I appologize for nothing. (OOC)
Talking with my lovable kiwi friend about our respective creative foibles when I mentioned that I no longer write angsty poetry. When I am feeling angsty it tends to express itself through song. Which is appropriate, I suppose, considering my favored musical style (for my voice) is blues. Poetry, however, always seems to come from a joyful and whimsical place. Then he commented, "You're a limerick kinda lass."
The lesson here: Do not get my brain into limerick mode while I am playing WoW. Strange things happen. Things like this:
A shy little pally from Mulgore
found her PUG was not quite what she'd hoped for.
She came in to tank
but this rogue likes to spank
and now her hindquarters are quite sore.
The rogue, a rapscallion from Brill
tends to leer at the priest between kills.
"If your mana pool dries,
I can Cannibalize
'neath your skirts till we both have our fill."
The priest, feisty elf lass from Silvermoon
wears a smashing pair of purple pantaloons.
The hunter just stares
at her firm derriere
while his pet goes and aggros the whole room.
The boastful orc warlock named Xzite
for once is not hogging the spotlight
these gnomish made bots
are immune to his DoTs
so he never was given an invite.
The mage in the back vents his ire
at this group with immense gouts of fire
then crying, he stands
with his head in his hands
as he pulls threat and promptly expires.
You're welcome.
The lesson here: Do not get my brain into limerick mode while I am playing WoW. Strange things happen. Things like this:
A shy little pally from Mulgore
found her PUG was not quite what she'd hoped for.
She came in to tank
but this rogue likes to spank
and now her hindquarters are quite sore.
The rogue, a rapscallion from Brill
tends to leer at the priest between kills.
"If your mana pool dries,
I can Cannibalize
'neath your skirts till we both have our fill."
The priest, feisty elf lass from Silvermoon
wears a smashing pair of purple pantaloons.
The hunter just stares
at her firm derriere
while his pet goes and aggros the whole room.
The boastful orc warlock named Xzite
for once is not hogging the spotlight
these gnomish made bots
are immune to his DoTs
so he never was given an invite.
The mage in the back vents his ire
at this group with immense gouts of fire
then crying, he stands
with his head in his hands
as he pulls threat and promptly expires.
You're welcome.