Category Archives: EPIC VERSE
#500 GIANT-SIZED (not really) ANNIVERSARY (kind of) SPECIAL
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
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
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
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
Quite a bit of mail this time around, so no sense wasting time — let’s get right to it…
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.)
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!
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.)
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 —
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>
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…
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!
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…
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:]
Monday mailbag
Okay, time to dip into the ol’ mailbag. You all know how this works, so here we go…
Thank you so much for your generous response. Lyssa was so happy that she got a little frisky, which always makes me happy, you know what I mean. 😉 (She is a cat most of the time, after all.) I sympathize with your frustrations due to expenditures- having been a mother myself once (back when I was still “alive”, though not anymore, may the Goddess curse that human Arthas), I know all about the kinds of bills teens can ring up. (You really do need huge heaping mounds of gold. Like, a dragon’s hoard worth.)
In appreciation, please find enclosed your very own PMS device. It is soft and fluffy and purrs very convincingly, and it may prove a distraction for Shayari as well, if she likes kittens. (Especially if it is wearing a bow or ribbons.)
PMS? That stands for Personal Mylune Survival device. Why? What did you think it meant?
In any event, having been told that the idiot human Varian sometimes reads these letters and your responses, I have a message for him.
Varian- Fuck you! You are a moron- when a ten-thousand year old-plus matriarch (that means ruler) of an entire race of people (two, if you count my ancestors) nods and asks you to tell her what to do, she is NOT SERIOUS, she is MOCKING YOU. Do you really think that you have seen more combat, acquired more experience, discovered more tactics, and learned more strategy than her in all her years? She even only tolerates Malfurion (on the rare occasions when he stops napping) because his furry bear feet keep her toes warm- she has plenty of other options in a nation where the men usually and regularly go into comas for centuries.
From TWO Elven nations: FUCK YOU, VARIAN! (Also, I think Mylune would be a perfect wife for you. Or maybe Magatha.)
(Apologies to you, Dear Warchief, I’ll try to keep it shorter next time, if there is one)
–Sintra E’Drien (and her mate Lyssa Nightblossom)
ps. Thalassian Brandy tastes very good. 😉
Hey again, Sintra. Okay, so you know what? There were a bunch of things in this letter that I was going to respond to, but they all kind of got lost in this big blur of FUCK YOU, VARIAN. Especially the part about Tyrande Who’s-Her-Whisper actually mocking ol’ King Ponytail when he thinks he’s being all badass and shit. And the part about him being a moron. And the part about him getting paired off with Mylune. Mind you, if miracles of entertainment happened and Varian DID get himself hitched to Mylune, we’d have to make sure that nobody hooked him up with one of those PMS devices, because we can’t rob ourselves of the hilarity by letting Varian distract her with something small and furry. Plus, trust me, I’ve met Varian — dude has enough PMS all by himself, without anybody sending him the anti-Mylune device.
Although, this does occur to me, there might be a market in developing a line of anti-whoever gear. Like the Mylune one is a no-brainer — make something small and furry that makes cutesy purring noises, then when you see Mylune, toss it one direction and get your ass moving in another. Golden. But you could totally market a bunch of these. Like you could build an anti-Tirion device that’s like a mannequin with a face that looks all interested, that plays a recording of someone going “Tell me more! I want to hear all about it!” Or you could do an anti-Velen device that’s just a big sign that says “Burning Legion invading — planetary exit this way!” Or you could do an anti-Magatha device that basically consists of Gorehowl chopping her into little tiny pieces because fuck her.
Obviously, I’m just spitballing here.
Oh, and also: agreed on the Thalassian Brandy.
Greetings, Warchief, and Light’s blessing to you!
As that last letter caused quite a stir, what with a possible war on my hands, as well as having to use an ink substitute (it’s scorpion poison, so don’t lick it!) I’m afraid that I cannot convey quite as much information onto you as I would like. But, as literal a lady as I may be, I have picked up the hints and I have no doubt that this is exceptionally great news to you! Nonetheless, I still have time to explain the situation before I begin.
I have my ways and means regarding paper, the first being the nearby logging camp. Did you know that place was infested with spiders quite a bit, recently? Now, I am a woman of few fears, and I am hesitant to say that spiders are among those few fears. They just have too many legs. The natives of Azeroth have proven that only two is necessary! Not to mention they have no real function other than devour more threatening prey, but even so, that’s disgusting and they are as good as abberations to me. Nonetheless, the spiders have been vanquished and our lumber is safe again! Not that it never was, of course. I simply no longer fear strolling down and requesting more wood for paper! Since the Kal’dorei have no authorities over the wood in the Western Plaguelands, I think I shouldn’t have to worry too much about a war. As a precaution, I asked both my lovely Anaria Moonseeker and Miss L’Rayne why the forests were so sacred to them. They both laughed and I never really got my answer. Of course, we were all after a few cups at the time, so I might try approaching them again when we’re sober. Nothing against my fellow Crusader or my sweet lady, not to mention the woman who raised me, but Night Elves are a peculiar people. Mind you, if they started ravaging Eversong Woods, I’d be miffed. I also am aware that this may draw the Night Elves’ attention back to yourself, but I’m sure you have the means to deal with it. After all, there are several Horde leaders but only one Warchief!
As for the scorpion poison, well, there are ways of compressing that to make it more visible on paper. It’s the same colour as the ink that I used before, thanks to a solution Anaria prepared, but it can still be toxic if you were to eat it. Since I’ve used it quite finely, you may simply experience some disorientation or sickness, but I don’t see that that being a problem, unless you eat paper. I just thought I’d let you in on that, in case you DID eat paper. Who am I to judge the Warchief’s culinary preferences? This piece of paper would be better off being tucked away and not eaten. I still have a fine stock of that scorpion poison, so now it’s only a matter of keeping the lumber mill going! I thought that this would be sufficient as a substitute for the ink that is slowly becoming less obtainable. I hope that the lovely young shaman Rue’kara can get her stationaries back soon! How unfortunate that her own letters are limited to such a pulp. She probably has so much to say, poor child. Anyhow! That’s that, and all problems solved!
It would seem a certain metal-beared goblin had quite a bit to say regarding my letters to you, sir. I, for one, am irate, but the ways of the Light have taught me that anger and resentment will only lead to a manifestation of regret and ever-building hatred, so I will bury the hatchet for now and try not to reference said goblin while the Light grants me the strength to repress such hatred. While this anger is still surging mightily, I have to agree on one point that he made; I haven’t really been of much help, have I?
Well, even though I was not present, I know of your visits to Hearthglen through the town chatter, even though I was oblivious of the events that were taking place. See, I was travelling at the time, which I tend to do every few months or so, and when I came back, I did notice a sort of difference. A kind of hush, as though I’d just arrived after a tragic event had taken place. I felt inclined to ask the Highlord, and I did, but even he was at a loss for words, and that is truly saying something. I mean, really. Time travel is…something I am somewhat familiar with. That being said, I know of a bronze dragon, although the identity is to be kept secret for her sake. I haven’t actually travelled backwards through time, nor forwards, but I visited the Caverns of Time, and I saw some of the rifts here and there pulling and tugging, as though the place felt a turn when I entered it. Somehow, I feel slightly connected to it. It’s a sensation that I cannot describe well, but there’s a familiarity about it that I am trying to make sense of, as though I’d been there before. Maybe an alternate me? Wow, I wonder what she does for a living. My bronze friend gave me a little information on how time works, and how she’s travelled on it previously, but as you may have learned, bronze dragons are as cryptic as any old soothsayer or rambling prophet, (which is extremely annoying since they might actually have ANSWERS for us, whereas prophets just ramble on and on and on…) and since I can’t get any answers from her regarding that particular feeling, I have dropped the matter entirely and haven’t been there since. Still, I’ve never stopped wondering…
While this is irrelevant to what you and this doctor Faranell you mentioned had to experience, I simply want to extend a warning, given everything I have learned thus far through my readings of history. The Old Gods corrupted one Aspect, Deathwing, but he was not the only one that was used to their advantage. The Old Gods want nothing more than to see our world in endless agony, and so they invaded Nozdormu’s realm and succeeded in opening a rift in time, so that they could alter the events of the War of the Ancients and give the dark lord, Sargeras, a fresh attempt to enter the world. If not for the efforts of Malfurion Stormrage, these cursed entities would have succeeded, and Azeroth would have been lost to madness. The Bronze Dragonflight are a mighty race, sir, but we all have our weaknesses, even Nozdormu himself. Had he suspected such a travesty, he surely would have prevented it.
We know that there are multiple timelines out there, and we know that, without the assistance of the Bronze Dragonflight, the events of the entwined timeways wouldn’t have been resolved. Be wary, good sir. You must place your trust in those you know can be trusted, and no-one else. If the Bronze Dragonflight fell to the same corruption as Neltharion, our world would be undone as you know it. After all, Algalon had already decided that it wasn’t worth saving. Let us prove him wrong. Let us protect Azeroth as best we can.
With regards to being of any use to you, I’d merely have you know that I do not plan on leaving Hearthglen for quite some time, so should you decide to make a visit in the meantime, know that I shall stand at your service and grant you the hospitality which you seek. It’s the least I can do. Thank you for your time.
P.S Did you really get a Zandaliri troll to perform a lapdance for you? How much did it cost?
Go in peace, good sir.
–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade
Hoo boy. Here we go.
Hello again, Sarlin. Nice to…hear from you. Again.
As that last letter caused quite a stir,
As in, people stirring up poisonous drinks to kill themselves with.
what with a possible war on my hands,
Well, you know, the many, many trees you’ve wiped out to make paper were only going to take so much.
as well as having to use an ink substitute (it’s scorpion poison, so don’t lick it!)
I really wonder what you think I do with my time that you felt this warning was necessary.
I’m afraid that I cannot convey quite as much information onto you as I would like.
Oh thank the spirits. Maybe we’ll manage to be in and out of here in less than a month.
Nonetheless, I still have time to explain the situation before I begin.
Well, so much for that idea. Here we go, kids. Grab a drink, and maybe a snack, and maybe the next two or three days’ meals, and strap in.
Did you know that place was infested with spiders quite a bit, recently? Now, I am a woman of few fears, and I am hesitant to say that spiders are among those few fears. They just have too many legs. The natives of Azeroth have proven that only two is necessary!
Dude, I fucking hate spiders. They’re all gross and crawly and, like you said, they have way more legs than any self-respecting person should ever have, and let’s not even get started on the eyes. I fucking hate things with creepy extra eyes. Plus there was that time up in Stonetalon when the head troll dude in Malaka’jin told me there was some Queen Silith who wanted to meet with me, only GUESS WHAT, turns out she was this GIANT FUCKING SPIDER. LONG LIVE THE FUCKING QUEEN. Except for the part where I killed her.
As a precaution, I asked both my lovely Anaria Moonseeker and Miss L’Rayne why the forests were so sacred to them. They both laughed and I never really got my answer.
It’s the glitter. Night elves love them some glitter, and the trees in their forests leak the stuff like sap. Someday I want to find out just what the fuck is the deal with that, like what kind of trees ooze fucking GLITTER out of their bark, and why they only seem to grow around nigh elves.
I mean, I’m pretty sure Thalassian Brandy would like to know. She could have a personal supply of the stuff right there on hand.
As for the scorpion poison, well, there are ways of compressing that to make it more visible on paper. It’s the same colour as the ink that I used before, thanks to a solution Anaria prepared, but it can still be toxic if you were to eat it. Since I’ve used it quite finely, you may simply experience some disorientation or sickness, but I don’t see that that being a problem, unless you eat paper.
Wait… disorientation? You mean to say you can be HIGH on this shit? No wonder there are always so many trolls always hanging around the inscription place in the Drag.
I hope that the lovely young shaman Rue’kara can get her stationaries back soon! How unfortunate that her own letters are limited to such a pulp. She probably has so much to say, poor child.
Yeah, you know what? I think you’ve got the “so much to say” pretty well covered. Let’s not drag Ruekie into this.
It would seem a certain metal-beared goblin had quite a bit to say
Hi, pot. This is Sarlin. You’re black.
I, for one, am irate, but the ways of the Light have taught me that anger and resentment will only lead to a manifestation of regret and ever-building hatred,
The next time you two chat, could you ask the Light what the fuck it’s talking about?
I have to agree on one point that he made; I haven’t really been of much help, have I?
Oh geez, why do I get the feeling she’s about to start Dontragging? Like, even more?
I was travelling at the time, which I tend to do every few months or so, and when I came back, I did notice a sort of difference. A kind of hush, as though I’d just arrived after a tragic event had taken place. I felt inclined to ask the Highlord, and I did, but even he was at a loss for words, and that is truly saying something. I mean, really.
STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES, SHOCKING NEWS WITH AN IRONIC LOOK-WHO’S-TALKING CHASER
I haven’t actually travelled backwards through time, nor forwards, but I visited the Caverns of Time, and I saw some of the rifts here and there pulling and tugging, as though the place felt a turn when I entered it. Somehow, I feel slightly connected to it. It’s a sensation that I cannot describe well, but there’s a familiarity about it that I am trying to make sense of, as though I’d been there before. Maybe an alternate me? Wow, I wonder what she does for a living.
I’ll bet you anything she’s not a mime.
We know that there are multiple timelines out there, and we know that, without the assistance of the Bronze Dragonflight, the events of the entwined timeways wouldn’t have been resolved. Be wary, good sir.
Dude, are you seriously giving ME a speech on not getting mixed up in timeline fuck-uppery? Hey, I’ve got an idea, how about I get Faranell in here and you can give him a whole speech about making sure he doesn’t get himself unstuck in time for like a zillion years. Earth Online says hello:
With regards to being of any use to you, I’d merely have you know that I do not plan on leaving Hearthglen for quite some time,
Well at least I know where not to go for the next month or two.
Thank you for your time.
Well you fucking well burned up enough of it.
Speaking of which. When you write back — BECAUSE I KNOW YOU WILL — you are officially getting the modified Twitter treatment. Are you reading carefully? Go grab some of your not-for-snack-time paper and scorpion ink, and write this down: YOU ARE OFFICIALLY ON A 250-WORD LIMIT FOR ALL FUTURE LETTERS. Or, what the hell, if you want to go OVER 250 words, whatever, knock yourself out, but I am going to STOP READING at word #250. Are we clear on this? Are we good? Okay? Good.
Fucking hell. I don’t get paid enough for this job. I really don’t.
Greetings once again Warchief Hellscream. I come bearing ill tidings from Towlong Steppes. I was out leading some of your Horde adventurers through and giving them a Lay of the land while on the way for clean up duty on the Isle of Thunder. Along the way, we passed by a giant eel, G’nathus. The undead warrior and orc shaman decided that it might be a bit of fun to go and test themselves against such a creature. I agreed, if only to keep them alive against such a beast. At first, it seemed to go very well. The warrior took electrocution like nothing I had ever seen before! Then a squid came from nowhere and decided to see if my totems were filled with beer (they’re keg-shaped, you see)! That sadly broke all my concentration and we were forced to flee, but not without some injuries. The poor shaman was smacked around, almost worse than the warrior! Thank the Celestials for ahnks, by the way!
Before this old man babbles for too much longer, I must regretfully inform you that the Shado-Pan has decided to bill the Horde for the loss of precious reagents and my totems. Not that I require the financial compensation, but Lord Zhu insists! Really! He started going on about the outsiders bringing ruin to our land again. It is a very…tiring speech.
Regretfully yours,
–Shen Wei Pureblossom
You do not get to talk about “tiring speeches” immediately after Sarlin’s letter.
That said… Hang on, you mean I’m getting stuck with ANOTHER bill? Is this how things work for that panda-Tirion Zhu guy? Something happens that you don’t like, so you ring up an itemized list to send along to whoever you can? Not to mention, I just finished LOOKING OVER the aforementioned itemized list, and are you fucking KIDDING me? What are your totems fucking MADE of, diamonds?! I thought they were listing the price in coppers when I saw that shit. What the fuck is the exchange rate down there? Does 500 gold mean something different to you people than it does up here? Did you fucking switch to the metric system or some shit? WTF?!
And let’s not even get STARTED on the reagents! I’m going over this list, and there is LITERALLY nothing on here that I can’t walk over to the Valley of Wisdom and buy for pocket change. DON’T BELIEVE ME, COME ON BY. DISCOUNT ANKHS ON ME.
Actually.
Hang on.
It just occurred to me — if this invoice of yours even REMOTELY resembles the actual prices of reagents down there in Pandaria, and it’s not just Zhu’s-his-face gouging me with like an 8000% markup, this might be an opportunity to put a dent in the ol’ Shayari-induced cash flow problem. Because if I can buy this shit HERE for like 20 silver a pop, then bring it on down to Pandaria and sell it to you pandas for a hundred times that, and STILL be way below Scarf Boy’s asking price… Hmm…
Spirits help me, I’m starting to think like a goblin. CONGRATULATIONS, UNIVERSE, YOU WIN AGAIN.
Meanwhile… you mean to say, you were going about your business, and a fucking SQUID came swimming over just to try to dip into your keg totems? What kind of a fucking dumbass squid is that? Is it some kind of Dontrag squid? Because that seems like something he would do. Or Utvoch. Whichever one of them it is. Maybe the other one was the eel or something. Eelvoch, maybe. Ellvoch and Dontrag-the-Squid. Why the fuck not. Seems to match up brainpower-wise.
I’m Valinora. Don’t ask any questions. I’m here for one thing and one thing only; EPIC VERSE.
I had a scroll through the mailbags and I saw a little introduction suggested by one of your readers. Hope you don’t mind if I do the same. By the way, you OWNED Varian. I dare you to go up against Thrall next time. Hate that guy. He didn’t steal anybody’s bacon, he stole all their pigs, forced them to make the bacon and then claimed to have made it himself. Ugh.
Anyway. A topic that I’m sure you’ll have no hesitation with, given your…knowledge of felweed.
“By now, he had one joint too many,”
Go!
–Valinora “Lightshorn”, Stormwind City.
Oh, hey, check it — somebody who gets right to the point. It’s like you’re the anti-Sarlin or something. First off, though:
Now granted, you didn’t exactly endear yourself to me with the Garry thing (and I mean, seriously, people, isn’t it getting old at this point? Even the basic campfire joke fizzled out faster than this) (Get it? Campfire? Fizzled out? BA DUM BUM), and plus there’s the small matter that you appear to be HUMAN. On the other hand, you DID get to the point of your letter before wiping out enough trees to render hundreds of poor disadvantaged night elf strippers glitterless, and then you topped that off by having the good sense to know a good ol’ EPIC VERSE thrashing of King Vajayjay when you see it. Additional kudos for getting a good jab in at Thrall, because man oh man has HE been on a one-way trip to Insufferable City. Dude might as well take his vainglorious ass over to the vaingloryhole and fucking blow himself there, at the rate he’s going.
Anyway, you got to the point, you delivered a good burn on EACH side of the faction divide, and what the hell, I’m not one to pass up a chance to lay down a little EPIC VERSE. So here we go. YOU ASK, GARROSH DELIVERS.
By now, he had one joint too many.
(Point of fact, he’d gone over by twenty.)
Came down with giggle fits,
Would have lost all his wits,
If to start with he’d even had any.
In his stupor he thought he’d go swimming,
With a head that with felweed was brimming;
So he and his buddy —
Whose mind, too, was muddy —
Jumped in while their dimwits were dimming.
So in their felweed-fueled delusion,
They swam off to sea in seclusion;
They went round and round,
And when they were found,
They managed to cause more confusion:
I don’t know how much felweed they did,
But one moron thought he was a squid,
While his buddy, with zeal,
Thought that he was an eel,
While around in the waters they slid.
So when they encountered bystanders,
They thought that they’d caught a gander
Of a beer-party kegger,
So up like a beggar,
The stupid squid chose to meander.
He made a big mess seeking brew,
Now I’m stuck with the bill for those two.
I’m pissed off, but whatever —
You know you can’t ever
Spell “dumbass” without D and U.
You asked for some rhymes, so I wrote ’em,
About morons who smashed up some totems.
They’re going to need hearses —
At least some good nurses,
’Cause they’re gonna get stabbed in their scrotums.
EPIC VERSE!
Okay, that’s going to do it for this time. As always, keep those letters coming!
[Next mailbag December 7! E-mail the Warchief using the link at the top of the right sidebar, or use the handy form below:]
Monday mailbag
Just got back to Orgrimmar a little while ago. I checked in with the shamans over in the Valley of Wisdom about Gurtash. They’re still working on him, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to have anything solid to say for a while yet. All we really know right now is that that spectral minion got him good…the fucker managed to get a good rip in on the kid in exactly the wrong areas, the head and chest. They made it sound like they’re not going to able to say much for sure for a while still, so apparently I’m just going to have to kill time till then. So, I guess this is as good a time as any to clear out some more of this mail backlog.
So… the last mailbag made an impression for sure, what with it including a letter from some goblin guy that ran on for so long that I’m fairly sure I still won’t finish reading it until sometime next Tuesday. With that in mind…
Dat quite da letter, Grottee Metalbeard. I’d recommend splittin’ it into more paragraphs next time, though. Ol’ Garry — *quickly scratches out the former and substitutes in “Warchief” — can only handle so much.
–Alayea
P.S. Though Fordring say he speechless, he sure ain’t one ta talk. =P
Oh, Fordring is one to talk, Alayea. To talk, and talk, and talk, and oh, by the way, did I mention talk? But yeah…that was a letter and a half last time. Actually, it was more like 6.2 letters. Maybe more. No less, though. You’d be amazed what a difference even a tenth of a letter makes. 6.1 would contain surprisingly little content.
Eheheh, sorry about all that Warchief. I was on a Kaja’cola binge when I wrote my letter.
Anyway, I’ll drop Blackfuse a line to let him know you’re interested. Protip: The key to keeping his attention is to keep mentioning money.
–Grottee Metalbeard
Oh, and check it out, look who’s back. So…how much Kaja’cola did you choke down before you wrote that letter? Is there any left? Anywhere? Or is that shit just really potent? I can’t say I’ve ever tried the stuff, so I’m not really in much position to say. Sounds like it has the same kind of effect as that kafa stuff from Pandaria that Ruekie’s always drinking. Man, you should see her with a couple cups of that stuff in her. Haste buff like you wouldn’t believe. I’m at least 50% sure one more cup would shave all her spells down to instant cast.
Anyway, yeah, feel free to contact that Blackfuse dude for me. Might be a good idea for you let me know where I can reach him so I can see about making contact directly, too. Is he over in the goblin part of town in Orgrimmar, or up in Azshara, or doing business somewhere else? Either way, yeah, I kind of figured the way to his heart was through his wallet. I mean, come on, he’s a goblin. I know how you guys are wired.
Oh, and before all you crybabies get your panties in a bunch about me saying that, because racist this and stereotype that and boo hoo hoo, I give you Exhibit A:
Got another question for ya! What’s the big deal with my fellow Horde members shirking their duty in Alterac Valley? Are the Frostwolves really a bunch of pansies now that Big T went all hippy peace and love, or are they just scared of the beards on them Stormpikes? If it’s the beards, I totally got an answer for that!
You see my company, Sparkbolt Enterprises, has recently come into some great explosives. And by great, I mean “how in the burning hells is this stuff still legal?!” We pack it up nice and tight in the best elementium plating we can find (and boy howdy was there a TON of that stuff lying around when Deathwing was killed off), primed and ready to be launched at the face of any Alliance foe you can imagine! I like to call it the Sparkbolt Facemelter™! For best results, aim at dwarves or the sissy pandas that went for the Blue and Gold. It’s like watching an explosive sheep in an oil refinery! Just watch out for friendly fire and people within range of the discharge explosion. Also, wear heavy protective armor when setting one of these bad boys off! My, uh, my cousin Vinny didn’t and his face literally got melted. Makes the family reunions awkward, I can tell ya that much. 10,000 gold will get ya 100 quality Facemelters, primed and ready to roll! (shipping and handling is an extra 5,000. We disavow any responsibility, legal, moral, or otherwise, for misuse or improper storage of our products.)
*attached is a handy order form and catalogue for other Sparkbolt products*
Pleasure doing business with ya,
–Glessee “Glitch” Sparkbolt, Founder and CEO of Sparkbolt Enterprises
Yeah. So. Thanks?
But okay…I want to make sure I’m following this correctly, because listen, if there’s one guy you DON’T have to sell on the idea of blowing up Allies, it’s me. Like it’s really, REALLY me. So… you’re trying to sell me explosives that you have to armor yourself to the teeth just to use, and still stay out of the range…hang on, what IS the “range of the discharge explosion”? Like how far away from this thing do you have to BE? Because you’re making it sound pretty damn huge, which would mean that it would be nearly impossible even to USE the damn thing without being taken out by it. Which means the only way I could even put these things into action would be to use my own people as living cannon fodder, and send them out there armed with these things to blow up targets knowing full well they’re gonna get melted themselves. Which sounds like it’s straight out of Psychotic War of Attrition 101.
So what I’m telling you is, I’ll go as high as 8000 for the pack of 100, shipped, but you’re not getting a copper more than that.
Fucking price-gouging goblins.
Being a big fan of your poetic skills, I just have to say,
There once was a goblin from Ratchet.
Go!
–Whizzy Greaseknuckle, from a neutral coastal town that may or may not be in the Northern Barrens
The fuck is up with all the goblins this time around? Is there some kind of coupon going around online for a “free with proof of your letter to Garrosh” deal or some shit?
Anyhow, though, you know what? You’re on.
There once was a goblin from Ratchet
Whose wits weren’t as sharp as a hatchet.
She launched a Facemelter™,
Ducked in her bomb shelter,
But, sadly, neglected to latch it.
EPIC VERSE!
I am Lantresor of the Blade. Perhaps you do not remember me, though I do remember you. If you do remember me, it’s probably about how my clan, the Boulderfist ogres, attacked the village of your friend Jorin Deadeye – which they did, but the peace settlement I made with you should make that square.
At any rate, I’m writing in from the Burning Blade Ruins because I noticed you have a daughter – Shayari, was it? – who is half-orc and half-draenei. That makes at least three of us in this world, I see – her, Garona Halforcen and myself. I am the inversion of your daughter, physically our unique my body is that of an orc with draenei traits; notably, I am taller than an average orc, my shoulders are broader and my skin is an off-blue colour.
I sympathise with her experiences – they are not unlike those of my own. My father was a draenei scout, my mother an orc of the Burning Blade Clan. Sadly, the blood war between my parents’ people came when I was young. My mother raised me alone as best she could, my father being too dead to help, but in the end, I am half-orc and half-draenei – because of which, in the end I would be seen as neither.
I had barely completed my rite of passage when my enemies in the clan had me cast out shortly after they came to power. My father’s people, as you can imagine, could not bare to look upon me, for I was a reflection of their death. I was fortunate enough to still find a place in the Horde, where I would serve under the banner of two warchiefs. Now, though, I bow to no one. Instead, I am a ruler. A ruler of ogres.
Most of our kind were wiped out decades ago, though who was most responsible I do not know. I do know, however, that most would live their lives as outcasts, labelled and cast aside. Victims of their heritage. This world is no good to those of us who are half- anything. We stand forever apart; few know us, and fewer still understand us. For that reason I carry immense respect for Rexxar and his kind, the Mok’Nathal. They have lived as outcasts even longer than I have, yet they remain strong, if insular and distrusftul.
I write this letter not seeking your pity, but as a gesture to your daughter. The things she and I have been forced to learn, the things we have endured and suffered, the rejection, the shame… they are things only the children of orcs and draenei can know. If she has lived this long, it is a testament to her strength and independence; not all such children had it in them to take on the challenges and struggles our unique heritage presents. I, for one, applaud her, inasmuch as that means anything to either of you.
As an addendum, tell your daughter the next time you see her that she is not alone as a half-orc/draenei. Tell her that Lantresor of the Blade knows and understands – and finally, that if she ever needs my aid, or that of Boulderfist, she has only to ask.
–Lantresor of the Blade
Huh. Well THAT’S someone I wasn’t expecting to get a letter from. Not least of all because I wouldn’t have guessed Lantresor read the blog. Actually, hang on – the ogres out in Nagrand have INTERNET access? Grizzle Fucking Gearslip can’t set up a wireless network in Domination Point that doesn’t make the computer literally urinate on the desk, but the fucking OGRES on a shattered planet have GOOGLE? How the hell did THAT happen?!
Anyway.
I do remember you, Lantresor. Although, not for nothing, but I wouldn’t go so far as calling Jorin my “friend.” Yeah, we both grew up in Garadar, but he was…well, he was always kind of a dick. Especially once he got wind of some of the uglier details about Grom, and decided it would be a hoot of a good time to keep reminding me of them at every turn. So, you know, that whole thing where you rolling his village. Boo hoo. Fuck ’im.
Anyhow, thanks for reaching out about Shayari. I haven’t really thought that much about the whole half-breed thing, but it probably makes sense that she’d do well to have someone she can talk to who’s in the same boat. And considering the only other option for that would be Garona, well…yeah… I don’t really know you, Lantresor, but I’m pretty sure you’d be the better option. Seeing as I haven’t seen any overt signs of fucking migraine-inducing crazy from you. Plus, Garona seems to get all cranky whenever anybody mentions Shay around her. Who knows.
As it happens, I think one of my trainees is on track to be around your neck of the woods soon, so if it’s all good by you, I may have her swing by your way to introduce herself. Think of her as sort of an emissary, entrusted with a crucial matter of cross-cultural diplomacy because…well…she was going to be in the neighborhood anyway. So if a young orc by the name of Mirembe comes toddling on over, try not to have your ogre buddies step on her. She’s not as squishy as a lot of kids her age, and more than a little better at shield-slamming, but still, you know, why court trouble?
And speaking of whom…
I know I’ve been writing in a lot, but it’s better to hear how my training goes here than in some silly report, right? And since you asked, I’m a Warsong orc too! My parents were grunts in Grom’s squad during the Third War. The necklace wasn’t from my first kills, so don’t worry!
I made it to Nagrand at last! Your Greatmother is awesome! She welcomed me, sat me down, and gave me a big bowl of clefthoof stew. I think I might gain weight out here from how often she asks me if I wanna eat something. If it’s not stew, it’s talbuk steak. If it’s not talbuk steak, it’s frenzy fish fry. She even offered me a sandwich made from leftover clefthoof roast one night after dinner! I won’t complain, though. The extra pounds might help me with a problem I’ve been having out here.
I met that Jorin guy. He seemed pretty crabby about some ogres or something. I wasn’t paying much attention until he told me to go kill those ogres. How long has this been going on with him? Anyway, to get back to my problem, he looks at me in creepy ways. Like how I’ve seen orcs in Shattrath stare at those draae…drenn…spacegoat girls. It’s gotten so bad, I stay with Greatmother most of the time now. What can I do to make him stop? Even threatening to smash his skull with my shield doesn’t work!
Help!
–Mirembe
Hey, Mirembe. Glad to hear the training is coming along. Just make sure you watch your portions while you’re out there – Greatmother piles the food on any guests who show up in town, and packing on the extra points isn’t going to do any favors to your dodge rating. Sure, she’s a nice old lady and everything, but you still need to be able to tell her “no thank you,” and then, when “no thank you” doesn’t even slow her down when she’s ladling out your ninth serving of clefthoof stew, you need to be able to get up from the table and walk away. And then keep walking, because she will FOLLOW your ass around town trying to get you to eat up, because you’re getting too skinny, and for FUCK’S sake make sure you keep a good pace going so you can stay ahead of her. She might be an old woman, but she’s fucking SPRY.
As for Jorin, speak of the devil, I was just answering another letter from this guy who…
Hang on.
You’re saying Jorin had you out killing ogres? Ogres that he was all cranky about? Like…the ogres who attacked his village back in the day… and who I arranged a TRUCE with way back before I moved to Orgrimmar? The ogres who are… um… led by…Lantresor of the Blade, who was JUST writing to me and trying to be nice and shit, and who I told I was going to send you to as a kind of emissary, only that was before I knew you were running around killing his fucking people, because evidently, according to Jorin, having a cease-fire in place for like four years is no reason not to send unsuspecting noobs (no offense, Mira) to KILL the people we have the cease-fire with because stomp stomp hissy fit? THOSE ogres?
FOR FUCK’S SAKE, JORIN. I mean, seriously. Fuck that guy. Um…not literally, Mirembe. Not literally. You don’t want to encourage him. Like at all.
And speaking of Jorin and his leering… yeah. He was always kind of a creeper. Twice the creepy looks with half the eyes. The best thing to do, really, it probably to try to steer clear of him. But you want to know the real secret weapon? Next time you catch Jorin popping his one good peeper at you, high-tail it over to Greatmother and fill her in on what he’s been up to. Believe me, that old lady doesn’t put up with any crap, and I can tell you from first-hand experience that if he sets her off, she will drop the clefthoof stew in two seconds flat to run over there and serve up a big steaming bowl of Pull Your Head Out of Your Fucking Ass, Jorin.
If THAT doesn’t work…hoo boy. All I can think of at that point if to remind the fucker that he’s already down to just one good eye, and if he can’t keep THAT eye from ogling where it shouldn’t be, SOMEBODY might have to take that one, too. Which may or may not give him an updated vision of how he’s going to die.
Maybe THAT’ll finally get through to him. Because, you know, it’s all fun and games until someone loses and eye, but it’s even BIGGER fun when they lose the other…
Erm…
Never mind.
I’m going to wrap up here. I’ve got to head over to the Valley of Wisdom and check in. On a few things. Keep the letters coming, e-mail to garrosh1337@gmail.com, handy form below, yadda yadda.
More soon.
[Next mailbag: June 1!]
Mak’gora, verbal style
EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!
GARROSH HELLSCREAM
VS.
THRALL
BEGIN!
GARROSH:
I got the Scourge under wraps, so this round won’t be postponed.
Good thing Blackmoore named you Thrall, ’cause you’re about to be owned.
“Green Jesus,” never wrong? You were never warrior-strong –
Now I’ll shove those beads around your neck back up where they belong.
Aedelas gave you training; Taretha gave you sympathy;
I won’t say what Jaina gave you, but it’s BoP.
You might as well call yourself human, how you were shaped and apprenticed;
All you need’s some beige paint and a trip to the dentist.
Your reign as Warchief was a joke, and you are as well:
Every time I hear your name, I Go’EL-OH-EL.
You left me picking up your mess, and then I watched you leave it:
You failed to serve the Horde – now I’ll crush you beneath it.
THRALL:
Too often since I went away I’ve heard tell of your crimes,
And I don’t know what disappoints me more: you or your rhymes.
I led the orcs from enslavement to the land we inhabit;
I only made one mistake – and I’m looking at it.
You’re not worthy of your line, you’re twisted as an ampersand;
You’re rhymes are weak and I won’t cheer, but I might give you a big hand.
You’ll keep losing your supporters and the lands you used to hold;
From your mailbag to your reign, you just keep on getting trolled.
So when they finally lead you off bound with chains and rope,
Where you’re going, drop some rhymes – but watch you don’t drop the soap.
I was blind to your crimes, but now you’ve gone past the line;
Now it’s time you finally answered—
[Thrall hurls the Doomhammer at Garrosh; before it reaches him, though, Orgrim Doomhammer leaps in and catches it.]
ORGRIM:
Yeah, I think this is mine.
Step aside for a real Warchief; challenge me, you’re going to lose.
You might wear my battle armor, but you could never fill my shoes.
Blackhand left our people pinned under Gul’dan’s thumb;
I showed a race enslaved that they could overcome;
I thought that you were fated to hold fast what we created,
But the going got unstable, and the unstable abdicated.
You made a half-assed call not knowing what the pros and cons were;
You played Frankenstein, then washed your hands of your monster.
And you now, Orcish Karloff – you plagued our kind like a pox,
And locked away our people’s hopes inside a heart-shaped box.
We both tried to tear an Anduin limb from unskilled limb,
Only mine was an adult – and I actually killed him.
Your challenge was a waste of time; you should have withdrawn it,
’Cause I own you both like the city that’s got my name written on it.
[The wall behind them crumbles to reveal a makeshift Dark Portal, through which Blackhand emerges.]
BLACKHAND:
You people must be joking; now you might as well bounce,
Because you’re never trounce the one and only Warchief who counts.
The first to be crowned, rhyming fury unbound;
I built a mighty war machine – you ran it into the ground.
Well I’m back – I was the first, the best to rally orcish masses,
Now I’ll T.H. White Once-and-Future on your asses.
I’m unimpressed, Orgrim, with the rhymes you’ve busted.
Now I’ll correct my one mistake: thinking you could be trusted.
Our bond was iron, loyalty withstanding any test;
Your oath was what a noob picks through on an Outland quest.
So bring it on, Backstabber, and I’ll swat you right back;
You pose no threat; you’d better bet the pimp Hand is Black.
ORGRIM:
You want to take me on, Blackhand? You’d best hope for luck,
’Cause you only ever beat me in a timeline that sucks.
Lust for power kept you dreaming, so you were blind to Gul’dan’s scheming,
Then you followed Hellscream’s lead and sold us out to the demons.
You were Warchief in name, but power? Every last ounce’ll
Dribble down to you for show, straight from the Shadow Council.
It wasn’t till I took command that the First War was won—
BLACKHAND:
And then you led us to internment – yeah, nice work there, son.
THRALL:
We led the orcs back from the fall your madness brought on;
You may be Medivh’s king, but you were Gul’dan’s pawn.
You were a figurehead at best, with a fel employer;
It was only to your own kind that you were the Destroyer.
Oh, but since you mention sons, yours tried to demand
That he should rule, but he got his – by the Warchief’s command.
BLACKHAND:
Oh, look, the junior partner – sad you’re what would become of us;
No surprise, though; like your father, you were never really one of us.
Go play dress-up all you want; fish for praise but you won’t get it,
You just let others do the work and then swoop in to take the credit.
I earned my place as the greatest, and that glory will last—
GARROSH:
At least till Metzen gets another retcon hair up his ass…
BLACKHAND:
Yes, let’s get to you, pox boy, we’ll finish this quickly.
You’ve got rhymes like your childhood: rejected and sickly.
You couldn’t even finish this sad son of Durotan’s –
You should have Bane’d his back in half when you had the chance.
Captain Hammer here’s weak, but he still brought you ruination—
GARROSH:
That’s only ’cause I didn’t gem plot armor penetration.
Now you two old-school has-beens, watch your legacies unravel;
You’re done and gone (except for maybe FUCKING TIME TRAVEL).
My line is stuff of legends; your alias is famed –
They must have thought you’re Tom Riddle, ’cause you couldn’t be named.
I own my every call, each choice a notch in my own belt;
You couldn’t be more of a puppet if they’d made you out of felt.
I’m triumphant and a hero! I’ve slain humans, drakes, and liches!
I ride a wyvern that’s more badass than any of you bitches!
The greatest Warchief of them all, from the last to the first –
Epic mount, epic name, epic life, EPIC VERSE!
WHO WON?
WHO’S NEXT?
YOU DECIDE!
EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!
[A quick two-part programming note: First, keep those suggestions coming! While they will no longer be a regular weekly feature (because, whew, these are hard to write on a tight schedule!), I may still sprinkle them into the blog now and again, if these great suggestions keep coming in and people seem to be enjoying them.
Second — I’ve decided to push Garrosh’s next mailbag from this coming Monday to the following Monday (May 11), to allow the blog’s “main storyline” events to reach a point where the mailbag will seem less forced. After this month, we’ll be back to our normal schedule of a mailbag the first Monday of each month. Keep those letters coming!]
Sibling rivalry (with an AA rhyme scheme)
It’s still Friday somewhere, right? Right…?
EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!
ILLIDAN STORMRAGE
VS.
MALFURION STORMRAGE
BEGIN!
MALFURION:
The horn has sounded, and I’ve come as promised
To confront at my calmest the storm that rages upon us;
I’ll take no joy in this, brother, and I’ll spare you the gallows,
But I’ll drop you down so hard you’ll find the Barrow Deeps shallow.
You were always a black sheep, but you took it deeper:
Betrayed our peeps to demons like you were some fel grim reaper.
I dreamt the dream of the sleeper; you daydreamed like a creeper:
Leering at your sister-in-law even without any peepers.
ILLIDAN:
You foolish furry, Furion, you know nought of what you’ve wrought,
For even my blind eyes can see what seeing eyes cannot.
Now I’m dropping verbal blades, and it’s time to end charades;
You portrayed me as Betrayer – nay, ’twas I who was betrayed!
Just the same, before you stand there spouting off “disloyal” slander,
Maybe you shouldn’t just stand there when a Horde raid stomps Tyrande.
And while you dozed, one never knows if I received a conjugal visit –
Oh yes, you’ll scoff…but it’s a thought you can’t simply dismiss, now is it?
MALFURION:
When you reached down in the well, you must have fished that witless jest.
Maiev may be naught without you, but without you, you are less.
You sold your soul to demons, now to all persona non grata;
You were once an epic hero – now you’re a warglaive piñata.
Rejected, hated, friendless; and remember, when you go
Brooding on your skull of Gul’dan: you know him not, Horatio.
Slither off now to your naga; take the loss here that you’re due –
But based on Arthas, I suppose you’ll think you won this battle, too.
ILLIDAN:
You were always quick to lecture with your arrogance arthurian;
Here, have seven vials of shut the fuck up and hush, Malfurion!
Sold out? I used the Legion for the power I’d inherit;
I may now be half demon, but you’re at least a quarter ferret.
Alas, your beard – and facial hair – don’t have anyone fooled.
Now I hope you’ve taken rhyming notes, for Sha’do’s getting schooled.
You’ve had enough? Now shift to fraidy-cat and run off scared,
For I declare, brother, in this battle you were not prepared.
WHO WON?
WHO’S NEXT?
YOU DECIDE!
EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!
[Next Friday…the Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge bonus-edition finale! (Who will it be? Who’s to say?! GET YOUR SUGGESTIONS IN EARLY! And…I promise… some overdue for-real for-real posts between then and now!]
More verbal sparring, of a feline nature
EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!
GARONA HALFORCEN
VS.
SHAYARI
BEGIN!
GARONA:
Help me out here, princess, ’cause I need some guidance,
For how an A-lister drew a fan-fic contrivance.
From the Horde to Alliance, they all know my defiance;
But your own dad didn’t even know you’re alive, and
Now you’re eye candy loading up a shopping bag,
But you couldn’t be the it girl in a game of tag.
So Garona’s answer when they ask what no-name she wrecked:
Half broken, half outcast makes one whole reject.
SHAYARI:
You can stealth, but your crazy never strikes without warning,
’Cause we all know you’re more maintenance than a Tuesday morning.
We’re both draenei and orc, but one thing can perplex me:
How’d you get the “deformed” while I got all the sexy?
Now I know that you’re jealous, but the green’s still okay –
But don’t you think you’re kind of old to rock those pigtails in gray?
You must have a goblin stylist, ’cause your look’s straight Ratchet;
Every pass you made at Garry, he declined to catch it.
Now my mom’s another story, but don’t be mad at me;
’Cause all the hashtag-LadiesLoveMyD-A-D.
So wake up and smell the kafa, ’cause it’s understood,
You’re getting creamed, sugar; I make half-and-half look good.
GARONA:
Go back to school, daddy’s girl, you’ve still got plenty to learn;
You need to spec out of frost, based on the heat of those burns.
Looking good’s all you’ve got – no tales or triumphs in stock;
You’d best walk a few steps before you try to talk.
’Cause as much as you squawk, it’s no position to mock
When your achievement panel hasn’t even been unlocked.
My accomplishments are legend, my prowess proclaimed;
No one outside of blog nerds even knows of your name.
I’ve fought in two wars, traveled dimensional warps;
The best that you can do is beating on a dead corpse.
I was Emissary to the Guardian of Karazhan;
You’re a mage who couldn’t cut it in Dalaran.
SHAYARI:
You’ve got history, granny, but let’s look at the tale,
Because a blank slate’s still better than a chalkboard of fail:
You turned on King Llane, brought Medivh to his end –
Too bad you can’t kill these rhymes the way you kill all your friends.
Gul’dan’s lackey, Cho’gall’s tool – just the record, not opinion;
Even at your most legendary, you’re someone’s minion.
So keep grinding out your legend, Ronie, I won’t linger,
’Cause my ring’s the Warchief I’ve got wrapped around my finger.
WHO WON?
WHO’S NEXT?
YOU DECIDE!
EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!
