nevermore Theramore.

One mean, too mean
One joke, two pokes.
Two blokes, slowpokes.
Two strokes, both croaks.

(Not yet, anyway)

One mean, too mean.
Not green, it seem.
You preen, ladies scream.
Umpteen, it’s obscene.

One mean, too mean.
Even seem little teen.
Figurine mean machine.
Femineene Hellscream.

Umm.

One mean, too mean.
Bell cursed, orcs worst.
Wrynn dispersed, left in hearse.
Got a nurse, death reversed.

Uh.

One mean, too mean.
Poor Steve, we grieve.
We leave before peeve.
Eve receive heave cleave.

Bye.

 

So… I suppose… I mean, I don’t even… Yeah. Fine. So there’s that.

It bears noting, by the way? That poem required two people to write.

Meanwhile, returning to the land of the not-stupid who can scrape together a few rhymes without needing to hold a conference, time for me to offer my… response. Which… yeah. I don’t really see this ending well, but here goes.

 

One herp, two derp.
Lunchtime, slurp burp.
No twirp usurp
Kings of herp-derp.

One herp, two derp.
Birdbrain, my bane.
Their brain: shit stain.
My pain? Explain:

One herp, two derp.
See me at sea.
Trainee runs free;
As for me? Can’t flee.

One herp, two derp.
Their insane word chain.
I complain; migrane;
Profane; bloodstain.

One herp, two derp.
Three smacks (four max).
Rage stacks, bone cracks,
My axe cleaves sacks.

One herp, two derp.
Each goon a buffoon.
Both hewn by noon.
Harpoon: death soon.

One herp, two derp.
Abhorred; need sword.
Kick toward Howling Fjord,
Thrown, soared, overboard.

One herp, two derp.
One blast from mast;
Ship fast; they’ve passed,
Distance vast; peace at last.

BYE MOTHERFUCKING BYE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

I mean, not that I should ever be surprised when Dumb and Dumber do something idiotic, but they REALLY didn’t think this one through, seeing as they sent me their… their… verbal equivalent of brain cancer, KNOWING full well they were going to be on a ship with me where there would be very few places to hide or run away.

Oh well. At least they get to practice their swimming now. For the entire rest of the trip. STOP YOUR BITCHING, JACKASSES, SWIMMING IS HEALTHY. Especially when the alternative to swimming is being on a boat with someone who’s liable to fucking MURDER you.

So. That wraps up this edition of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge for real. Thanks and congrats to everyone who contributed, all that stuff, whatever. I’m sure I’ll be throwing down some more EPIC VERSE soon enough just because. Or EPIC TALES of my EPIC LIFE. Or if you-know-who and you-know-who-else decide to try to crawl back on board, maybe EPIC RECAPS of me giving an EPIC BEATING to a couple EPIC PAINS in my EPIC ASS.

Okay, enough of that crap. Time to go up on deck and… I don’t know… be bored looking at the same view of the ocean I’ve been staring at this whole trip. Or listen to the Wonder Twins bickering about how to do a breaststroke. Or both. Ugh.

Water water everywhere, I think I need a drink.

 

Further tourist destinations

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So while I’m making my way down to Pandaria again (I’M ON A BOAT, MOTHERFUCKERS), I went ahead and loaded up the blog with a couple goodies, not least of all being this, the final installment (OR IS IT?) (probably but you never know) of GARROSH’S POETRY CHALLENGE.

For those of you coming late to the party, or who’ve had maybe some sort of head trauma (for some reason, Dontrag and Utvoch come to mind, which is unfortunate, partly because it’s ALWAYS unfortunate when you think about Dontrag and Utvoch, but also because something seems inherently wrong about any sentence that includes “Dontrag and Utvoch” and “mind”) and so you’re severely prone to forgetting shit, I’ve been commemorating National Poetry Month by inviting all of you, MY LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS, to write your own original poems. You send in poems, I write my own in response, you get shown up by my brilliance, you cry, I win. In other words, Thursday.

So, on to today’s guest poet — namely, our old friend Sarlin. Let’s get right to it…

 

Rainforests sprinkled in glitter
Horde posts and dead Night Elf litter
Demons, ghosts and cans of fel
Old Gods and Ghamoo-ra’s shell

Twilight’s Hammer plus ten punts
Brainless orcs, one scout, ten grunts
Draka with an extra “a”
Warlocks with plots to betray

Throwing stars and soaring glaives
Slice wooden shields and silly staves
Demolishers spitting out their skill
And rare spawns that the Horde can’t kill

Spider rogues, like we don’t already flee them
But now they stealth, so you can’t SEE them
Wolves and foxes and walking pus
And giant trees that throw stuff at us

Sounds bearable, if you’re asking me.
We’ll be out of here at level thirty
Long enough to earn your wail and flail
Welcome, Horde, to Ashenvale

 

Well, I’ll give her this much — she managed not to blurt out one of those multi-volume saga poems. I was really bracing myself for something like 300 stanzas of fifteen lines each. But no, she managed to keep herself reined in, and not embarrass herself too severely in the process. Maybe I should make her communicate in rhyme more often — seems like it forces her to be a lot more concise.

She DID wind up leaving out a few things in her tour of Ashenvale, though. Here, I’ll fix that…

 

Listen now while I’m detailing
Ins and outs of Ashenvaling.
Come and batter; foes will scatter;
Plus you’ll escape Barrens chatter.

Sleepy words of night elf slumber;
Glitter coating Warsong lumber.
Magnataur fight for the Horde might —
Meh, back to the drawing board, right?

Wyverns soaring, bombs downpouring,
Battle lines are tug-of-warring;
Hopes are stark in battles sparkin’;
Morons think they’re still with Tarkan.

Furbolgs’ mischief that they wish up.
(These ones don’t call me Archbishop.)
Dragons guard a nightmare portal.
(Used to prove you weren’t immortal.)

But one site to be saluted,
Scene of triumph undisputed:
Dark-skied canyon we know well
Where Grommash stood and demons fell.

Next zone’s not for the fainthearted;
Stonetalon: don’t get me started.
Things are better there — don’t bristle —
Ever since Krom’gar’s dismissal.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

There you go. That’s more like it. Everything you ever wanted to know about Ashenvale, and probably a few things you didn’t, with maybe two or three things you didn’t give a shit about thrown in as a chaser.

So, that does it for this year’s poetry challenge. Unless maybe I decide to toss some bonus goodies up here before the month completely runs out. Either way, congratulations to everyone who was HONORED BEYOND THEIR WILDEST DREAMS by being included, and thanks to everyone who submitted. And a big fat WHY THE FUCK NOT? to everyone who didn’t. Lazy fuckers.

Well, even though poetry month is winding down, you jokers still have a chance to show you’re not COMPLETELY lazy and useless. We’ve got a brand spanking new mailbag coming up in short order, so if you’re one of those clowns who couldn’t be bothered to participate in my GENEROUS ATTEMPT TO BRING SOME DAMN CULTURE TO YOU SLOBS, well, you better get off your ass and scrape together a letter. HEY, LOOK, SLACKERS — IT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE TO RHYME OR ANYTHING.

There you go. You know the drill — e-mail link up top on the right, form below. Get on it. More soon.

 

 

DPS (poetry) check

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That’s right, it’s time for this week’s edition of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge. You all know the deal by now — in honor of National Poetry Month, I’m inviting my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS to send in their own poetic masterpieces (cough), out of which I select GLORIOUSLY LUCKY SUBMISSIONS to feature here, along with my own EPIC VERSE response.

For today’s round, I’ve got some extra special submissions for you. Specifically, a bunch of my very own trainees from the DPS saw fit to try to emulate their beloved mentor and cook up some wannabe-masterpieces of their own. This may or may not have had something to do with an offer I might possibly have made to accept a poem submission in lieu of the 300-laps-around-Orgrimmar jogging drill I just happened to assign them the other day. BUT NEVERTHELESS.

Point is, though, that means that this edition of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge features NOT ONE, NOT TWO, but THREE featured poems. CAN YOU CONTAIN YOUR EXCITEMENT? I DON’T BELIEVE YOU CAN.

So, with no further ado, let’s see what the kids have come up with.

Our first submission comes from Mirembe, and see, this is actually pretty impressive, in the sense that Mirembe isn’t even stationed in Orgrimmar right now — she’s still up in Northrend on training maneuvers with Tov’osh — so she wasn’t even here when I issued my ultimatum made my offer to her DPS peers. But she didn’t let that stop her from cranking out a little something.

Which, you know, is more than I can say for Tov’osh.

BUT WHY DWELL ON THE NEGATIVE. After all if there’s one thing you people know about me, it’s my positive attitude and sunny outlook on life. So let’s have a look at Mirembe’s submission and see if one of my minions managed NOT TO FUCKING DISAPPOINT ME FOR ONCE.

 

There once was an orc from Garadar
Who was invited by Thrall to travel very far
He slaughtered the Scourge
And then went on to purge
All those not loyal to Orgrimmar!

 

Not bad, not bad… Although, I mean, considering she knew she was sending it in to ME, this DOES kind of smack of a little tiny vague whiff of… you know… sucking up to the guy with the grade book. Not a dealbreaker or anything, but I can’t help but have it on the brain when I cook up my response…

 

Now I usually don’t go in for flattery —
Blatant suck-ups get assault and battery.
But you’re right — it’s more dangerous
To be one of the traitorous:
Who’ll surely lose part of their anatomy.


EPIC VERSE!

 

Okay, next up is a submission from Korrina — who, by the way, just recently gave in to peer pressure from her fellow trainees and got herself set up on Twitter. Where she wasted no time in becoming a pretty damn prolific tweeter, I’ll have you know. Anyhow, you should all go follow her if you’re not already. YOUR WARCHIEF HAS SPOKEN.

So, free advertising aside, let’s see what Korrina has to show for her efforts…

 

Whose woods these are I do not know
They’re near a Night Elf village though
We must be quiet working here
To chop our wood and quickly go

My peons should be filled with fear
But they have not a brain cell near
I’m not sure they would even run
If Allied soldiers should appear

I booterang the slowest one
To make sure he gets his work done
The punishment he thinks is steep
But soon he’s loaded half a tonne

Our cart is loaded thirty deep
And back to Orgrimmar we creep
I bet those Night Elves sure will weep
I bet those Night Elves sure will weep

EPIC VERSE

 

Gotta say, that’s pretty damn good. Other than the part where she got a little too full of herself and decided her creation here was worthy of EPIC VERSE treatment. You’re gettin’ there, kid, but not quite, not yet. Still, credit where it’s due, this WAS a good job, so I went ahead and granted you, y’know, rare verse status with your text color. It WAS a good piece of work. So on top of being a promising warrior-in-training, Korrina might also have a possible side gig as a poet. Assuming she doesn’t consider it too much of a weenie undertaking to do as more than a one-off. To which, pfft. But anyway. On to my response…

 

Whose woods these are I know full well;
Those night elves can all go to hell.
I stomped about and yelled and swore,
For I won’t walk ’round on eggshells.

My wyvern makes a mighty roar
As up above the trees we soar;
Where once we flew on bombing runs,
But quoth the druid: Nevermore.

The night elves aim with futile guns,
But each shot Mortimer outruns.
I wonder what the hell’s their qualm;
Your guess is good as anyone’s.

These night elf woods will soon be calm,
When they are ours: just one more bomb,
Just north of where we honor Grom.
Just north of where we honor Grom.


EPIC VERSE!

 

Okay, so last and possibly least, maybe or maybe not, WE’LL JUST HAVE TO SEE, here’s one from Ruekie (@RuekieShaman on Twitter, by the way, for any of you jokers who aren’t already following her as you ABSOLUTELY SHOULD)…

 

Dark and creamy, Mr. Delicious
Your flavor makes me quite ambitious.

Your scent so wild, so strong and heady.
My body sings I am ready!

Give it to me, give it to me now.
That nectar of life, give me that POW!

I thirst for that extra potion of power!
That crazy haste buff that lasts an hour!

Espresso, mocha java, vanilla latte!
Not in a sippy cup, give me GRANDE!

That surge of great flavor, that fabulous taste.
Oh, how I adore it along with that HASTE!

PLEASE! PLEASE! TAKE ME AWAY!
TAKE ME TO EVERY STARBULLS KAFE!

Once I’ve consumed every last drop with glee,
Move over rover – I gotta go pee!

(I’m serious about this, don’t you laugh
Try taking my kafa, it will be your last gaffe.)

 

Uh, yeah. So… that was a thing.

Does she do this on purpose? I feel like she has to do this on purpose, just because she does it so damn much. And then I remember I’ve actually met her, and what she’s like in person, and yeah, no.

Anyway, here’s what I have to say back to her:

 

Now cool your jets and try to stay calm,
And wait a moment while I facepalm.

Her every good idea goes south
The moment she first opens her mouth.

We tried to warn; she never took heed.
Every time she talks, she winds up ruekied.

So listen, Rook, in your next letter,
You’ve gotta pick your words much better.

Although your poem could be splendid,
It implied much more than you intended.

I know to you kafa’s amazing,
But that’s not what it seems you’re praising:

Oh no — instead, it seems it’s me:
Subject of trainee fantasy.

And folks already hate my scruples,
Without suspicions of my pupils.

What’s more, you’re younger than my daughter;
My hate mail doesn’t need more fodder.

So stand corrected, stand your ground,
Stand up for kafa, stand out in the crowd,

But please don’t stand, for all to see,
Don’t stand, don’t stand so close to me.


EPIC VERSE!

 

So… yeah. I’m not sure why I went into this one thinking that Ruekie WASN’T going to… you know… do what she does. But I mean, seriously. I get enough people bitching and complaining to me about the stuff I ACTUALLY DO, without little miss foot-in-mouth giving them more ammunition over imaginary shit I DON’T do. Ugh.

 

Anyhow, that’s going to do it for this EXTRA GIANT PACKED edition of Garrosh’s Poetry challenge. Remember to keep those poems coming in — anything I receive by the end of the day next Monday is eligible for next week’s post, and who knows, maybe I’ll toss out a bonus edition at some point. Or maybe not. Depends on whether I get ambitious. Or lazy. Who knows.

ANYWAY, handy form below, or use the e-mail link in the upper right sidebar. You know the drill. More soon.

 

Splitting hairs

silvermoon1

Okay, people, time for our next installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge. For anyone who hasn’t been following — FOR WHAT REASON I CAN’T IMAGINE — I’ve been commemorating National Poetry Month by inviting my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS to send in their own forays into poetic not-quite-Garroshity-but-hey-at-least-they-tried. Every week at this time I’ll be choosing a reader submission to post and acknowledge, then answer with my own EPIC VERSE MASTERPIECE inspired in some way by my featured guest poem.

As it turns out, I got a TON of submissions this week, so let’s have a look at today’s selection. This one comes from someone who identifies herself only as “Disgruntled Bad Hair Day Blood Elf.” Which, I mean, do whatever you want about THAT combination of terms. The jokes nearly write themselves. While you soak in the yuk-yuks, though, here, have a look at what the blood elf in question has for us…

 

Hey Garrosh, Great Warchief
I’d like to be witty
But you promised me hairstyles
In Silvermoon City

We ride through the town
Looking high and low
But for a Varian hairpiece
There’s no where to go!

No Goblin coiffeur
No shampoo and set
No wavy perms, hairpins,
We’ve got nothing yet!

So here’s a reminder
With my poetry ditty
Cause me and the boys well…
We want to look PRETTY!!!

 

Not bad, all considered, and plus, you know, there’s a sentiment you would never, ever expect to see coming from a blood elf, right? So, speaking of which, time for my contribution, where I pick right up on that very point. Here we go…

 

Well look at that, look at that,
Wonder sustaining,
That rarest of sights:
It’s a blood elf complaining.

Listen, Disgruntled,
I hate to sound hateful,
But you goddamn blood elves
Are awfully ungrateful.

Day after day I’m here
Busting my ass,
But what thanks do you give me?
More griping and sass.

I have to admit —
Call the Argent Confessor —
My mind’s blown that blood elves
Can’t find a hairdresser.

It’s Silvermoon! Don’t you
Have gel by the jarful?
I’d figure you’ve got more
Salons there than Starbulls.

But cool down your jets, kid,
And calm your frustration;
I think your dear Warchief’s
Got your explanation.

You can’t find a stylist?
No free barber shop?
Well, as with most problems,
It starts at the top.

That Regent Lord guy of yours —
You know, What’s-His-Name —
I’ll bet you good money
That fucker’s to blame.

You can’t get your hair done
While salons are closed?
I bet he’s got them busy;
That’s why you’re all hosed.

Just check out the pansy-ass
’Do on that guy;
He can’t maintain that solo —
Much less with one eye.

That’s why your vain hunt’s
Yielding hardly a trace:
He needs teams round the clock
To keep that shit in place.

So go bitch to him, okay?
Go make his head spin.
Go bother someone with
Hair you can get in.

Don’t bug me with hair nonsense;
Hell, mine’s deplete —
You know grass doesn’t grow
On a damn busy street.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

That does it for this time. Considering how many submissions I got this week, though, don’t be surprised if I treat you to a bonus installment sometime soon. As for those of you who HAVEN’T sent in your own composition… WHY THE HELL NOT?! Get off your lazy ass and get to it!

 

 

#500 GIANT-SIZED (not really) ANNIVERSARY (kind of) SPECIAL

500header

Okay, people, I know we’ve got a hell of a lot going on these days on a whole bunch of fronts, but let’s get our damn priorities straight and take a moment to APPRECIATE THE GODDAMN AWESOMENESS OF ME.

Why, you ask? AS IF YOU NEED A REASON. But okay, fine, be that way. Even though you should already be in a constant state of awe over your Warchief, today marks an EXTRA SPECIAL awesome, awe-inspiring, awful… wait. I think I just took a wrong turn there.

IT’S A SPECIAL GODDAMN OCCASION IS WHAT I’M SAYING.

Reason being, the post you see before you marks the 500th BLOG POST here on the Warchief’s Command Board. That’s right, bitches, 500 posts — that’s FIVE ZERO ZERO. Go ahead and count ’em. I KNOW YOU WON’T.

But that’s where we are, people — 500 installments of EVERYBODY’S FAVORITE BLOG EVER. And riddle me this: have you read them all?

Yeah, me neither.

I mean, there were a bunch in there by guest posters like Spazzle and Mokvar, and I like those guys and everything, but not enough to actually give a shit about what they have to say about… like… anything. But whatever — like trees falling in the forest with no one there to hear them, those guests posts still… um… make a… sound when they…crash the server and… um… that is…

OKAY, THAT ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME A LITTLE, TOO. I MAY OR MAY NOT BE WORKING ON A COUPLE DRINKS, OKAY, SO STFU.

Anyhow. I’d like to thank all my loyal readers, and say that I couldn’t have done it without you. I’d LIKE to say that, but I can’t, because I totally could have. Let’s be real, scrubs, I’m the awesome one here, not you. THERE’S A REASON WHY YOU’RE READING MY BLOG AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, NOW ISN’T THERE?

But still, the occasion calls for something special, so in keeping with this month’s theme — I DO have a Poetry Challenge in progress, after all — I figured I’d take a look back at a 500-stack of EPIC the only proper way EPIC gets done:

 

That “LOK’TAR OGAR!” that I blogged for a starter;
I met D&U, but my wyvern’s way smarter;
Krom’gar dropped a bomb, but I dropped his ass harder;
         EO gaming, “why fly” malaprop.
Twilights on a mission for that Cho’gall demon;
Ogres versus Grimtotem, and Magatha schemin’;
Johnny Awesome, beat it; Garona, keep dreamin’;
         Saurfang took a turn watching the shop.

That time I went AWOL, then I was recovered;
Grabby Mylune hugged me till I damn near smothered;
Garadar reunion with my long-lost mother;
         Year one challenge, rhymes of locks in socks.
Mom was just a cruel trick Magatha unraveled;
Trouble for Forsaken; Tirion’s endless babble;
Head to old Southshore thanks to FUCKING TIME TRAVEL;
         Human Faranell’s a paradox.

Psycho!Mylune rampaged, eyes more wild than dewy;
Edwin fucked the past up; all the timelines went screwy;
We straightened them out; Theramore went kablooey;
         Went to Karazhan to spin some tunes.
Pandas showed up teaching how anger is managed;
Got myself some trainees: DPS advantage;
Someone ganked Mokvar; he ankhed and wound up bandaged;
         Rolled up on Pandaria with my goons.

Gurtash started drawing; Vol’jin stopped his breathing;
Cloudfall spoke of destiny and got me near believing;
Mokvar met Magatha, that one had me seething;
         He went off the grid — he’d best run far.
Lor’the’whatsit’s bitching still; I got pounced by Tak;
Snagged the Divine Bell; that’s when Jaina blew her stack;
DPS got lost, but I (mostly) got them back;
         Meet my daughter, Shay. (Have a cigar.)

Shay’s mage class was hard, her sucker punch was hardest;
Mokvar reappeared with green fire from the Black Harvest;
Gurtash got blindsided, we were down an artist;
        Made an offer Blackfuse can’t refuse.
Green-eyed wolf named Golmash acting pretty fishy;
Gurtash still needs training not to be so squishy;
Utvoch got promoted, but I kinda wish he
         And Dontrag weren’t always so confused.

EPIC VERSE and lemon squares, endless reader mail;
Ruekie getting ruekied; eternal minion fail;
Mortimer’s a badass; Shayari’s hunting sales;
         Earth Online guild chat is always strange.
FYV; #LadiesLoveMe, ’cause they’re not slumming;
Trolls are always trolling, dumbasses are dumbing;
500 down so far, a thousand more coming!
         Okay, maybe. Times could always change.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

Keep checking in, people. The EPIC DROPS are only just warming up.

LOK’TAR!

 

Further poetic meditations on SUPREME IDIOCY

books2

Okay, people, as promised, it’s time for our first installment of GARROSH’S POETRY CHALLENGE: The Make You Lazy Fuckers Do Some of the Work For a Change Edition. Although we’re probably going to just go with “Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge” for short, because the full title is probably a little cumbersome to try to cram onto the cover when the paperback comes out. ANYWAY. Luckily, not ALL of you lazy fuckers in question were COMPLETELY lazy this time around (but let’s make no mistake, some of you were, and I HAVE MY EYE ON YOU NOW, YES I SURE DO, SPARKY), so we’ve got candidates for this first edition.

So today’s proud contributor, whole WHOLE LIFE WILL NO DOUBT BE GRANTED NEW MEANING by her recognition here, is @LibFeathers, a regular Twitter contributor… um… participant… follow… erm… I KNOW HER MOSTLY FROM TWITTER, OKAY? Go follow her and get the fuck off my back.

Anyhow, here’s Libby’s contribution:

 

When Garrosh took over the Horde
two orcs caused some major discord.
A sergeant and scout –
such nonsense they’d spout.
Their behavior he truly deplored.

Sergeant Dontrag was never without
his old buddy Utvoch, the scout.
They joked, goofed, and roared.
They could not be ignored.
So Garrosh whacked them both right on the snout.



Not fucking bad, if I do say so myself. Of course, if I DID say so myself, as in said the actual POEM myself, it would be at least 280% more EPIC, but that’s no criticism of her because let’s be real, you people aren’t expected to perform at my level.

So, speaking of performing at my level and saying so myself, hold on to your asses, bitches, because it’s my turn, PICKING RIGHT UP WHERE LIBBY LEFT OFF:


So Dontrag and Utvoch blabbed on,
Till Garrosh just wished they were gone.
He chugged down a gallon,
Sent them to Stonetalon;
They came back; the whacks were back on.

Alas, the whacking did no good!
(It’s amazing how much they withstood.)
Despite all the pain,
D&U grew no brains;
Possibly due to heads made of wood.

When Gurtash rode off on wolfback,
Garrosh gathered up D, U, & Tak,
Decreed that this group’ll
Keep tabs on his pupil,
Just in case he came under attack.

That plan proved clairvoyant because
Gurtash doesn’t fight well; Utvoch does.
As reward for that stunt
He made Utvoch a Grunt,
Despite not knowing which one he was.

Garrosh tried to fix that with a spell,
But it didn’t work out very well;
Full of fail so contagious,
So disadvantageous,
Even arcane enchants go to fel.

Garrosh can’t make them shut up or shoo,
So for now some good earplugs will do.
I’ll repeat this forever:
You know you can’t ever
Spell dumbass without D and U.



EPIC VERSE!



THERE YOU GO, motherfuckers. DEAL WITH IT.

So, as I said the other day, this is going to be a weekly feature for National Poetry Month, so get your own poetic compositions in and see if I decide to grace them with the Garrosh treatment. SAME EPIC TIME, SAME EPIC WEBSITE.



[Keep those lyrical masterpieces coming! All submissions received by next Monday (April 11) will be eligible for next Thursday’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Feel free to use the email link in the upper right sidebar, or, contact form incoming…]

 

 

Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge IV

epicverse2

Okay, people, it’s that time of year — National Poetry Month — when yours truly regales the world by demonstrating yet again my mind-blowing, life-altering, pants-soiling talent in the field of dropping a killer rhyme. That can only mean one thing: a brand spanking new edition of GARROSH’S POETRY CHALLENGE, complete with brand spanking new EPIC VERSE, coming soon to a blog near you. Which is to say, THIS blog. BECAUSE WHAT OTHER BLOG WOULD YOU WASTE YOUR FUCKING TIME BEING NEAR?

This time around, I’m adding a new wrinkle to the challenge — and issuing a challenge to YOU, my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS, to step up and contribute to the cause as well. Because let’s face it, where EPIC VERSE is concerned, there are way too many GODDAMN FREELOADERS out there, so it’s about damn time you people GOT OFF YOUR LAZY ASSES AND EARNED YOUR DAMN KEEP.

SO. WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN IS—

HOLD UP.

HANG ON. I THINK THE FUCKING CAPS LOCK ON THIS THING IS BROKEN. FOR FUCK’S SAKE. LET ME GO GRAB SPAZZLE AND SEE IF HE CAN FIX IT. WHICH HE’D BETTER, BECAUSE OTHERWISE THE ONLY WAY I’M GOING TO BE ABLE TO EMPHASIZE MY POINTS IS WITH BOLD FACE OR ITALICS AND REALLY, THAT ON TOP OF ALL CAPS IS JUST FUCKNG OVERKILL.

SO OKAY. I’LL BE RIGHT BACK. SIT TIGHT AND DON’T GO ANYWHERE.

Okay, so now that that’s fixed, where was I? OH THAT’S RIGHT.

Hang on.

Testing.

Okay. We’re good.

CARRYING ON. So as I was saying, for THIS year’s poetry challenge, I’m going to put you people to work, because I figured, fuck, why should I be the only one who does something to honor the occasion?

So here’s the deal: Every Monday in April, you jokers are invited — read: REQUIRED — to cook up your very own EPIC VERSE in honor of National Poetry Month. (Or, you know, let’s face it, for most of you third-stringers, it’s probably something more like Uncommon Verse.) You can write about any topic you want, you can make it as long or as short as you want, you can bask in the magical glow of total creative freedom to your heart’s content. The only string attached is that it has to be an ORIGINAL poem — it can’t be something you’ve posted elsewhere, and OBVIOUSLY you can’t go steal someone ELSE’S poem, because there’s nothing more fucking pathetic than ripping off someone else’s intellectual property to make yourself look creative. (Cough.)

Submit your (ahem) masterpieces to me by the end of the day each Monday in April, either through email (link at the top of the right sidebar) or using the form at the bottom of this post.

Then, every Thursday, I’ll pick the best of the week’s submissions, put it up on the blog in a new post, and — most importantly, let’s be honest — offer my own EPIC VERSE response. Maybe I’ll write an original poem on the same topic. Maybe I’ll continue the story you started. Maybe I’ll take some facet of your poem as a jumping-off point. Maybe I’ll come up with something else entirely. THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS. One way or another, though, I’ll write something that plays off of your original, and I’ll try to emulate the form you used for your poem (limerick, sonnet, whatever) while I’m at it. I’ll even try not to embarrass you by blowing you out of the water too badly, but no hard promises on that one, because really.

And hey, if I get more than one poem I really like submitted in a given week, maybe you’ll get a bonus post or two. WHO’S TO SAY? THERE’S YOUR INCENTIVE TO BE PROLIFIC, MOTHERFUCKERS.

And as an added incentive — as if being immortalized forever on the internet in indelible pixels wasn’t fucking enough — anyone who manages to overcome their own crippling mediocrity to actually IMPRESS me with a submission that goes above and beyond the call of duty gets to go home with a pet of their choosing, stolen right out from under the nose of Breanni the pet vendor. (Yes, I know she’s in Dalaran. Yes, I know my people aren’t exactly welcome there these days. I HAVE MY WAYS, OKAY?)

So, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get writing! YOUR WARCHIEF AWAITS YOUR LYRICAL ATTEMPTS AT ADEQUACY.

 

Submit your masterpiece! First deadline is Monday, April 4.

 

Brand loyalty

eitrigg1

One last quick followup to the whole Pandaren Noodle Festival thing from the other day (where, I’ll have you know, my spicy talbuk noodles went over pretty damn well before D&U-plus-one managed to fall ass-backwards into a new and better form of post-felweed munchie food).

One thing from the festival that I’ve had rattling around in the ol’ noggin ever since then was when Ji was telling us about some Pandaren cooking contest called Iron Chef, and then Mokvar chimed in with the idea of doing our own version called Iron Horde Chef. Among some other possible names he kind of stumbled his way through. Which just goes to show you that Mokvar didn’t have the good sense to recognize the one real winner and latch onto it, which ONCE AGAIN shows you why yours truly is in charge around here.

Anyhow, the point of this isn’t the cooking contest thing, but that idea Mokvar had for a name. Because seriously, how badass does “Iron Horde” sound? IF YOU WERE THINKING “EXTREMELY BADASS, GARROSH,” THEN CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE CORRECT. And so, even though Shayari thought she was being funny with her little comment about rebranding, JOKE’S ON YOU, DOELING, because that’s exactly what I went and looked into. BECAUSE HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT SOUND, SERIOUSLY? Had a talk with Eitrigg this afternoon about how a name change would work in the books. And, hey, let me finish it this way, seeing as I’m still in kind of an EPIC VERSEy kind of mood after that last mailbag

 

I took it to my numbers guy and left him really pensive
To wrack his brain and make a try at changes so extensive,
So sweeping, spanning, nationwide, systemic, comprehensive,
That if they ever were applied, the win would be intensive.
I rallied reasons that I scried and argued in defense of
My badass plan, but woe betide: old man’s counteroffensive:
The filing, fees, and forms beside, red tape you can’t make sense of
Reveal the fact, can’t be denied — that shit ain’t inexpensive.

EPIC VERSE!

 

I mean, you wouldn’t think changing over all the stationery and business cards would cost that much, BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG. And that’s not even figuring in little miss you-know-who’s latest shopping trip.

Dammit, Eitrigg. Guess I better toss a few more Brawler’s Guild invites up on the AH.

More soon.

 

Monday mailbag

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Quite a bit of mail this time around, so no sense wasting time — let’s get right to it…

 

Greetings Warchief!

I just finished reading your blog from the beginning, which took me a couple of weeks. I was actually looking for a picture of Liadrin, NOT IN THE GURTASH WAY. It was then that I found a comic drawn by Gurtash that had Liadrin in it, specifically the one where we met Shayari, and I thought Garrosh’s daughter WHAT?! And that led to a lot of reading in my free time.

Why was I looking for Liadrin you ask? I make hero concepts for Heroes of the Maelstorm and wanted to add a picture to my post.

So my question is- have you ever played Heroes of the Maelstrom, it made from the same people as the creators of Earth Online and the concept is you take a bunch of people from there, other games, and our own world (because hey who is more badass than who we have running around). If not I recommend it as a change of pace from EO.

–Glen Bloodblade

So, on the one hand, welcome to the blog, Glen. Thanks for reading. On the other hand, what the fuck took you so long, Glen? I mean seriously. Apparently I have to go have a talk with someone in the publicity department. Do we have a publicity department? I would say we should create one if we don’t already, but knowing my luck, it would be packed with the usual fuckwittery that I constantly have surrounding me, so the publicists would run around “advertising” classified military secrets, while meanwhile I have a frigging ghost town of tumbleweeds turning out for my book signing. Again. And I don’t remember fucking seeing YOU there either, Glen, so don’t think for a second YOU’RE off the hook. You watch your ass, Glen. You watch your ass.

Anyway. I can’t say I’ve tried this Heroes of the Maelstrom thing, Glen. Mostly as a matter of self-preservation, really. I figure, Earth Online already sucks up so damn much of my time, the last thing I need is ANOTHER one of these damn games soaking up my days. So I haven’t really tried any other games. Other than that one time when Garona talked me into trying Second Azeroth for like five minutes, but that came to a screeching halt when I wandered into that region full of decked-out scalies, because fuck that shit. I guess I can’t say Spazzle didn’t try to warn me.

Still, this Heroes of the Maelstrom DOES sound pretty badass. Especially if they’re managing to build this into like an all-star team of characters from real life, Earth Online, and all the offshoot universes that they’ve managed to build into other games. Could be fun. I mean, really, just think of it… who’s gonna turn down the chance to have a big barroom brawl, and roll in with a team of Saurfang, Snake-Eyes, Batman, Chewbacca, and Optimus Prime?

(I’m… suddenly a little worried I was able to rattle all those names off the top of my head. Spirits help me, I’m spending too much time around Spazzle.)

 

Hey, Professor G!

I have another one!

A space goat came travelling on his ship from afar,”

–Valinora Lightshorn

Hey, Valinora. Thanks for writing, other than the fact that you’re apparently human, which would ordinarily draw a big ol’ FUCK YOU, except for the facts that (A) you had the good sense to recognize an EPIC VERSE asskicking when you saw it, and (2), speaking of EPIC VERSE, you seem to be stepping right into the role of setting up the ol’ masterpieces for me.

So, sure, fine by me. You want to keep giving me these prompts, I’ll keep making with the EPIC. Oh, and this one looks pretty rich, too… you want me to opine lyrically on the voyages of the space goats, huh? Okay, you asked for it. Strap in, bitches.

A space goat came traveling on his ship from afar,
Twas thousands of years since his mission did start;
He thought Oshu’gun was a good place to park,
And he fell from the sky like a star, a burning star…

The space goats were led by their prophet for years;
They’d fled their home planet of Argus in fear.
Old Velen resolved he was going to steer clear
Of his brothers, consumed by the Legion… so off they raced.

They flew to a planet; I cannot say which.
Kil’jaeden pursued; Velen played bait-and-switch.
Collateral damage — I know it’s a bitch,
But the space goats, they’re making their omelettes… so QQ, eggs.

And they QQ’ed, AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAH
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAH
They died at the hands of the Legion, while the drae’s got away.

From planet to planet, for thousands of years,
Old Velen kept bailin’, till he wound up here.
Then — who would’ve guessed it? — the Legion appeared.
And they were the gift that kept giving, so yeah, thanks, drae’s.

And that’s how the space goats wound up in this war,
But buyer beware if you build that rapport:
The first sign of trouble, they’re out the back door,
And they’ll stick you to pick up their mess, another time…

And you’ll QQ, AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAH
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAH
You’ll die at the hands of the Legion, while the drae’s get away.
          (You don’t have to hold your breath waiting!)
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAH
          (It’s just a matter of when, not if, believe me!)
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH
          (They won’t even share any of that OP tech of theirs or anything!)
AAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAAAAAH AAH AAH AAAAH
          (Not even the specs for the buses they’re gonna throw you under!)
You’ll die at the hands of the Legion, while the drae’s get away…

EPIC VERSE!

 

Yo, Warchief,

Once again, glad to see things worked out with Blackfuse. Now, though, I’ve got a little down-time – well, actually, a lot of down time – and could use a job or two to keep me on my toes. You got anything I can do for you?

–Grotee Metalbeard, Goblin Shaman

Huh. Grottee, are you feeling okay? I guess I shouldn’t jinx a good thing, but man, you got in and out of that letter faster than it takes Sarlin to ramble through her greeting.

Not complaining, mind you. Grats on making the short list of people around here who actually fucking LISTEN.

Anyhow, Grottee, since you were my source for that Tome of Dinomancy, which I’m still keeping safe and secure in my quarters where it can be ready to take back to Pandaria with me and safely out of range of any other, um, incendiary cooking experiments by Shayari… um… Where was I going with this? I think that sentence kind of got away from me once I became momentarily consumed with concern about my home possibly burning to the ground over an arcane-powered loaf of bread.

OH. RIGHT. Jobs I can send you on. And I assume you mean ACTUAL jobs that really have a useful purpose, not the random busywork jobs we give out to random noobs to keep them out of everyone’s hair. (You know, kill seven of these, collect six of these, five gold rings, everything but a partridge in a motherfucking pear tree. I have to admit, though, the ones that crack me up the most are the ones where we make people go digging through piles of poop, and the fuckers run right out and do it.)

So since you were my Tome source, Grottee, why don’t you head down to Pandaria and check in with General Nazgrim. Now, mind you, he’s under orders not to move ahead on Operation Dinosaurs Yippee Ki-Yay until I get down there in a week or so, but then, he was ALSO under orders not to move ahead before, and he still saw fit to screw his head squarely up his ass trying to go off the script. And got that lunkhead asshole Steve eaten and shat out by a dino while he was at it. (SPEAKING OF POOP QUESTS.)

 

Hey Big G!

Wish I had some good news from the Blackfuse Company, but-ah-I kinda had a weird run in a couple of days ago. Some blond elf kid came an’ bought my entire supply of leftover Face Melters. They just weren’t sellin’, even outta Booty Bay! So, this kid got ’em for a song. No, literally. He sang for ’em. Somethin’ about a dead horse. What was the name? Sparkles? Eh, it don’t matter. I didn’t even have a chance to explain the risks to him. Especially in that leather armor he was wearin’. He did sign the indemnity waiver that disavows me of all legal and moral responsibility though. Thank the laws of physics for mooks who don’t take the time to read, even if it, say, had directions to Gallywix’s secret gold an’ dirty magazine vault hidden away out there.

The weird part? Not even a day later, an’ I’m ridin’ my custom-fitted chopper ’round Ashenvale to go an’ help out your guys at the Warsong Lumber Mill with some defective shredders. All of a sudden, the forest shakes, glitter’s rainin’ down from the trees, an’ I come across one very charred but very alive tauren woman an’ that elf kid! She was screamin’ an’ yellin’ about “That’s the last you’ll see of old Magatha!” while limpin’ away through the trees! That ain’t somethin’ ya see every day! An’ that damn kid, he just didn’t give up! Charred to hell, clothes burnt to cinders, an’ he hobbles after her, firin’ off Face Melter after Face Melter! I had to run for cover because I did NOT want to be on the receivin’ end of that blast. Between explosions an’ hackin’ up glitter, I heard him yellin’ “I AM JOHNNY AWESOME! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” I don’t think that elf’s right in the head. HE TOOK OUT MY DAMNED CHOPPER WITH HIS EXPLOSIVES! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG A WALK IT IS BACK TO BILGEWATER HARBOR WHEN YOU’VE GOT LITTLE LEGS?! I’m currently camped out at the rear gate. Maybe I should pick up the parts for a new chopper while I’m in the neighborhood, huh?

–Glessee “Glitch” Sparkbolt

Okay, Glessee, ordinarily I would give you some obligatory “hello”s and “how are you”s, but right now we’ve got more important things to deal with. Namely, let me make sure I’m getting all this straight. So… what you’re telling me is… the leather-wearing, sparkle-pony-mourning JOHNNY AWESOME —

johnnyawesome

WHO I HATE, ever since he helped Magatha that time — bought up a stash of defective weapons… and then used them, for whatever spirits-forsaken reason, to go after fucking MAGATHA GRIMTOTEM — WHO I HATE MORE, ever since, well, seriously, where do I even fucking START? — and the whole thing ended up with the two of them burned to a crisp and charred all to hell and stumbling all cinder-like through Ashenvale?

Okay, dude, you know what? I know that for the last, I don’t know, FOREVER, I’ve held an unwavering stance of “FUCKING TIME TRAVEL,” but I might have to make an exception here, because goddamn would I love to go back and witness that happening live. I could spread that sight over bread and eat it for fucking dinner. Hot damn. HA! <snort>

 

Hey, Garrosh,

Glad to see you still have new and inventive ways to embarrass yourself in front of your daughter. Congrats on alienating the only family you have.

–Varian Wrynn, Stormwind

Oh, hey, Varian, Nice to see you’ve got time in your schedule to write, seeing as I’m sure sucking as hard as you do must take a load of time and effort. Actually, speaking of which, let me cover this before I forget. I AM kind of in EPIC VERSE mode today, and I know you’ve always appreciated my handiwork, so here, here’s one for you on the house:

Two roads diverged in the Elwynn wood
A mere stone’s cast from House of Wrynn,
And for a while, there alone you stood
And weighed, down one path, the likelihood
Of sights of dread at the Goldshire Inn.

You turned to the other winding path
To the northern abbey’s questing hubs.
Even you could do the mental math:
In Goldshire, your brain would need a bath;
Abbey north would just be full of scrubs.

You chose the north road to navigate,
Where fewer leaves had been trodden back.
A visit to Goldshire Inn could wait;
Perhaps one day if you had a date:
You doubted if you should ever come back.

One day you’ll tell this with much ado;
You’ll pardon if I spoil the suspense:
Two roads diverged in the wood, and you–
You chose the one less traveled through.
But that made no difference, because you still suck.
Fuck you, Varian.

Again I say — EPIC VERSE!

But before I give you the finger and send you on your way, I should probably address your point. I mean, you DID pull your head out of your ass long enough to… actually, now that I look back at what you wrote, you didn’t really pull your head out of your ass for that at all, did you? Probably just as well, seeing as having your head constantly jammed up your ass just means your face will be close enough to kiss it goodbye next time I see you. But, either way, I should probably address your point, assheaded though it was.

So, speaking of being an embarrassment to your kid, well, here, let me let one of your fellow readers make my point for me…

 

Lok’tar Warchief Hellscream,

I write to you, not as an ally of Stormwind. Seriously, fuck that idiot King. I’d have half a mind of giving him the Garona Special, but she is one of the few things I fear. I write to you to extend a hand of peace and understanding, being a child of two worlds like your own daughter. My mother was a human. My father was a Blackrock Orc. I know not of what became of either of my parents. As for my peace offering, well, following in the footsteps of another halfbreed rogue does have its benefits! If only I understood these bizarre goblin and gnomish devices better, I could have captured him singing one of those annoying Earth Online pop songs!

prettyvarian

Enjoy!

–Shakis Addington

So… Shakis… I mean, I’m sure there’s… hehe… there’s plenty for me to… heh… to comment on your family background… <chuckle> …and I could probably make a… hehehe… a smartassy comment about being offered a “Garona Special” of my own a time or two, but… ha… hahaha… I mean… <chortle> …oh seriously, you know I can’t get past that… that… THAT!

HAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA!

Ahem. Okay. So… um…

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Heh. Hehehehehehe.

Okay! Hehehe… Okay, so, to recap for all of you, I just had one reader notify me that Johnny Awesome bought a load of unstable armaments, went after Magatha Grimtotem, and got both of them blown nearly to the Nether in the process. And THEN, and then…

prettyvarian

HeheheHEHEHEHE HAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

I mean really, dude, do you realize… a shark could bite my dick off right now, and this would STILL count as an awesome day.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…

That’s it for now. I just… I need to go and… like… I don’t know, do something happy.

More soon.

<GIGGLESNORT>

 

[The Warchief’s next mailbag will be Monday, April 4. Send your questions, comments, or other missives to Garrosh via or email or, as always, using the handy-dandy for below:]