Moving day (part 4)
* The last time Shayari was around Gurtash, certain…questionable artistic liberties were taken.
{YES, MORE TOMORROW…}
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ROFL! This only gets better and better!
No Garry. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Dear Warchief.
So, I gather that you do not care to be called “Garry”? All well and good, except, why not? It’s not as if it doesn’t fit, being familiar (which your daughter should become), short, attention-grabbing, positive, and good-natured, all of which (you must admit) would greatly enhance your image among those who have so far succumbed to filthy Alliance propaganda regarding your past glorious exploits. I mean, imagine what poor Anduin has to call his momm- er, daddy: “Varian”. “Hey, Varry, can I borrow some lunch money?” “No!” *B-slap*
But regardless, it’s not like your daughter calling you that would do anything to lessen the universal respect (and to be honest, quite rational fear) in which your subjects hold you. (Except Bob, who is in my opinion not actually rational.)
So do not fear, Dear Warchief, you may rest assured that none of us will take up the habit of calling you “Garry”. (Except you know that Varian probably does, when he’s not sucking his thumb and clutching his blanket.)
Yeah, you know, you might want to explain that to Bird Man of Arcatraz down below.
Although, that thing about Varian sucking his thumb and clutching his blanket? I think I want to put mustard on that image and eat it for lunch.
Der seems ta be a lotta daddy issues goin’ around. Mebbe ya should join a club.
Heh. Awesome.
Hrrm…her horns are VERY similar to Garrosh’s shoulderpads.
*ponders*
((And if you think that’s a coincidence, well, welcome to the blog…))
Being entirely out of your reach at the moment, I’m going to exclusively call you “Garry” now.
You do that, Feathers. Just remember, revenge is a dish best served cold…as opposed to, say, roasted pheasant. Don’t know why that comparison popped into mind…
Eat a Gnickers. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry.
((I can’t stop giggling.))
Well, call you Kromgar and give you a pink slip.
Really, I highly suggest that for your own health (should you have/want any) that you not underestimate our Dear Warchief’s reach. Seriously, splashing on rocky cliff bottoms is sooo hard to clean up. (And lest you think you could simply flutter out of reach, I give you one word: Mortimer)
I think she should call him Pops.
“Pops” does seem like just the right amount of respect and insolence for Shayari.
Yeah Pops.
Nice ring to it. >:)
Indeed it does!
In unrelated news: I shall now call Dontrag and Utvoch “Snap” and “Crackle,” respectively.