So after what Hamuul and Antlers were saying about the critters in Mulgore maybe getting their weapons from a druid in animal form, I got to thinking. If there’s a druid responsible for this, it’s probably not one of the Cenarion people, seeing as Hamuul usually stays on top of shit better than that, and it’s probably not one of Antlers’ Guardian types up in Hyjal, unless Ysera is really falling asleep on the job. (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?) So that rules out most of your typical mainstream druids. If a druid is behind this, it’s got to be somebody from the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe. And when you’re talking about the pro-animal druid lunatic fringe, it doesn’t get any fringier than DEHTA.

So, guess where I’m writing from, through the wonders of wireless internet. That’s right – right this very minute I’m up in the Borean Tundra, paying the DEHTA fuckers a visit. I’m at their camp right now, mostly trying to figure out what the weird herbal smell around here is.

I was hoping I would get to talk to Lather-on-us – ever since he got it into his demented head that I’d gone vegetarian (HA!), he’s been at least vaguely bearable to deal with. But, come to find out, he was off working on something away from the camp when I got here. Nobody seems too clear on when he’s going to be back, so I guess I’m just going to have to make due with the other DEHTA people for now.

Thing is, sad as this will sound, Lather-on-us is probably the most stable one of the bunch. With him gone, check out the crew I’ve got to deal with.

You’ve got Hierophant Cenius, who’s more or less running the store with the big guy away, and can’t seem to get through a sentence without saying “you dig, man?” and snapping her fingers like 53 times.

Then you’ve got…well…I don’t even know what his real name is, but he sits around all day wearing this retarded murloc getup, and only answers to “King Mrgl-Mrgl.” I guess he’s actually a night elf, and had been sent to watch the Winterfin murlocs up north, only the murlocs embraced him and made him king and then he went native or some shit. Then, the last time I was up here, Mortimer helped himself to a murloc buffet and pretty much wiped out this guy’s constituency, so now he’s back here at the camp without much to do. Other than make retarded gargling sounds.

There’s Zaza, a frost nymph, which I’m not going to mess around with at all after the other day because NYMPHS BE CRAZY.

And then you’ve got Killinger the Den Watcher, or as I like to call him Killinger the Obsessive-Compulsive, who doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to shift out of bear form, and more importantly, doesn’t seem to remember that he’s able to use soap, because holy shit, seriously. Honest to fuck, dude, the patchouli oil isn’t fooling anyone. Now I know what you’re thinking on this one – druid stuck in animal form, maybe this is our guy. I was thinking that too, only that brings us to our next item, the whole obsessive-compulsive thing. Dude just keeps walking in a circle around the middle of the camp, counting to himself out loud. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,” on and on and on. Just in the time I’ve been here he’s gotten up to 3219.

At one point when he rolled over 2000, I decided to mess with him, and started yelling random numbers. He got all spastic for a second, then walked back to this one spot in the camp, nodded his head three times, then started circling the same old path while counting off “one thousands” again. I waited for him to crack 1000 and started doing the random numbers again. Same deal – walked back to the exact same spot, three nods, went back to circling, “one one thousand, two one thousand.” I am willing to roll the dice on this guy not being our diabolical mastermind.

So this is Lather-on-us’ braintrust. Hard to believe Hemet Nesingwary is still up and kicking, isn’t it?

Anyway, I’ve been hanging around here for a while now, trying to choke down a salad that doesn’t even have the common decency to have bacon bits on it. The DEHTA fuckers have been friendly enough mostly, but it’s hard as hell to keep them on topic, and then when I get irritated and try to respectfully suggest that they could maybe try pulling their heads out of their fucking asses for like two minutes, they start calling me “Herbert” over and over, whatever that means, and then chuckle like morons. All I’ve been able to get out of them so far is that they don’t seem to know anything about animals being armed, but a few months ago there used to be some new guy hanging out with them, a troll named Tembw’bam, who was all about animal liberation and fighting The (hu)Man(oids), and “any means necessary,” and eventually he got them all going “Whew, this guy’s crazy,” and they sent him on his way. Which, seriously, when the fucking DEHTA people think you’re a nutjob?  Time to say “check please” to life, dude.

They’re not sure what happened to him, though. They think one of their other people, Hierophant Liandra, might remember a little more, but she’s out patrolling for trappers right now. They think she should be back soon, so I’m going to hang around the camp here for a little longer, or at least until I get too sick of these people to keep it up. Thank goodness for the internet, is all I’m going to say. You peeps on Twitter? You know who you are – right now you are single-handedly keeping my sanity. Because what the holy FUCK is a tofu burger? Ffs.