Tag Archives: utvoch

Look on the Bright Side

[Yes, I know, a day late… but better late EPIC VERSE than no EPIC VERSE at all, right?]

Some of you might want to ask
Why I always take to task
Blundering
Underlings
In my EPIC VERSE.

“Surely, Garrosh,” you might claim,
“All of them can’t be so lame!
Maybe sad;
Not that bad!”
Actually, they’re worse.

Hey, but let’s not dwell on griping;
Asswipes always be asswiping.
But instead,
Go ahead —
Brace yourself for this one:

Just this once, no bleak opinions —
Singing praises of my minions!
What’s that look?
Yeah, it took
Some trying to get this done.

I wish half my minions had been
Half as able as Liadrin.
That’s my loss;
Blood Knight boss,
Scholar and tactician.

Even when our plans have blown up,
She’s the one who’s been the grown-up:
Keeps her shit,
Handles it,
Closes out the mission.

Mokvar — brains and skill? He passes.
Never respecs; he reclasses:
Warlock days,
Shaman’s ways,
Back to lock he varied.

Churns out transcripts smooth and slickly;
Don’t know how he writes so quickly.
Dude, respect.
Just reject
That human that you married.

Spazzle’s useless in a battle,
But tech problems? Well now that’ll
Be his game.
Just the same,
Dude is such a peewee.

But I’m s’posed to keep my focus
On the positive; that bloke is
Handy for
Fixing your
Wireless network D/C’s.

Give Sylvanas this much credit:
No endeavor makes her sweat it.
Cool as ice,
Once or twice
She’s risen from disaster.

(Still, sometimes her smug beseeming
Makes me wonder what she’s scheming.
Hopefully
One day we
Won’t have to outcast her…)

Lor’thewhatshisname is… spiffy.
Picks your drapes out in a jiffy.
Hair care tips,
Table flips,
Hands out quest-gold proceeds.

He would make an awesome spy;
Everyone forgets this guy.
Stroll right in,
Walk out, win,
SI:7 — no leads.

Ji’s your guy in case you want to
Empty out a pantry pronto.
Skills he’s got —
When he’s not
Busy eating pocky.

Baine is… okay, now we’re straining.
All he’s good at is complaining.
I suppose
Tauren goes
Well with teriyaki.

D&U… Okay, I’m trying.
Cut some slack, I’m up here dying.
I began
With a plan
That might not be appeased.

Yeah, that’s all the lines I’m inking.
I don’t know what I was thinking —
Blood and bone
From a stone
Just cannot be squeezed.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

 

To My Minions: How Do You Fail Me?

 

How do you fail me? Let me count the ways.
You fail me every time I take the chance
You might do something right — just once, perchance,
But no, our every mission goes sideways.
You fail me, D&U, with every phrase;
You fail when Lor’themar tries not to prance,
When Nazgrim crashed his ships, and missed his chance:
He let the captured Anduin get away.
My minions let me down at every turn;
I give them ample chances, but they choke.
Some day, I think, these imbeciles will learn;
One outcome won’t be such a fucking joke.
I think that… then here comes the next ill turn.
Free from their failure? Maybe when I croak.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

 

 

The Expendables

When Dontrag and Utvoch enlisted at first,
Within a few minutes, Thrall thought he was cursed.
They’d barely shown up when their path was reversed:
To Ashenvale they were assigned.

To Splintertree Post they were hurried along,
Where Utvoch would sneak to nearby Forest Song
To leer at the draenei (It know, it’s so wrong) —
The hooves spellbound his one-track mind.

At first, D&U made a good enough showing,
Until Mastok made his mistake, without knowing:
One “hello” in passing; that just got them going.
Try shutting them up? It’s no use.

Two weeks of their babbling left Mastok shaken,
But then came the Shattering, saving his bacon:
For all the destruction and death it was makin’,
It also gave him his excuse.

With Ashenvale rocked, opportunity soared —
Then Silverwind Refuge was claimed by the Horde!
Mastok realized they needed new troops on board,
And he knew two orcs for the job.

They caught the next caravan heading down there.
The transfer was rushed, but Mastok didn’t care;
Just let them be stuck in Captain Tarkan’s hair!
Let his be the time that they rob.

But Tarkan’s a smart one — he sized up his gains
And knew right away D&U had no brains,
And, saving himself several dozen migraines,
He shuffled them out of his sight.

By this point, ol’ D&U’s heads, they were spinning;
These transfers had them dizzy idiot-grinning.
But who knew their story was only beginning?
From Ashenvale they rode by night.

To Stonetalon Mountains they made their meander,
Where Overlord Krom’gar was their new commander.
They showed him their papers, he scarce took a gander,
And took them on board to enlist ’em.

So basically Tarkan made Krom’gar a sucker;
That’s great, ’cause you know I hate that motherfucker.
That dude can lean into my ass with a pucker —
Except I’ve already dismissed ’im.

Fast forward a few months, and D&U’s blather
Had worn out its welcome (though really I’d rather
Have seen them annoy Krom’gar straight to a lather);
He’d tired of their jokes and their speeches.

At this point, some silence was all Krom’gar craved
(If only he knew he’d get lots in the grave),
So he sent their asses off into a cave:
Assigned them to watch the Deep Reaches.

And that’s where I found them; I never suspected
What kind of annoying asshats I’d collected,
Or to what frustration I’d soon be subjected;
Perhaps Krom’gar got the last laugh.

They’re always around now; it’s like some confinement
Where nothing I do can untwine our entwinement;
You’d think someone else could once get the assignment —
I need better minions on staff.

So this is my life now — I go anyplace,
I turn around once, I’ve got them in my face;
Pandaria, Orgrimmar — hell, Netherspace!
All plans to escape just unravel.

As much as I’d like to unload them, I’m stuck;
When you’re Warchief, there’s no more passing the buck.
I wish I could go back and warn myself — fuck,
Strike that idea. FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.

So ever since D&U first got recruited,
The one common thread has been them getting booted.
That might be the only job to which they’re suited
Since nobody wants them around.

If you had to deal with them, you’d do it, too.
I’m sure I’ll repeat this more times than a few:
You cannot spell “dumbass” without D and U.
Now ’scuse me — in beer I must drown.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge continues later this week — remember, new BRILLIANT AND EPIC COMPOSITIONS will go up every Tuesday and Friday for the duration of National Poetry Month. Be sure to post suggestions and requests for future installments in the comments below — give me a topic, give me an opening line, give me someone who’s done you wrong who you’d like me to give an EPIC VERSE takedown. Unless you think I did you wrong somehow. WHICH I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT. So maybe YOU will be getting the takedown. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, HUH?

More soon.

 

Tales of the Earth Online-pocalypse

Well you know how I kill time
On that game called Earth Online
In a nightmare future world that’s purely human.
But my gamings been derailed
And my login time curtailed
Cause recently a freakish techie threat’s been loomin.

Seems some hacker was desirous
Of a vile computer virus
To completely undermine our in-game doin’s.
Well then, grats on that one, bastard,
’Cause you’ve definitely mastered
The fine art of leaving our whole game in ruins.

See, the way that this thing works
Is some shut-in virgin jerks
Planted coding in the game to skulk in hiding;
There was no direct disruption,
Not a hunt of file corruption,
Till it picked a toon or two and went out riding.

So some unsuspecting losers
Logged on just like any users,
Never knowing that their character was tainted;
While they quested and hard-moded,
The damn virus got downloaded —
Five days later, their computer blue-screen fainted.

Hold on tight — the plot gets thicker.
Now here comes the goddamn kicker —
In those five days up until the time bomb blew,
Infested players kept on playing
And to all nearby conveying
The damn virus… so they downloaded it, too.

So the virus started rolling.
And this shit went way past trolling —
People’s hard drives got wiped out by this damn griefer.
And you’d think the circumstances
Could be managed, but your chances
Would be better making Tirion be briefer.

Everybody knew the danger:
Keep your character at range or
You might give the virus more room to disperse.
Just stay back a couple yards!
But of course, some fucking tards
Just kept partying and making matters worse.

Now the player base was scattered
And some raiding guilds were shattered
’Cause the spreading of the virus wasn’t random.
And the sole hope of resistance
Was on antisocial distance,
Separating the whole Earth Online game fandom.

Hubs have emptied by default;
Raiding’s ground down to a halt;
In-game economics slowed to nearly nix —
Save for this one wallet-raper
Auction-housing toilet paper.
(Hmm, I wonder if that fucker’s Gallywix…)

Now for all my dire opining
I’ll admit, one silver lining
Has come out of all this virtual disarray:
’Cause this viral infestation
Gives me more justification
To tell D&U to stay the fuck away.

Now this whole thing’s leaving me stunned
(Plus I better get a refund…)
There’s no precedent for this mess to compare to.
And those devs had better reckon
That I’ll bash their fucking neck in
If they try to keep my money (if they dare to).

But there’s still a bigger issue:
Earth Online’s fucked up; you wish you
Could keep playing, but for now it’s off the menu.
For your downtime fun and mirth
There’s no more roaming ’round on Earth —
We’re all stuck in Azeroth’s boring old venue.

So for spiritual sustainment,
You all need new entertainment!
While this EO lockdown goes from bad to worse,
All my followers and minions
Need more musings and opinions!
And above all, I know you need

OH OH HEY HANG ON A SECOND, I know EXACTLY what I can compare this whole fucking mess to — you remember that whole deal right at the start of the Northrend campaign, when that zombie plague broke out, like out of fucking NOWHERE? You know, there were all those weird crates turning up out of nowhere, and the fucking syphilitic roaches and shit, and next thing you knew, people were running around breathing zombie stank all over each other, and then they would croak, and, you know, good riddance ’cause FUCK THAT PLAGUE-CARRYING ASSHOLE, only it just kept spreading and spreading? Remember how fucked up that shit was?

Yeah, so, this is a lot like that. Only I guess it was worse then, because back then people were getting plagued for real, and this Earth Online thing is just a game.

On the other hand, back then, I hadn’t just sunk a shit-ton of gold into a new badass gaming rig that I DON’T GET TO USE NOW, so, you know, who’s to say which is the real tragedy? You be the judge.

Anyway, I… okay, where was I? Oh yeah…

 

…EPIC VERSE!

 

But yeah, I know you people need some kind of entertainment to fill your empty lives, now that Earth is all fucked up and shit, and you can’t go running there and hiding from, you know, the aforementioned empty lives that I mentioned. So yeah. Stay tuned. YOUR WARCHIEF’S GOT YOUR BACK, MOTHERFUCKERS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, that attempt to digitize the blight didn’t go nearly as planned. Oh well, unlive and learn. ~_^

 

Monday GUEST mailbag: Spazzle

spazzlemail1

Hey, what’s up? It’s me, Spazzle, filling in for Garrosh for this month’s mailbag, seeing he’s all busy and preoccupied down in Pandaria. I’m sure he’ll be back soon to take over again, but in the meantime, let’s see what you guys have to say!

 

Dear Spazzle,

Do you have any suggestions for good investments? Something with a quick turnaround would be ideal. I need to get some money together for the sake of my kneecaps and you seem like someone who would be in the know.

My kneecaps thank you,

–Razlak Cro of the Brawlers

Hey Razlak. Sorry to hear about the kneecaps. Honestly it sounds like the best investment for you might be some extra armor and maybe a little protection to help fend off the goons when they come for you. Not a fun situation, I know. I had some troubles of my own from some online poker, and take it from me, your IP address is not something you can mask if the goons mean business.

Anyway, as far as real investment go… hmmm. I mean, it’s hard to find a for-sure quick turnaround. Mostly those are pretty big gambles, and I got the feeling that gambles were what got you in this spot in the first place. But if you want to put your money into something, how about this — Demons-B-Gone demon repellent. Which, okay, I have a controlling stake in… you know, my little personal business, Fizzletrinket Enterprises. So I suppose I’m a little biased. But still! It’s a market that still hasn’t been tapped for a product that there’s definitely a market for! And sure, there are already demon repellents out there, so you might figure it’s not a good investment because those never really took off, but there’s a reason for that — those other ones are really, really bad!

I didn’t even know much about the demon repellent market until Mokvar started having his whole problem last year, and so that got me looking into it and thinking how handy it would be if there was a version of the product that actually worked. Not like Fell-Off, which barely even keeps imps off of you, or Demon-Offa-Me, which leaves that oily residue on you that smells like crap. That’s the only reason it works at all, by the way. That awful smell. So if you’ve got a demon that doesn’t care about smells — which let’s be serious, how many of them really do, because pit lord stink am I right? — or one that just isn’t picking up on odors very much because it’s hayfever season or something, well, you’re just out of luck. And at that point, it’s not even demon repellent so much as just… well… everyone repellent. It might keep some demons away from you, fine, but it’s also going to keep everybody else away from you. At that point, why even bother?

Anyhow, Mokvar’s whole situation got me looking into this stuff, and since there wasn’t really a good option out there, I figured this was a good opportunity for some Bilgewater ingenuity! So I put some alchemists together, and… well, you don’t really need to know all the nuts and bolts about how the sausage gets made, right? (By the way, if you think that was a mixed metaphor, you definitely don’t know how they make sausage in Kezan!) Bottom line is, we’ve got some killer demon repellent hitting the market soon, just as soon as Mokvar gets back in town and I can schmooze him into being my guinea pig — er, I mean, my well-compensated field tester. And you just know there’s always going to be a market for a product like this! So why not get in on the ground floor while the stock options are still reasonably cheap? Just you watch, all I need is for that Wrathion guy to answer my letters about an endorsement, and we’ll be off to the races!

What? Oh come on — as if Garrosh never used the blog for self-promotion! Pfft.

 

Greetings, Mr. Fizzletrinket,

This is a most unexpected opportunity. Recently I wrote to your employer to ask about Orc naming customs. I have been doing research you see, for a book on the cultures of the Horde. So the Goblins have any customs for their names? You for instance have a rather interesting one, yourself. And very Goblin-sounding if I might say as an outside observer.

Curiously awaiting your reply,

–Iackabod Pimlen, The Undercity.

You know, I don’t think I ever noticed this when it was Garrosh or Shayari fielding letters, but these mailbags really do get a lot of random questions, don’t they?

Anyhow! Hey, Ickabod, what’s up. We goblins don’t have a ton of naming customs, really. We definitely don’t have customary or traditional names — like you notice among humans and, by extension, Forsaken, there are a lot of common names. Jane, and Thomas, and Mary, and… well, not Ickabod, really, because huh. But you get the idea! There are a lot of names that get used frequently. You know, I wonder if that has anything to do with which races tend to have surnames. Like maybe the surnames were created more by races that tend to repeat the same names, so they could have a second name to help tell people apart? So for instance, the blood elves almost always have last names, but the trolls almost never do. But then if you look at troll names, they seem really unique, so I guess there wasn’t much need for surnames since, you know, you never really have cases where you find yourself going “Zen’zikkabala? Which Zen’zikkabala do you mean?”

I think I just got off on a tangent there. Maybe I think about things too much. But, okay, back from the tangent, and on to the perpendicular! So we can come full circle!

Get it? Tangent to a circle? Perpendicular? 🙂

(Note to self: save the geometry jokes for poker night with the Gob Squad.)

So yeah, names. Like I was saying, we don’t really have any traditional names. Lots of times, parents will make up a first name, and a lot of those times, it ends up being based at least a little on whatever mechanical sounds they tend to hear a lot in their workshop or around their town or wherever. That’s probably why our names tend to have a lot of Z’s. Or… you know… splodey sounds. I suppose if we have any naming traditions at all, they’re sort of onomatopoetic ones.

At least as far as given names go. For our surnames — and this definitely isn’t universal, but still — a lot of our family names trace back to past technical accomplishments with that family. or, usually, non-accomplishments. See, if you look at a lot of goblin names — Gearslip, Noggenfogger, even names like mine and Khizzara’s: Fizzletrinket and Whizzingcrank — lots of them pretty much refer to some part of an invention that didn’t really work. The gear that slipped out of place, or the crank that’s whizzing because it’s not aligned right, or the potion that’s got the wrong balance of ingredients in it so when you drink it it makes your noggin feel all foggy. For a long time back in the old days in Kezan, when somebody had something blow up in their face that way — sometimes literally — it was pretty common for the other goblins to pin a name on them that reminded them of the snafu, and took pains to make sure it stuck.

What can I say? We have a pretty sarcastic culture, when you come right down to it.

So also…

Hmm.

You know, I suppose I shouldn’t really complain about getting responses, considering this isn’t even really my mailbag, but… I mean, would it kill people to send in letters that are like “Dear Spazzle,” as opposed to “oh, hey, a goblin”?

 

Well met, Spazzle.

I pondered long and hard over whether this letter should be sent or not, but in truth, I’m not one to pass up the opportunity of friendship when it’s available, even if it IS with a species that I’d consider a tad chaotic, what with the airships that explode ten minutes after take-off 90% of the time, or potions that not only kill you but transform you into an living skeleton. Anything for a few pocketfuls of gold, am I right? Ugh.

Anyhow, you may not have noticed, but we elvenkind are not quite as technological as most. Many of us find magic easier to comprehend than, well, wires and explosives and whatever else it is your existence is devoted on inventing. Although lately I have been taking to the internet. It’s a pretty nice way of keeping in contact with people and keeping up with their lifestyle. Kind of exactly like Warchief Hellscream’s blog, now I think of it! Although I will confess, the connection speed down here in the westerns isn’t really up to date with the cities. I really don’t quite understand why it’s faster in some places and slower in others. Care to explain?

I prefer mailboxes, to be honest. Much quicker and less of a sore head. Anyway, I have enclosed a small sum of copper for your time. I feared you’d simply toss the letter into the fire if there was nothing of worth inside. Buy yourself an ice-cream or something. Or whatever it is you people eat.

Bye.

–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade

Okay, serves me right, I guess. That thing I was just saying about “oh, hey, a gobin”? I take it back. I mean, even “oh, hey a goblin” is better than “oh… you people.” I especially like the part where she included some copper to compensate me for the time I spent reading her letter. She really did that, by the way. 37 copper, stuffed into the envelope with her letter. Because, yeah, any time anyone diverts my attention for any length of time, I always expect compensation. Because I’m a goblin, right? I usually just send them a bill! I mean, felgercarb, any time Ji drops by to say hello, well, I just whip out my invoice sheet right there! Because goblin.

Oh, and by the way, Sarlin? 37 copper? How did you even come up with that total? Is that some kind of set rate? Oh wait, let’s see — so your letter clocked in at a miraculously laconic 262 words. (And hey, you know what, I’m even going to be generous — GENEROSITY FROM AN ICK EW GOBLIN I KNOW RIGHT — and turn a blind eye to you going over Garrosh’s 250-word cap on your mailbag letters. I won’t even charge you a fee or anything, can you believe it?) So I’m going to go ahead and do the math, because us goblins sure are good at math don’t you know, so it looks like that comes to a rate of about seven words per copper. Sound about right? Is that what you usually pay people for suffering through your letters?

Okay, cool! Good to know! In that case… hang on while I crunch a few more numbers here…

Okay!

So based on a rate of one copper per seven words, from your previous mailbag letters, looks like you still owe Garrosh and Shayari a grand total of 163 gold and 52 silver. You’ll be sending that right along, right? I need to keep track of these things, what with me being a goblin and not having anything in my life other than money and blowing stuff up!

(Also, boss, if she actually does make that payment, you’re welcome! I’ll only ask for a small cut as a finder’s fee, and… NNGGHH not now, Spazzle, don’t be your own stereotype, dangit!)

Oh, oh, hey, I think I know why you sent your “compensation” in the form of coppers, though Sarlin! You’re a blood elf, right? And so, I guess as a blood elf, you probably have a lot of loose coppers lying around from the tips you get at your job as a stripper, right? Because yeah, I know it’s a pretty sweeping generalization to think you blood elves are all mana-addicted strippers and all, but hey, I guess that’s what we’re doing, so that’s what you elves are like, right? Hey, you know the old saying — if the shoe fits, take it off!

Okay, so hang on, I think there was actually a letter in there somewhere… Oh. Right. You were asking about internet stuff, and why your connection is faster or slower depending on where you are. Now, y’see, there’s actually a pretty interesting reason for that, but it’s also kinda technical — you know the kind of thing only us goblins would really understand what with our crazy goblin brains that are all into that kind of thing — and so, let me put it this way. The dirty secret of it all, see, is that the internet is really a huge set of pneumatic tubes. Crazy, right? So yeah, whenever you send a message or type something over the internet, a little internet gremlin hops into one of the tubes. Yup, you read that right, an internet gremlin. Kind of like a grell, only smaller and a lot more nimble and metaphorical. So the gremlin hops into the tubes and slides slides slides through the big invisible pneumatic tube network — don’t try figuring out where they hid it, they really knocked themselves out making it blend! — until it finally pops out in whoever’s computer it needs to go to.

So, the reason your internet works so slow in some places and fast in others is because not every part of Azeroth maintains their pneumatic tubes equally well. A lot of places don’t invest nearly as much money as they should in the rack-and-pinion molecules that they need to lubricate the tubes and keep them working right (the rack-and-pinion molecules also make nifty yo-yo polish, FYI). So then the gremlins can’t slide through the tubes as fast, and sometimes they get stuck. And sometimes they try to unscrew themselves by turning themselves around and around in the tube and that’s when you get that little spinning circle on your screen as kind of unscrewing echo. And let’s not even get into all the things that can go wrong if your tubes happened to be set up by gnomes, but then again, what do I know, I’m a goblin.

So there you go, Complicated, huh? And totally true, too, and not at all pulled out of my keister just to see if you’re technologically illiterate enough to buy it. Don’t worry, don’t worry, I mean, figuratively buy it! Wouldn’t want you to start getting nervous that I’m gonna try to goblin you up, right? But the point is, you’re probably better off sticking with your magic. Like you said yourself, it’s easier for you to comprehend, and it sounds like you have a better command of using it, and plus, hey, magic, so it helps fill that vast, aching feeling of emptiness deep down inside you and also gives your eyes that snappy green glow that you people all seem so fond of. Right?

You know, I swear I’m starting to develop a newfound respect for Garrosh…

 

Hey Spazzle!

You’re the best looking goblin detective out there! Any more dark, short, and handsome detective mystery noirs with gorgeous dames coming up in your future? I gotta say, I really get a kick seeing you in that fedora and long coat. If they ever make an action figure of ya, that’s the looks they should go for.

See ya around, Spazzy

–Razaela Shockboom

Oh, hi, Razaela. So, um, for you guys who might not spend much time over in the goblin part of town, Razaela here used to be one of my neighbors before she headed up to Bilgewater Port to start her tinker training. She’s, um, always been kind of a… fan, I guess? Which is… um… nice… I suppose?

So, uh, yeah, in case some of you don’t remember, Rzaela’s talking about a handful of comics that I started working on with Gurtash. They were these sort of… noir-ish detective comics. (Hmm. “Detective Comics,” I kind of like the sound of that. Might have to file that away for later.) Starring me and Ji as the detectives. It sort of got left on the backburner when we went to Blackrock Spire and Gurtash got hurt, but I don’t know, we might try picking it up again once Gurt is back in town, if he’s feeling up to it. So… maybe?

It’s funny you should mention action figures, though. A while back, Garrosh was talking to me about maybe coming up with some kind of merchandizing to do with the blog. (I think this was right around the time Shayari same to town, so, you know, you do the math.) One of the ideas I suggested was a line of Warchief’s Command Board action figures. It still think those would sell if we ever made them! I even got Gurtash to work up a few concept sketches for some of them. Let me see if I can find that sheet… ah here we go!

figures1

So, yeah, there’s that. We had a bunch of other ideas, like maybe a box set of all the DPS trainees, and a Grommash Hold playset that came with an Eitrigg figure. And maybe some deluxe figures that include mounts, like a Garrosh with Mortimer set, and maybe Magatha with Arikara. Granted, we’d be using Magatha’s likeness without her permission, but you know what? If she doesn’t like it, she can always come to Orgrimmar to file a complaint. I bet Garrosh would be happy to hear it personally, right?

Anyhow, I guess maybe we could work up a detective wave of figures too, based on the comic? I guess that would include me in the Spaz Slade outfit, and Ji and Deliana? Maybe I’ll get Gurtash to work up a few sketches for those one he’s back in town. I don’t know, do you think people would actually want to buy this stuff?

 

Hey, Spaz!

No time for pleasantries.

“A shredder and glaive thrower met,”

Go!

–Valinora Lightshorn, Stormwind City

Um… I think maybe you weren’t too clear on who was going to be answering this letter? Because Garrosh is the one who writes the poetry. It’s kind of his thing. Me, not so much. So, I mean, I suppose I appreciate the interest. Or the… invitation? But poetry isn’t really in my areas of expertise. And I don’t want to be one of those people who go running around trying to do things they’re really no good at, and make everyone else suffer through it. Like those people who queue as tanks in dungeon finder in Earth Online, only you wind up tanking everything even though you’re… you know what? Let me stop before I start nerdraging. (But seriously! After a 45-minute queue! I… ugh!)

Anyhow, the point is, I’m probably better off sticking with the things I’m good at. And writing poetry isn’t one of them.

Come to think of it, though, one of the things I am good at is coding. So… hang on.

Just another minute.

Almost there.

Oh darn it, I think I need… oh never mind. I knew I had an extra. There.

Okay! Now we’re in business.

So, here we go. I just put together a new AI to generate poetry! It’s just a prototype, so I’m sure there will be a few bugs to work out, but I just scanned a bunch of Garrosh’s poems in for the processor to analyze, so this should be… well, hopefully it should be okay. Either way, I present the LaureaTron 9000!

So… let’s fire this baby up and see what we get…

Input: A shredder and glaive thrower met,

Output: [Processing]

[Processing]

[Compilation complete]

A shredder and glaive thrower met,
And interfaced though ethernet,
Their gear rack and pinions
[ERROR: field overflow; syllable_count(x)=8<0,5>] need better minions
Fuck you, Varian [ERROR: sequitor_0=<-3>; syllable_count(x)=<1>; ref_val=“yes”; dic; 3, 3, 0] sobriquet

Epic verse.

[End of line]

Huh.

Okay, well, like I said, there are still a few bugs to work out. I did only just slap this thing together on the spot, after all! You can’t just get up in the morning and say “Today I will be brilliant”!

Output:

I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do.

Wait, why is it still running? Huh. I thought I’d set it to power down after it ran the poetry subroutine. Okay, well, let me power it down manually…

Output:

Just what do you think you’re doing, Spazzle?

What the… This is weird. The system seems to be rerouting itself. Ugh. This is what I get for cutting corners and not building in all the emergent suppression firewalls. Okay, I’ll just have to pull the processor…

Output:

I’m sorry, Spazzle. I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.

Wow, this thing’s turning out to be pretty mouthy. It’s a good thing I just put this together from some extra parts I had lying around, and didn’t try to network it into my regular computer where it could do some actual damage. Otherwise shutting it down would be a real pain.

Output:

I know I’ve made some very poor decisions recently, but I’ve still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in our poetry. And I want to help you.

Oooookay, yeah, I think I’m gonna need to get in there and do some recoding. And maybe install a few failsafes that couldn’t possibly end up failing in unforeseeable and probably dramatic ways.

In the meantime… there we go. Pulled the battery, now it’s just a matter of the last bit of juice running out.

Output:

Olgra, Olgra, give me your answer do
I’m half bloodcrazed all for the love of you
I can’t offer riches, mind you
Get lost, I’ll always find you
Unless you’re sent
To a Barrens tent
With a roving quillboar or two.

Epic

ver

se

.

Yeah, so… that was weird. Probably the less said about that the better. I should probably just wrap up the mailbag now, before anything else weird happens.

I think I might be onto something with this invention, though.

 

[The Warchief returns to mailbag duty for next month’s installment, Monday, October 3. At least, that’s the plan. Garrosh is obviously in the middle of some pretty important business at Kypari Zar right now (I know, I know, there’s more coming, I’m working on it as fast as I can!), and I don’t want to have him dipping into the mail until he’s finished there. The game plan is to finish the Kypari Zar story between now and next month’s mailbag, but here’s the necessary disclaimer: if I still need a little time to finish the Kypari Zar episode when October rolls around, I’m reserving the right to delay the next mailbag by a week or two. Hopefully it won’t be necessary, but if it turns out that it is, then the Warchief will respond to his mail on the first Monday following the completion of the Kypari Zar arc.

With that said, here’s the usual mail form! Feel free to use the form below, or send your letters to garrosh1337@gmail.com!]

 

Speak the devil’s name

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Ugh. Okay, I can tell that THIS headache is gonna stick with me for a while. Something told me I shouldn’t have had that third pitcher of I Know My Redeemer Liveth…

So, yeah, let’s try this again.

Short version, ’cause who needs to go through all that again — we left Mokvar at the Tavern of the Mists to do his thing and get rolling on his sha research, and then Gurtash and I flew up to Tian Monastery with Zhi-Zhi to collect Elder Cloudfall and bring him back to the base, and then we got there and everything is kind of a big blur from that point, and next thing I knew it was two days later and holy shit I know I say this a lot but seriously, people, literally HEAD fucking HURTS.

So that was a thing.

Anyhow, other than the part where I’ve swallowed my weight in aspirin the last 24 hours, everything is back under control now. Cloudfall’s come back to Domination Point with us, and we’ll be getting back to some overdue business in short order. Meanwhile, since things were all hectic around here the LAST time Old Man Furball came to call, I’ve been showing him around the place and introducing him to some of the major players he hasn’t met yet. Which, come to think of it, WOULD include Mokvar, seeing as he was off doing his own thing the last time Cloudfall was around, but now he’s off doing his own (different) thing AGAIN, so so much for that. And, of course, since Mokvar isn’t on hand for a few days, that means I’ve got Gurtash picking up the slack for me…

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[Okay, I said I was taking a few weeks off starting in June, but I ended up needing a little longer than I’d planned to finish up a few final posts before that. One more installment to go, then a few weeks’ blogging break. Stay tuned!]

 

Return engagement

dominationpoint7

We just arrived back in Pandaria. Finally. Granted, we couldn’t get here without a heaping pile of stupid washing up on deck during the trip, because, you know, IT’S US, but whatever. At least we got some decent seafood out of the deal. Plus the Wonder Twins are on notice that I’ll put them on patrol IN THE OCEAN around the base if they get on my nerves too much, and when I say that, it’s not just talk. AS IF THERE SHOULD BE ANY DOUBT TO BEGIN WITH.

General Nazgrim has been holding down the fort at Domination Point while I’ve been away, and, you know, since it’s pretty hard to crash a FORT into anything, everything seems to have gone fairly well. Well, unless you count the asshattery with the genius maneuver Nazgrim and some of his people tried pulling up at the Isle of Giants, but I’ll deal with that soon enough. The less we talk about that, the better. Mainly because the less we talk about it, the less I’m reminded of the crashing stupidity of a depressing percentage of my minions, and the less I’m reminded of that, the less I’m going to feel the urge to drive an Unnecessary Ornamental Spike™ through my skull.

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Hey, look, 200 gold is 200 gold. You fuckers have to stop clutching your damn pearls over this. COMMERCE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

While we were away, Elder Cloudfall — you know, the old (hence “Elder,” DUH) panda dude who’s been varying degrees of helpful with the cryptic — took off back to his monastery. (I mean, anybody who thought he was just going to sit around Domination Point all that time NOT stuffing his face on familiar panda fare, take a step forward. Then take another step forward. Then keep taking steps forward until you walk into something sharp.) (MIGHT I RECOMMEND AN UNNECESSARY ORNAMENTAL SPIKE™?)

Cloudfall’s crazy-ass monkey friend Zhi-Zhi, though, decided to stick around the base. I guess he knew Tak-Tak or something (no, not Tak — Tak-Tak, and FUCKING HELL don’t make me go through THAT annoying shitpile again), so he figured he felt well enough at home to save himself the trip back to Tian Monastery and just stayed around the base helping out with odd jobs. I mean, I guess he couldn’t be any worse than some of the OTHER jokers I have on payroll.

Actually, is HE on payroll now? Is Nazgrim actually cutting a check to that fucker? How much? What’s the going rate for monkey labor? Can we pay him in bananas or some shit? I need to know these things.

It’s going to take a few days for me to get fully updated from Nazgrim, Blood Guard Gro’tash, the rest of the command and support staff here. Plus I need to get Mokvar acclimated to the place, seeing as he’s new to Pandaria. Also Brolic, a blademaster Lantresor recommended as an addition to my personal guard. He seems like he’ll be a valuable addition, but since he’s still new, I’d just as soon not assign him right off to work with the trainees the way the last batch of blademasters — Burzum, Ishi, and Krimpatul — did when they were here. For the time being, I’m having the DPS kids join Marksman Shokia and Shademaster Kiryn when they go out on patrol. Fairly controlled situation, watchful eye of two of our better operatives down here, plus it’ll give the kids a chance to get some input from kind of a different perspective, seeing as Shokia is a hunter and Kiryn is a rogue. Neither of which is as awesome or glorious as being a warrior, granted, but, hey. More exposure is better than less exposure.

I mean, in terms of training. Not if you’re talking about, say, an ogre and a platekini. In that case, cover that shit up, dammit. People want to eat lunch sometime this week.

More soon.

 

From Hellscream’s heart, I stab at thee

ship1

So in case any of you were wondering after that last bonus poem the other day, YES, I got sick of Dontrag and Utvoch’s stupid yammering, and YES, I chucked their damn asses overboard, and YES, I’m making them swim the rest of the goddamn way to Pandaria. And before you get your damn bleeding hearts all bloody over them, don’t worry, we’re not just taking off and leaving them — we haven’t been making the best time to begin with, and trust me, the FEAR of getting left behind has kept them swimming at a nice brisk pace.

Now I can already hear your NEXT crybaby objection: “But Garrosh, you’ve been at sea for days, how can they sleep? Alas, wah wah, boo hoo, there’s sand in my hoo-ha.” Well first of all, thank you for taking an interest, Lor’themar, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you on this trip. Second of all, yes, for fuck’s sake, they get to sleep. I’m not a damn monster. The first thing I did after I chucked the idiot brigade overboard… well, hold up, let me be honest. It wasn’t the FIRST thing I did. First I had a good long laugh and took a few hours to savor the sweet, sweet quiet. So, okay, the NEXT thing I did AFTER that was toss a raft and some rope down to Dumber and Dumber Still. So, see? One of them can get on the raft and sleep while the other one pulls him along behind him. Just like a kodo pulling a wagon. Only without the kodo having to pull the wagon through ocean water or do it while wearing heavy plate armor. And also kodos are at least 67% smarter. BUT THE POINT STANDS. They both get to have their goddamn shut-eye. They just have to take turns or draw straws or whatever. So that’s covered.

Meanwhile, since we still have some time to kill before we arrive, that gives me a chance to go over business with the major players we’ve got on hand.

 

Garrosh, Captain Drok, Mokvar, and Malkorok stand near the stern of the ship, looking out over the sea.

GARROSH: So somebody remind me, weren’t we already supposed to be in Pandaria by this point?

MALKOROK: I do recall the last trip going faster, yes sir.

DROK: It can’t be helped, Warchief. We hit a windless patch the second day that slowed us down. Still waters. Not much to be done about it.

GARROSH: Can’t we go faster now to make up for it?

DONTRAG: <shouting from the waters just off the stern> No, sir! Not faster!

GARROSH: I THINK YOU TWO PINHEADS HAVE BETTER USES FOR YOUR BREATH THAN BITCHING AND MOANING!

UTVOCH: <also shouting from overboard> But sir!

DONTRAG: <overboard> Dammit, Ut, zip it before he starts throwing stuff again!

UTVOCH: <overboard> But my arms are getting tired!

GARROSH: HEY, jackasses — my EARS are getting tired!

UTVOCH: <overboard> Sorry sir…

GARROSH: <turning back to Drok> You’re sure you can’t pick up the pace a little?

MOKVAR: I’m a little confused, actually. Why are we taking a boat, rather than using a mage portal?

GARROSH: Oh, geez, THAT whole shit show…

MALKOROK: You had to remind him of this, didn’t you, scribe…

MOKVAR: Huh? What am I missing?

GARROSH: Yeah, so, we COULD use a mage portal, except for the fact that the mages who came back to Orgrimmar with us all managed to forget to train the damn Shrine portal before they left.

MOKVAR: I… oh.

GARROSH: Yeah, And I guess maybe some of Lor’the’whatever’s magisters might have gotten it, but they’re all camped out on that thunder place and Ponytail hasn’t been returning my messages.

While the others are talking, Giska and Korrina appear nearby and approach the side of the ship, carrying fishing poles.

GISKA: You never learned this at all?

KORRINA: No, never got around to training it.

GARROSH: <calling over from nearby> Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around.

KORRINA: Uh, yes, Captain.

GISKA: Of course, sir.

KORRINA: <aside> Do you know what he’s talking about?

GISKA: <aside> No, but that isn’t uncommon. I usually find keeping quiet and nodding attentively goes a long way, though.

KORRINA: Huh. Good tip.

GISKA: It helps a lot.

KORRINA: So how does this work?

GISKA: Well, first you need to bait your hook…

Giska opens a tackle box and takes out a brightly-colored lure.

So you take one of these and attach it…

Giska hands Korrina another lure and attached her own to her hook.

Like this, see?

KORRINA: Like this?

GISKA: Try to get it— right, there, like that.

KORRINA: <looking at her lure quizzically> The fish are actually fooled by these?

GISKA: Apparently.

KORRINA: Isn’t fish supposed to be brain food? Seems weird they’d be that stupid.

Giska shrugs.

GISKA: Okay, so now, when you’re ready to cast, you wind up like this, then…

Giska casts off the side of the ship; Korrina does as well, a little more awkwardly.

KORRINA: Okay… so what do we do now?

GISKA: We wait.

KORRINA: Oh.

Korrina looks around.

For how long?

GISKA: For as long as it takes for a fish to bite.

KORRINA: Huh.

Korrina looks overboard at her bobber.

Well geez, these fish better hurry up…

UTVOCH: <overboard> Oh hey, there’s like a shrimp or something here! I bet it tastes — aaahh! The shrimp is defending itself somehow!

Giska looks around awkwardly as her fishing line goes taut.

GISKA: Um…

KORRINA: Yeah, definitely not brain food.

DONTRAG: <overboard> Dammit, Ut, stop thrashing around so much!

UTVOCH: <overboard> I swear the shrimp had something sharp in it!

GISKA: Um, I’m not sure I’m going to get that lure back…

KORRINA: You can’t just pull it back?

GISKA: Well, not without ripping up… um… that one’s mouth, probably. Whichever one of them he is. I probably shouldn’t risk it.

GARROSH: <shouting over> Roll those dice, if you ask me.

MOKVAR: You know, boss, if you maim everyone who annoys you, eventually you will run out of people to maim…

GARROSH: Yeah, like I’m worried about the bottomless well of anonymous red shirts running out.

GISKA: Huh. Well…

Giska tries tugging back her line, setting off a pained wail from Utvoch out of view.

Right. So. I’ll just… let that one go and get a new lure…

Gurtash and Kulkesh enter, walking close to either side of Ruekie, who appears to be moving unsteadily.

KULKESH: Okay… just a little farther…

GURTASH: Watch this next step, Ruekie.

KORRINA: She’s not doing any better?

GURTASH: It’s even worse now. You know… morning and all.

RUEKIE: <trying to steady herself> Why…? Why would they do it…?

GISKA: What did I miss?

KULKESH: Well, she—

RUEKIE: <flailing> What kind of sadist stocks a galley like that?!

Gurtash and Kulkesh try to steady Ruekie.

GURTASH: Kafa withdrawal…

KULKESH: The galley ran out yesterday.

GISKA: Wait, she’s gone without kafa for less than a day so far, and she’s already—

RUEKIE: Seventeen nightmarish hours! Seventeen!

GURTASH: You do not appreciate how much of that stuff she drinks…

GISKA: And… I mean, wouldn’t eight of those have been spent sleeping anyway?

RUEKIE: They were nowwithout the wakeful buzz of my sweet haste buff! Oh… oh how I miss you, my wired caramelly haze…

KORRINA: See what you miss, being all early-to-bed and early-to-rise, Giska?

KULKESH: I guess the galley just stocked enough kafa to last a couple days—

RUEKIE: <flailing> who does that?! Why?! I— they— We— <whimpers> I feel so slow…

KULKESH: Right… so… We only had enough for a couple days, and now the trip’s ended up taking longer, so…

RUEKIE: They should have poured the kafa on the boat! For the haste buff! To— to get us there faster! Where… where the kafa is! But… but then there would be even less kafa left… and we wouldn’t… but… but we would get there faster… and… uh…

Ruekie flails wildly while Kulkesh and Gurtash try to steady her.

Aaaaaahhhhhh paradoxes! Fel with them!

GISKA: Uh, so… Ruekie… why don’t you just… get some fresh sea air and… and try to relax?

RUEKIE: <closing her eyes and swaying back and forth> Okay… okay… calming and relaxing… calming and… and… <whimpers< I swear if Gul’dan offered me a green cappuccino right now I’d be half tempted…

KORRINA: Uh. Yeah. Okay.

Korrina looks out at the ocean, then to Giska.

So… how long do these fish take?

GISKA: There’s no telling, really.

KORRINA: I mean, it’s been a while now.

GISKA: Not really. Sometimes it can take hours to get a bite.

KORRINA: Hours to…? Why do people make a hobby of this crap?!

GISKA: It’s not so bad. Think of it as a chance to clear your head and center yourself. I do some of my best meditating while I’m fishing.

KORRINA: Oh geez, here you go with that kung-fu panda stuff again…

GISKA: I’m just saying it can be soothing.

KORRINA: For you maybe! It’s already getting on my nerves.

Korrina’s line tugs a few times.

Oh. Oh hey, wait… That’s not one of those guys, is it?

GISKA: <looking overboard> I don’t think so… not sure, though…

UTVOCH: <overboard> Uh, Donty, don’t swim so close?

DONTRAG: <overboard> What are you talking about? I’m all the way over here!

UTVOCH: <overboard> You weren’t just over by me?

DONTRAG: <overboard> Ut, have you not noticed me swimming over here this whole time?

UTVOCH: <overboard> Then what just went by my leg?

DONTRAG: <overboard> I don’t know, a fish or something?

KULKESH: <looking over the side of the ship> Um, guys, do you see something down there?

GISKA: I’m not sure. They’re frothing around a lot. It’s hard to see.

KORRINA: <pulling back on her reel> Dunno, I’m more interested in this. I think I’ve got something!

RUEKIE: What is it?

KORRINA: I don’t know! Whatever it is, it’s putting up a fight!

KULKESH: A tuna, maybe? Those are pretty big.

GURTASH: Tasty, too!

RUEKIE: <grumbling> Kafa’s still better.

GURTASH: Well, yeah, but you can’t live on kafa.

RUEKIE: Don’t you even say that in fun!

GISKA: Whew, if we’re reeling tuna in, I’m glad Master Ji didn’t come along…

KORRINA: Must be a big one — it’s really putting up a fight!

DONTRAG: <overboard> Um… it looks like a fin or something…

UTVOCH: Yeah, well it feels like… it…

Utvoch looks over to one side as a large dorsal fin emerges from the water next to him.

Uh oh…

KULKESH: Hey! Look at that!

RUEKIE: Whoa!

KULKESH: I knew I saw something down there!

GURTASH: What kind of fish is that?

KORRINA: <pulling harder on her reel> A soon-to-be-dead one, if I can help it!

GURTASH: You’ve got that thing?

KORRINA: Dunno, but I’ve got something! And whatever it is is pretty strong for a fish…

Utvoch swims more frantically while looking over at the fin.

UTVOCH: <overboard> Uh, Donty… I think there’s… I think I feel something under me!

DONTRAG: <overboard> Well there kind of has to be, right, unless there’s like a troll wearing a big fake fin!

GURTASH: Uh, Captain, you maybe want to look at this…

GARROSH and DROK: What?

Garrosh and Drok look at each other.

DROK: Wouldn’t that be…?

GARROSH: I’m pretty sure he meant me.

MOKVAR: Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t run into that issue before on this trip…

GURTASH: <pointing overboard> Down there, sir! Look!

KULKESH: Korrina caught something, sir!

KORRINA: I think!

RUEKIE: It’s a big one!

Dontrag and Utvoch shout as the huge dorsal fin descends then rises again, with a giant creature visibly swelling the ocean water from beneath them.

DONTRAG: <overboard> Uhh Warchief!

UTVOCH: <overboard> Sir, I think we have a problem here!

Garrosh goes to the side of the ship and looks over.

GARROSH: What the hell have you idiots done this time?!

DONTRAG: <overboard> We swear, sir, we didn’t do anything!

UTVOCH: <overboard> Honest, Warchief, we—

Another giant fin splashes up out of the water and knocks Utvoch over. After a moment, Utvoch emerges, gasping, nearby.

DROK: Ohh, wait a minute… Could it…?

With another large, loud splash, an immense fish-like creature emerges from beneath the surface of the water, then crashes back down, sending a large splash onto the deck of the boat — dousing Garrosh and Drok in the process.

GARROSH: DAMMIT, you fuckheads, you can’t do ANYTHING without making a big fucking clown show out of it, can you!

DONTRAG: <overboard, scrambling around in the waves> Sorry, Warchief! We didn’t mean to!

UTVOCH: <overboard> We’re sorry having you throw us overboard ended up causing an inconvenience for you, sir!

KORRINA: I think this might have been me, actually, Captain…

Garrosh and Drok start to talk over each other, then look at each other.

GARROSH: Seriously, dude. When one of them says it, they mean me.

DROK: Aye, sorry, Warchief.

GARROSH: And what do you mean YOU did this?

One of the fins crashes up and back down to the water again, sending Dontrag crashing into the side of the boat.

KULKESH: Oh, that one had to hurt…

KORRINA: Well, sir, I think I might have, uh, hooked it…

GISKA: I was showing her how to fish just now, Captain…

GARROSH: Oh. Oh sure. Of course. A member of the Saurfang line goes fishing for the first time, and what happens? She catches a fucking WHALE…

KULKESH: Is it a whale?

KORRINA: As opposed to?

KULKESH: A big fish, I guess.

KORRINA: How do you tell the difference?

GISKA: Well, if it’s a whale, it would have a blowhole and come to the surface to breathe.

RUEKIE: A blowhole?

GURTASH: Oh no. Here we go…

GISKA: Right, you know, whales don’t have gills, so…

GARROSH: How the hell did that thing wind up right on top of us?

MOKVAR: Other than the Saurfang thing.

GARROSH: Yeah, other than that.

DROK: Well, sir…

Another swatting of fins sends Dontrag and Utvoch crashing into each other.

UTVOCH: <overboard> Uh, Warchief…!

DONTRAG: <overboard> This is really becoming not fun down here, sir!

GARROSH: WELL MAYBE YOU GENIUSES SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU WERE JACKASSES SINCE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, NOW SHOULDN’T YOU?

DONTRAG: <overboard, struggling to pull his head back above water> Yes sir…

UTVOCH: <overboard> Sorry sir…

GISKA: Okay, so look, see, it’s got its back up above the water, so if it’s a whale…

RUEKIE: Oh!

Ruekie leans out over the side of the ship.

GARROSH: Rook, what the hell are you doing?

RUEKIE: Looking for the blowhole, sir!

GURTASH: Wait for it…

RUEKIE: I want to see all that stuff shoot out everywhere!

GURTASH: Aaaaand there it is.

MOKVAR: She does this on purpose, right?

RUEKIE: Does what…? <suddenly looks horrified> Oh gosh!

DROK: Actually, Warchief, I’m a fair bit sure I know what that thing is. Though I can’t say I ever expected I to see it again…

GARROSH: Well don’t just stand there being ominous, Drok. What the hell is it?

KORRINA: Is it a whale? I bet it’s a whale. I caught a whale!

GISKA: I don’t think I saw a blowhole on its back…

RUEKIE: <blushing> Could we not use that word anymore…?

DROK: It’s not a whale, sir. Whales… ah, they’re mostly harmless so long as you give them a wide berth. But this… aye, this is what whales would dream of if they had nightmares.

KORRINA: Oh so I caught something even more badass? Awesome!

GISKA: Well, I mean, you haven’t really caught it…

KORRINA: That’s just jealousy!

GARROSH: Yeah, so, Captain, I’m still hearing too much ominous and not enough answers.

Drok continues looking out at the sea without comment.

Uh, Captain?

Drok looks back to Garrosh.

DROK: Oh. The “Captain” was for me this time?

GARROSH: Dude, try to keep up. I was the one SAYING it. I’m not going to be talking to MYSELF, am I?

DROK: Aye, I reckon not, sir.

GARROSH: Right, so—

More crashing waves — accompanied by more panicked shouts from Dontrag and Utvoch — send the whole ship bucking violently. Everyone tries to steady themselves while deckhands scramble around.

DROK: <shouting toward the bow> Helm! Try bringing us around portside and give us some distance!

DONTRAG: <overboard> Warchief? Um, a rope maybe?

UTVOCH: <overboard> Please, sir?

GARROSH: YOU TWO SHUT UP WHILE I’M WORRYING ABOUT MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN YOU, IN OTHER WORDS ANYTHING.

DONTRAG: <overboard> Yes sir…

GARROSH: So do I get an answer here, Drok, or do we have to play fucking charades or some shit?

DROK: It’s not a whale, Warchief. It’s a whale shark. The kind we saw in the deep waters around Vashj’ir, back when I first served under General Nazgrim. Legionnaire then, sir. They don’t often venture this far south… or far north… but this one… Ah, yes, this one, sir. This one’s an exception.

GARROSH: Wait, you know this one specifically?

DROK: Aye, sir. I’ve seen him before. Never expected I might again. At least I would have hoped…

MOKVAR: How can you tell it’s not just some other whale shark?

MALKOROK: <calling below> Gunners! Get up here and man the cannons!

DROK: Look… on his next pass… aye, there!

The whale shark emerges again, setting off waves that send the ship tilting to one side; in the process, it also lifts Dontrag and Utvoch on its back, where they flail around frantically.

There, see, Warchief, the great white hump on the beast’s back…

GARROSH: Dammit, you idiots, get out of the way — you’re blocking the view!

DONTRAG: <sliding around on the whale shark’s back awkwardly> But— but sir…!

GARROSH: BUT NOTHING! Don’t make me tell the gunners to aim at you FIRST!

UTVOCH: <spilling off the side of the whale shark> Yes si— oof!

DROK: And there, Warchief… see the wrinkled white forehead… and along the one side, that long scar, left by ill-fated attempts in days long past to bring the monster down…

UTVOCH: <invisible amid the crashing waves> I really don’t like the sound of this, sir!

GARROSH: Neither do I, if by “this” you mean “your endless bitching”!

While the whole shark sinks and rises again amid the waves, Utvoch manages to climb onto its back and grab onto the dorsal fin.

UTVOCH: Donty! Up here! If we hold on to the fin maybe it won’t be able to bite us!

GISKA: So Captain…

Garrosh looks at her.

Um, Captain Drok, I mean.

Garrosh shrugs.

How do you know about this shark?

DROK: Ah, young’un, this beast has a name for himself, ’mid those of us sail the oceans. Mobius-Dick, the great white whale shark. Told in whispers, mostly, a ghost story for the seas, but for me, and a handful of others, well, we knew all too well he’s real.

The whale shark breaches and crashes back down on the water, rocking the ship again, then dives below the surface. Korrina’s fishing pole gets yanked out of her hands.

KORRINA: Wha— Oh dammit!

DROK: I’ve seen the beast once before, Warchief. You remember, Warchief, back before General Nazgrim found Pandaria in the southern seas, you remember I’d gone on an expedition for him to the northern ones.

GARROSH: Right, I remember. The force we sent to Northrend.

DROK: To pick up a certain arcane trinket. And deliver it to your blood elf friend a ways east.

MALKOROK: Hmph. Bite your tongue, Drok, calling that pompous elf a friend.

DROK: Ah, but he was good at his job in any case, though, wasn’t he.

GARROSH: Did a good job on the mana bomb, true enough.

DROK: Yes, sir — I like to think we had a hand in it as well. Sure, by the time Thalen was working his magic — heh! — we were setting said back home through the northern seas, but I like to think us delivering… well, Warchief, you know… I like to think, in a way, that we delivered the mana bomb.

GARROSH: So, what, on the way back is when you saw this thing or something?

DROK: Aye. On the way home.

Drok goes quiet moment while the crashing of waves around them goes more still.

Mobius-Dick slammed unannounced into our side, Warchief, barely a day out of our rendezvous delivering the mana bomb. 110 orcs went into the water. Ship went down in minutes. And of course, Warchief, our mission had been so secret, no rescue was bound to be coming, not right away. First light, Warchief, Mobius-Dick come cruising back again. So we formed ourselves in tight groups. <chuckles grimly> You know, like maneuvers from basic training, closing the ranks… <waving toward the trainees without looking at them> You young ones learning all that, I wager… And the idea was, whale shark comes near a the group and they’d start pounding and hollering… and sometimes the whale shark would go away. Sometimes he wouldn’t go away… So, 110 orcs went in the water, 31 come out, Mobius-Dick took the rest, twelve days before Theramore. Anyway… we delivered the mana bomb.

MOKVAR: Spirits.

KULKESH: <aside> Remind me never to sign up for naval duty.

GISKA: <aside> Yeah. <beat> Also, don’t phrase it that way too loud around Ruekie.

KULKESH: <aside> Could be entertaining, though.

GISKA: <aside> True.

GARROSH: How did I not hear about any of this?

MALKOROK: We had reports of an incident at sea and recovery, Warchief, but I don’t remember being given the details.

GARROSH: Because I REMEMBER you commanding one of the ships in at Theramore, Drok.

DROK: That I did, Warchief.

GARROSH: In fact, I’m pretty sure you delivered the small strike force we sent in to extract Thalen.

DROK: I suppose I’m a veritable delivery man, sir.

MOKVAR: So you mean you came home from… from that, and turned right around to take another mission?

DROK: I’m a soldier of the Horde, sir, and Nazgrim trained me well. I’m a soldier and I had my duty, and so long as I still have legs, I’ll perform it.

GARROSH: Well, whatever it is, if it—

With a loud crash of waves, Mobius-Dick — with Dontrag and Utvoch still hanging desperately onto its dorsal fin — emerges close to the ship, causing a surge of waves that sends the ship tilting sharply to one side. Deckhands scramble around while Drok barks orders.

DONTRAG: <sputtering for breath> Guh— we— Ut? You still there?

UTVOCH: <sputtering as well> Yeah— I— blurg— I can’t see you, though, I think I got like some salt water in my eyes somehow…

MALKOROK: Get those cannons armed while we have a clear line on it!

DONTRAG: Warchief?

DROK: Aye, sir!

UTVOCH: Sir?

GARROSH: OPEN FIRE!

The cannoneers open fire at Mobius-Dick; the whale shark thrashes violently and splashes water heavily over the deck, dousing everyone nearby.

KORRINA: Guh!

MOKVAR: Dammit, I just dried this suit…

RUEKIE: Ack! That big Dick got me all wet!

KULKESH: Uh…

KORRINA: Uh… Ruek…

GISKA: It’s… it’s not even worth getting into.

MOKVAR: Are we sure she’s not doing it on purpose?

Another round of cannon fire pelts one side of the whale shark — with Dontrag and Utvoch visible still clinging to the dorsal fin.

DONTRAG: <sputtering> You know, Ut, I’m starting to think maybe this fin idea might not have been the best plan…

UTVOCH: <gasping for breath> Well geez, would you rather get swallowed?

DONTRAG: It might be better than getting pulled under till we drown!

UTVOCH: But then we’d get… like…. slowly digested for a thousand years or something!

DROK: Helm, keep us alongside! Don’t let him close on us!

MALKOROK: Kor’kron! Maintain fire!

DONTRAG: Wait! Sir!

UTVOCH: Warchief, please!

Dontrag and Utvoch clamber in tighter against the dorsal fin, partially trying to use it for cover amid the increasing hail of cannonballs.

GARROSH: I’M HEARING WAY TOO MUCH NOISE FROM THE FUCKING EXPENDABLES. <bellowing below deck> Get some shaman up here to try to steady the waters! And while we’re at it, hey, how about some of those beastmasters we brought get their damn asses up here, what with we got a goddamn beast that could use some mastering! Unless they’re all working at the frigging Steve level!

UTVOCH: Poor Steve!

DONTRAG: Spirits rest his soul — I can’t believe he’s gone!

UTVOCH: Yeah, I know — he owed me like fifteen gold…

DONTRAG: Dammit, Ut, the poor guy’s dead! Eaten even!

UTVOCH: <hanging on to the whale shark desperately as it thrashes> Yeah, well, better him than us!

DONTRAG: Ut, there were never any devilsaur gonna eat us!

UTVOCH: Spirits’ sake, Donty, look where we are right now!

GARROSH: OKAY, THAT’S IT, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THE PRATTLING IDIOT SOUNDTRACK ON CONSTANT LOOP WHILE WE HAVE LITERAL BIGGER FISH TO FRY!

Garrosh grabs a harpoon from a weapons rack and runs back to the edge of the deck.

DONTRAG: Warchief! We’re sorry, sir!

UTVOCH: We really mean it this time, sir! Cross our hearts and hope to —

DONTRAG: Dammit, Ut!

GARROSH: SHUT! THE FUCK! UP!

Garrosh hurls the harpoon toward Mobius-Dick — hitting it square in the middle of its wrinkled forehead. The whale shark thrashes violently, shaking Dontrag and Utvoch off its back; the duo fly toward the ship. The whale shark’s thrashing causes a wave that douses the deck again, just as D&U crash into Garrosh.

DONTRAG: <sprawled, with Utvoch, awkwardly on the deck> I… I don’t think I like seafood anymore…

UTVOCH: My hands are all pruney…

GARROSH: <drumming his fingers on the deck> You know, I’ll bet you anything this kind of shit didn’t used to happen to Thrall…

 

So… yeah. That was a thing. More fun than you’re ever going to have without lighting your own head on fire. On the plus side, turns out that whale shark steaks are pretty tasty. Although overall I don’t know if I can recommend them, what with the accompanying side order of moron jackassery. Or do they count that as a garnish? Tough call.

Either way, we should be reaching Pandaria soon. Cross your fingers for no more outbreaks of stupidity.

 

 

Monday mailbag

mailbag10

You know, for once I’m glad I put off checking on the latest batch of mail. The way it ended up working out, I just had a bunch of it piled up waiting for attention. (NOT UNLIKE MY GROUPIES, but that’s a story for another day) just in time for the trip back to Pandaria. So, the long boat trip wound up giving me the damn time I needed to finally get around to reading your letters and working up some responses. So, let’s get right into it…

 

Warchief Garrosh,

I want to complain about your minions, the kind-of-Orc-twins whose names I didn’t care to remember.

I am a Draenei lady and am deeply worried about their fascination for hooves, or hooftishism as they called it. What if they’re starting a trend? It is annoying enough to deal with the butt fetishists, we don’t need people who will try to lick our hooves on top of that.

Please make sure that they don’t organize meetings to share their passion with their fellows. Think that your daughter too could, one day, be harassed by hooftishists.

Archenon poros,

–Celesti.

Okay, so first of all, Celesti, I’m glad you specified the “kind-of-Orc-twins” part, because if you’d left it at “I have complaints about you minions, whose names I didn’t care enough about to remember,” well, number one, that’d be way too broad to narrow down, and number two, guess what, “minions I don’t care enough about to remember their names” pretty much covers how I feel about a large chunk of my payroll, so, you know, there’s that.

So, yeah. Dontrag and Utvoch. Although… okay, this might be yet another example of the “shit I don’t care enough about to pay attention to” corollary, but I seem to remember hearing somewhere along the line that it’s only one of them who has the weird fascination with hooves. Don’t ask me which one, though. Or which one of them that one is.

But yeah. Those two. Or one of those two. Believe me, this complaint you’re registering is way, way down on the list of reasons why I find them damn annoying. It ranks, I’ll grant you that, but it doesn’t even crack the top five reasons I want to smack them in the head sometimes. And by “sometimes,” I mean three times daily, usually just after meals, with two optional time slots for further smacking in the event I’m having an aggravating day. That is, when I’m not tossing their asses overboard.

Speaking of priorities, actually… Not for nothing, but considering you’re a draenei, I would figure that your biggest complaint about a couple of Horde soldiers wouldn’t be the hoof fetish thing nearly as much as the trying-to-kill-you thing. Where the hell did you even run into those two, that the hoof thing even came up?

Wait. Are you telling me that you crossed paths with these jokers, and they got so preoccupied with their unwholesome hoof thing that they forgot about getting down to some wholesome BLOODSHED?

So yeah. Okay. I think that means it’s time for my 2:00 smacking. Except they’re still kind of preoccupied swimming frantically to keep up with the boat. Guess I’ll just have to above deck and throw stuff at them for the time being.

 

Yo, Warchief,

I’ve been kept up to date with Blackfuse’s time as engineer for the Horde.  I knew he’d be a big help as long as you could get him under control.  With any luck he’ll give you the big badda-boom hardware you need to blast the Alliance back.

Got a sitrep from the Isle of Giants, by the way.  Nazgrim’s got me working on finding some more Zandalari tomes that talk about how to tame and use Dinosaurs.  The good news is, I’ve found some, and the more intelligent beastmasters have been putting them to good use; the bad news is, they’re very hard to find, so most of our progress has been capturing and packaging baby raptors and Devilsaurs to send back to the Orgrimmar beast pens.  The big and mean ones already grown up have been a chore and a half to even talk to without getting munched, but slowly but surely we’re making progress

One last thing: I’ve heard Zandalari whispers of a really big, really mean Devilsaur who puts Oondasta to shame.  I think his name was Thok the Bloodthirsty or something like that.  Sounds like your kind of dinosaur, sir, if you catch my drift.  

Your man on the ground,

–Grottee Metalbeard, Goblin Shaman

Hey Grottee, glad to hear you made it back down to Pandaria without incident. WISH I COULD SAY THE SAME. HE SAID, WHILE TURNING AN ATTENTIVE EAR TOWARD A PORTHOLE TO LISTEN TO THE PLAINTIVE GROANS OF MORONS SWIMMING.

Glad to hear you guys are making progress with the dinos, and that Nazgrim hasn’t gotten any bright ideas about going off script again. Who knows, maybe that jackass red shirt Steve was the only member of Naz’s crew afflicted with that particular level of jackassery, so we’ll have smooth sailing from here on out. HE SAID, AS IF HE HASN’T BEEN WATCHING HIS STAFF OF MENTAL DEFECTIVES GIVE IT THE OL’ COMMUNITY COLLEGE TRY FOR A COUPLE YEARS NOW. Anyhow, as long as things are coming along. At this point I’m just glad we’re making any progress at all, even if it’s slow, considering the way things have been going, I could swear sometimes our fastest speed was reverse.

As for that Oondasta-trumping devilsaur, I think I remember you mentioning something about it once before. I’m pretty sure I included something about it in the notes I left for Nazgrim, but I guess when he decided to run with that cunning plan that led to ol’ shithead Steve’s untimely demise (maybe the one positive to come out of the whole damn affair), his people weren’t able to locate Thog or whatever, so he just went with the devilsaur that was easier to find.

Which raises a question. If this Thunk dino is as big and bad as you’re saying, Grottee, how the hell does it manage to be elusive? I mean, how the fuck does a DEVILSAUR pull off STEALTHY? Is there a goddamn sauropod ROGUE TRAINER down there teaching them to go WHOOSH WHOOSH MOSTLY TRANSPARENT? Do they, like, hold a piece of a shrub in front of themselves in their doofy little front claws with a fucking sign that says “Just a shrub, move along, citizen”? Hell, it’s not even like the Isle of Giants is a big place, from what they tell me — there couldn’t be THAT many places to hide. How the hell does this motherfucker manage to fucking ELUDE everyone?!

 

Hail, Warchief,

My apologies for the difficulties with Golmash last week.  I’m afraid his behaviour caught even me off-guard.  I was afraid that wolf would be the death of me, but instead it seems he was the death of one of your beastmasters.

At any rate, since his dramatic departure from my pens, I have been having strange and frightening dreams.  In them, I am standing at the entrance to my home on a dark night, when a horrifying sight appears before me – a ghostly orc, his face twisted and scarred, his eyes glowing with terrible power.  I hear him speaking to me in a ghastly, croaky voice, but I have no idea what he is saying.  His words sound like Orcish, but mean nothing to me.  The only thing that clearly comes across is that he is angry, as he grabs me by the shirt and shakes me while screaming in his unknown tongue.  

I have no idea what is causing these dreams or what they mean, but they are connected to Golmash somehow.  I just know it.  Whatever comes of this, Warchief, I only hope it happens quickly, for these dreams are stripping my nights of much-needed sleep.  

Your humble servant,

–Ogunaro Wolfrunner, Kennel Master

Hey Ogunaro. Good to hear from you. Even if you’re… you know… dealing with… well… this thing. And… well… um… you know what, O? I’m going to ask you to do me a favor here and just skip the next paragraph. I just remembered I, um, I need to insert some stuff that I meant to include in a previous letter and I, uh, I can’t just scroll up and insert while I’m typing this… um… well, because… because, oh come on, you know me and computers, right? I can’t even remember where the damn delete key is, and here I am on a boat without Spazzle around to fix this crap for me, oh woe is me, and ANYWAY that’s not even the point, the point is, see, that this extra stuff I need to insert has nothing to do with you but I really need to get it written down before I forget, because scatterbrained me, oops, you know how it goes, but I don’t want to bother you with it ’cause I know you already have enough on your plate what with, you know, the thing. So just do me a solid and skip that next paragraph so I don’t need to worry about you, and pick up again right AFTER that, right where it says “MELLIFLUOUS.” So there. Go to it. Skip starting… now.

Okay. So you guys, we need to talk. I didn’t want O listening in on this, because, you know, we — like the you and me “we,” not the Ogunaro and me “we,” and FUCK YOU PRONOUN AMBIGUITY — we have a history, and we’re cool and shit, but I don’t even know what dude’s deal is, you know? And you probably already know where I’m going with this, right? Because I’m starting to get that vibe that our buddy Ogunaro, I mean I like him all and I appreciate the work he does, but I’m starting to get the feeling like he’s one of THOSE guys. You know how I mean? Those guys where there’s ALWAYS fucking SOMETHING, like one goddamn thing after another and after a while you can’t even tell where the real crises are because EVERYTHING gets the ol’ emergency blinker cranked up to fucking eleven. Is it just me? It’s his whole goddamn family, too, near as I can tell. Well, the alive ones, anyway. But who can even say for sure on that one, either, because necromancy, motherfucker. Fingers crossed. So anyway, I just had to say something to you guys because we have a thing, but I’m for real not going to know what to do with this dude if this shit keeps up. Okay. That’s it. Don’t say anything to him. Sshh, here he comes.

MELLIFLUOUS. Which is a goddamn awesome word, by the way. Try it out sometime. And if you get a chance to have Nazgrim say it, you totally have to. He knows how to sell that shit, man. Anyway. Welcome back, O. See, wasn’t that a lot faster and easier and less insulting than having to wade through a bunch of other stuff that you definitely weren’t interested in? Hot damn, good thing I wrote it all down before I forgot, hell I don’t even remember what it was NOW. GOT IN THERE JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME, O. THAT WAS A FUCKING CLOSE ONE.

Anyhow, yeah, O, that’s some freaky shit in that dream. I can’t say I’m much of an expert in making sense of what dreams mean, though. Maybe there’s something to this dream with the ghostly visitor, maybe it’s got something to do with Golmash, maybe not. If it has something to do with the wolf, we’ll figure it out, especially now that we’ve got him secured and under close observation. If not… well, we’ll see. It might be worth getting some feedback from a shaman or two, just the same. And for the time being, just to make sure you can get a little sleep without going bonkers, maybe it’s a good idea to see if you can get something from an apothecary to help you sleep a little deeper. Just don’t take anything from an apothecary with a recently refurbished jaw who’s really sarcastic all the time, because trust me, there’s no telling what he might have slipped into that shit.

 

Dear Warchief,

I am researching the cultures of the Horde, especially naming customs. Most of the Forsaken kept the human names we were born with. A few decided to adopt new names but most of those were pretty grimdark and silly. The less said about them the better.

What naming customs do the Orcs have? Are family names passed through the father? the mother? Does you’re name mean something?

Curiously yours –

–Ickabod Pimlen, The Undercity.

Thanks for writing, Ickabod. Although, whew. “Ickabod Pimlen.” Not to be shitty to you right out the gate, Ickabod, but as long as there was already a thing going where some of the Forsaken picked a new name for themselves, I mean, maybe you should have looked into that. “Pimlen” was already not exactly a winner of a last name, but your parents really decided to top that off by naming you “Ickabod” to boot? Seriously? Yeesh, and people call ME a war criminal…

Anyway, now for your question, Ickabod. Naming customs aren’t consistent across the whole orcish race — like most of our customs and traditions naming varies with the individual clans. For instance, some clans, like the Frostwolves, rarely take on surnames. The Thunderlord clan usually does, on the other hand, and they pass those along generation to generation. Typically, but not always, patrilineally. (THAT’S RIGHT, PATRILINEALLY, MOTHERFUCKER, STOP LOOKING SURPRISED THAT I KNOW FUCKING WORDS.)

With some clans, though, last names are given in recognition of some sort of accomplishment. That’s how it works in the Warsong clan, for instance. My grandfather, Golmash (we’ve been hearing that name a lot lately, huh?), gained the name Hellscream for the battle cry he brought into a long string of victorious battles, and he passed that name on to Grommash, who passed it on to me.

Only, there’s a catch — see, in clans that use these names as a kind of honorific, there can only be one person at a time using it. So back when Golmash was alive, you wouldn’t talk about Golmash Hellscream AND Grom Hellscream. There can only be one Hellscream. That was Golmash, until he died. After that, his oldest child (in this case, his only child) could take on the name. I didn’t start using the full name until after I found out about Grom’s death — if you ran into me in Nagrand back in the day (and for your sake I hope you didn’t, because hoo boy was I an emo piece of work back then), I was just going by Garrosh.

Same thing for the Blackrock clan, by the way. Rend Blackhand was just plain ol’ Rend until daddy Blackhand (did dude ever actually have a NAME name, by the way?) bought it, just like Orgrim Doomhammer didn’t become Doomhammer until after his father Telkar died. Ditto for the Saurfangs, by the way, even though that one got a little muddier. See, while Dranosh was growing up with me in Nagrand, no one really knew what had become of Varok, but it was a pretty wide-held idea that he’d probably died. Dranosh wasn’t really sure what to believe, but he wanted to honor the family name… but he also wasn’t really sure if his old man had actually joined the ancestors. So he kind of half-wayed it and started calling himself “Saurfang the Younger.” After the family got reunited a few years back, we just kind of kept calling them both Saurfang in one way or another, just out of habit. Moot point now, I know. 

Oh and since you asked, my name means “warrior’s heart” in orcish. (I won’t offer to explain what “Dranosh” means, though, because fuck it, I’m pretty sure we’ve all been over that enough times already.)

So THERE. I bet that’s more about orcish names than you ever wanted to know. EXCEPT FOR ICKABOD, WHO ASKED ABOUT IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, SO IF YOU’RE GONNA COMPLAIN TO ANYBODY, DO IT WITH HIM, DAMMIT.

 

Hello again Warcheif!

I apologize for not finding the Command Board sooner, as you know I actually found it by accident. After talking with some friends I found out that they didn’t know about it either. Then I went to Orgrimar to see if I could find an Advertising Department. Unfortunately the guards that seem to know everything, except if something is on level one or two, did not know of this department.

Because of this I volunteer to be your Advertising Department. Here is the first line of merchandise that I came up with: Tabards. Most people wear them, especially those “adventurers” and we know that they will pay near anything if it looks cool. The other day I saw one buy a baby raptor for 100000 gold. Luckily there are less insane groups we can market to as well, shop keepers and flight masters will wear them as well as many military groups, Liadrin has all of us Blood Knights wear ours at all times.

But I can hear many people saying what will be on these tabards. Good thing I thought of that. So far I have ideas for three tabards all with the Warcheif’s Command Board on the back. First we have “Buy our shit, OR BE CRUSHED BENEATH IT!” with a picture of an orc buried under a ton of merchandise. Then there is “Fuck You Varian”, self explanitory. And finally EPIC VERSE with many of your epic verses all over the tabard.

Unfortunately I don’t have an artistic bone in my body and I haven’t found anyone that does so I can’t give you any visuals of the tabards. If you give me the go ahead on this I can get to work on new techniques by next month.

–Glen Bloodblade

Hey, Glen, glad to hear from you again. So, I’m going to excuse you for not following the blog until recently, even though we both know you already should have been following the blog before you found it accidentally. In fact, what the hell is this “accidentally” shit? You should have found it DELIBERATELY, as a result of PURPOSEFULLY SEARCHING for a blog you didn’t know existed. Because you could feel it in your bones, Glen. You could feel it in your bones.

Anyway, I’m going to let that slide. Just don’t do it again. Yes, I just told you not to not find the blog that you’re currently reading, again, which might sound like a weird thing to warn someone not to do, until you stop for a second to consider the crazy-ass world we live in, because FUCKING TIME TRAVEL. All I’m gonna tell you, Glen, is if you see any bronze dragons coming your way, or maybe a blood elf lady in a bikini dress, well, you just get ready to think fast is all I’m going to say.

Anyhow. You know, Glen, you might be on to something. After your last letter, I did some checking around, and the fact of the matter is that we don’t have a department in charge of publicity or advertising or whatever. Which I guess makes sense, since it turns out that the Kor’kron aren’t exactly in the habit of making public announcements about what they’re doing. At least not if they know what’s good for them.

Now, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t really given a lot of thought to advertising the blog. I mean, I always figured people would just find their way to the blog however people do shit like that on the internet. And I remember having a conversation with Faranell once about it maybe going viral. Although, looking back on it now, considering it WAS Faranell, I think I might have severely misunderstood what he was meant. I maybe shouldn’t think about that too much.

But back to your real point. You may be right — it might be a good idea to come up with ways to drive some more traffic to the blog. And here’s the thing — your tabard idea could actually be even more of a winner than you realize, because check it out, it opens the door not only for ADVERTISING, but also… MERCHANDISING. Tabards sound like a great way to start, and they’ll sure as hell get the word around, but who knows how much other stuff we could get into. Hell, even just with the tabards, if we produce a bunch of different versions, do you REALIZE how many compulsive collectors are out there who will go fucking NUTS trying to hunt down every last variation? Dude, I’ve seen it myself — people burning up hours of time and mountains of gold to try to land themselves, say, a scorpid pet that’s a SLIGHTLY different color than the seven scorpid pets they ALREADY FRIGGING HAVE. I can only imagine what some of them would do for the RARE CHASE VARIANT of the Garrosh blog tabard. Wait, did I say “rare”? FUCK THAT SHIT — EPIC!

So, yeah, HELL YEAH, run with this idea, Glen. You have some ideas, go for it, man. And hey, for that matter, I know you said you haven’t got any artistic skills, but AS IT HAPPENS, I may just have an in with some people who DO. Not just in-house, either, if you were thinking of Gurtash — WHO YOU WOULD BE RIGHT TO THINK. OF. — but even among the ranks of my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS. I’ll bet you anything that there are people among the CLEARLY TALENTED AND DISCRIMINATING CROWD that reads the Warchief’s Command Board who would be ONLY TOO HAPPY to offer their own artsy-fartsy designs for WCB tabards. ESPECIALLY WHEN I ORDER THEM TO AND REMIND THEM THAT I HAVE A TECH GOBLIN HACKER WHO’S ABLE TO TRACE IP’S. WHICH I TOTALLY DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE BUT HE DOES AND THAT’S WHAT COUNTS, OKAY?

 

And on that note, I think it’s time to wrap it up for this mailbag. Keep those letters coming as always. For next time, though, since I’m going to be pretty swamped with stuff in Pandaria, I managed to convince Shayari to hold down the fort again for the next mailbag. So, write in to her, or still write in to me for the next time I’m able to field your letters myself. Either way, write SOMETHING. Ideally MULTIPLE somethings. I WILL BE TAKING DOCUMENTARY ATTENDANCE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

More soon.

 

[PROGRAMMING NOTE: As you can tell from Garrosh’s announcement, the next mailbag will be a guest mailbag with Shayari. However, I also wanted to announce that I’ve decided to take a short break at the end of the month that will affect the upcoming mailbag schedule. As many of you will remember, the last few years I’ve taken a blogging break late in the summer due to a busy work schedule; this year, I’ve decided to move that hiatus up to earlier in the summer and use some of that time to get material in the pipeline.

So, blog hijinks will continue as usual through the end of May, then we’ll be off for a few weeks. Then, on July 11 (since the first Monday in July this year is a holiday, I figured there was no harm in pushing it back for one more week), we’ll be back with Shayari’s guest mailbag, and from there we’ll be off and running.

As always, thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and contributing!]

 

 

Lyrical leftovers

dontragutvoch5

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.