GnomeWarrior Blog

(I wrote this story a few years ago during the Smarty Jones era.)

I was so hungry that I could eat a horse.

And not just any horse, either.

I was so hungry that I could eat recent Triple Crown hopeful Smarty Jones.

“Let’s see how Jones you are once you hit the deep-fry!” I quipped.

“I mean, smart.”

“Let’s see how smart you are.”

“Because your name is Smarty.”

“On second thought, I should’ve skipped the whole wordplay, and just gone with fast.”

“Let’s see how fast you are once you hit the deep-fry!” I quipped.

Actually, I hoped he was really fast once he hit the deep-fry.

I was as hungry as shit was smelly.

But there was one problem.

Where could I find a restaurant that served recent Triple Crown hopeful Smarty Jones?

After all, it was Sunday.

So, Chick-fil-A was closed.

I went into the kitchen and checked the phonebook.

But, I was quickly whistled for high-sticking.

After the resulting power play, I hopped into my car and drove to the local food court.

A Chinese BBQ joint called “the Pulled Panda” had recently opened for business.

Once there, I got into line.

The line didn’t seem to be moving at all.

I must’ve stood there for twenty minutes.

Finally, I realized that I was standing behind a row of trashcans.

“Are you guys in line or what?” I asked.

“Sorry,” said one of the trashcans. “We were just waiting for a friend. Go right ahead.”

I thanked them and moved to the front of the line.

Behind the register were two Chinese men.

They both appeared to be somewhere between the ages of 6 and 80.

Both of them stared directly at me as I approached.

“WELCOME TO PULLED PANDA,” said the cashier on the left. “YOU WANT ORDER?”

“Hi,” I said. “I was wondering if you guys served recent Triple Crown hopeful Smarty Jones?”

“PANDA?”

“No, he’s a horse.”

“CAT?”

“No… horse.”

“PANDA?”

“Horse, goddamn you!”

“YOU WANT ASK MANAGER?”

“Where can I find the manager?”

“HE RIGHT HERE,” he said, pointing to the man directly adjacent to him.

I stared at the manager who was still staring at me.

“Uh…” I said. “He’s been standing here the whole time. Why can’t he just answer my question now?”

“NO,” the cashier said. “HE LIKE TELEPHONE. HE NOT HEAR UNLESS YOU SPEAK TO HIM.”

“Sounds kinda like my wife!” I quipped.

(Man I loved quipping.)

“LESS QUIP, MORE ORDER CHINESE FOOD.”

Apologizing, I turned so that I was directly facing the manager.

“Hi,” I said. “I was wondering if—”

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” interrupted the manager.

“SORRY,” the cashier explained. “MANAGER BUSY. COME BACK, THREE HOUR.”

“But…”

“PANDA?”

“Fuck it,” I said, sighing.

Once again, I found myself completely incapable of communicating with another human being.

Sure, I could’ve easily blamed the language barrier, or a simple difference in culture.

But, truth is, I had trouble getting anyone to understand me.

Even someone as close to me as my wife.

Even someone closer.

Such as that guy at the bus station who once asked me for a quarter.

Or my twin brother, whom I’d been conjoined with at the hip since birth.

As I was leaving the food court, I took one final glance at the Pulled Panda.

A recycling bin had joined the trashcans in line, and was now placing its order.

“I’d like an order of recent Triple Crown hopeful Smarty Jones,” it said.

“NINE DOLLAR,” the cashier replied.

I stared in disbelief as he stacked a plate full with sizzling horsemeat.

It smelled so good.

Like fried chicken.

Only faster.

THE END

I just awoke to find that jerkface Meebs had given me access to his stupid site.  Since I hate Meebs so much I decided to log in and write something.

I’ve never blogged before.  I’m barely even literate.  I’m also kind of new to this internet thing, but I think that it might be here to stay.

I don’t even know what a “gnome” is other than a handy portable endtable.

Well whatever, maybe I’ll write stuff.  Maybe I’ll never log in again.  

What are you looking at?

I had so much fun making the first movie, I decided to make another.

This one is a music video for Madonna’s Ray of Light.

Here’s the link: http://gnomewarrior.com/movies/ray.wmv

Here’s a synopsis:

Part 1: Falling from the sky above Shat City, then going bird form before landing. My favorite scene in the movie!

Part 2: Riding the tram!

Part 3: Escaping from Durnholde, and aggroing everything on the way out! This was especially hard since anytime I got dazed, I had to die and start over, and because I did it with UI turned off, so I couldn’t see my health.

Part 4: Tram again.

Part 5: Riding right through the initial rush of a horde premade in AV.

Part 6: Alydia throws one of those balls at me while I run away so it can’t catch me. This was actually really difficult since I couldn’t see in front of me with the way the camera was turned, and had to blindly land the jumps.

Part 7: Tram!

I’ve never made a movie before.

In fact, twelve hours ago, I didn’t know what “Windows Movie Maker” was.

But today I felt like making a movie, so I did.

Here’s the link: http://gnomewarrior.com/movies/goi.wmv

Thanks to everyone who helped me!

Here’s a brief synopsis:

Part 1: Sexy hardcore footage of me tanking a heroic shattered halls run. No CC was used because I desire a WoW-induced heart attack. It was neat recording myself because it allowed me to see for the first time what a huge button smasher I am while tanking. I also like being able to see the millions of little mistakes I make every second.

Part 2: My video didn’t seem complete, so I came up with a naughty plan. Basically, we’d invite a random person from the LFG queue to join us in non-heroic Old Hillsbrad. We’d start the run off normally, but then at some point, we’d start pulling an insane amount of mobs at once. It was the puggie’s first time ever going there. I hope they enjoyed it!

WARNING: This story contains offensive language/imagery.

I was never the kind of boy you took home to your mother.

Especially if you weren’t into threesomes.

By the age of twenty, all nine of my girlfriends had dumped me within minutes of introducing me to their mother.

It was the same routine every time.

“Mrs. So-and-So,” I’d say, taking her wrinkled hand in my own.

“Wow.”

“Your daughter is such a wonderful person.”

“And, let me tell you.”

“I’ve just been dying to meet the vagina she came out of.”

“Shall we?”

It was about at this point that I’d be shown to the door.

Which, I might add, I always found odd, since I’d already seen it on the way in.

“Yep,” I’d say.

“Same door.”

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“The backseat of my car?”

“I’m not sure there’s room for all three…”

And then the door would be closed in my face.

It was so much more than just another front door.

It was a magical door.

A magical door that led to a fairy tale land full of mysterious animals that walked around on their hind legs and talked like humans.

Wait.

No.

Scratch that.

It was a metaphorical door.

The door of chance.

The door of opportunity.

The door of having sex with my girlfriend’s mother.

Closed now.

And closed forever.

Eventually, in college, I met a nice young lady named Sheryl.

As it turned out, her mother had been killed years ago in a fiery car accident.

From what I could gather, her mother’s body had been so horribly incinerated that, even if I had wanted to dig her corpse up from the grave, there would be no discernable vagina to penetrate.

I loved this girl deeply.

And her lack of a living mother all but guaranteed a long-lasting relationship.

And yet, sometimes, I would be kept awake at night by my own nagging curiosity.

Where did this girl who I love so much come from?

What soft, pink flesh did she squeeze through on her way to the world?

Was it a meaty vagina?

Like a delicious roast beef sammich from Arby’s?

Or was it a smaller, more subtle one?

I never voiced these questions aloud.

I knew that she wouldn’t understand.

After all, who would?

Everyone but me seemed content to speed through life without any appreciation for the origin of things.

Everything was taken at face value.

Even those who stopped to smell the roses never dropped to their knees and began kissing and tonguing the dirt.

They never unzipped their pants and began shoving their penis into small rabbit or fox holes—into the Earth which had produced such beauty.

And what about God?

Sometimes I wished He’d just descend from the sky with a furious boner.

And then rape everyone up the ass.

“How do you like me now?” His voice would boom.

“Respect the Cock.”

Sure, we’d all walk funny for a couple of days.

But, after that, I think everything would somehow be all right.

THE END

Today was Opposite Day.

And, I was already off to a bad start.

On most non-opposite days, I normally woke up.

So, me having woken up on Opposite Day was in clear violation of the rules.

Normally, I would’ve spanked myself in punishment.

But, just as I was retrieving my spanking paddle (“Ol’ Faithful,” as I liked to call her) from the hook above my bed, I realized that I should do the exact opposite, instead.

There was only one problem.

What exactly was the exact opposite of spanking myself in punishment?

Normally, I would’ve pondered that question until I came up with a logical answer.

The logical answer most likely would’ve involved me traveling to a parallel dimension like Jerry O’Connell from the hit TV series Sliders, and, once there, locating a bizarro version of myself to spank.

But, being Opposite Day, I elected to do less pondering, and more running around my neighbor’s lawn in a toga, flailing my arms, and shouting incoherently.

Just as I finished dropping a deuce in his birdbath, my neighbor opened his door.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya,” he said.

Normally, I would’ve exchanged such pleasantries as “Howdy neighbor” or “Sup nigga.”

But, today, I saw no choice but to run him over in my truck.

And then have sex with his wife.

And then run her over in my truck.

And then have sex with her again.

And then rampage through their house, unraveling all of their rolls of toilet paper and paper towels.

And then circumcise their son.

(Unless, of course, he was already circumcised.)

(In which case, I suppose I wouldn’t do anything to their son.)

(Except run him over in my truck.)

It wasn’t until I went inside for my circumcising knife (“Ol’ Not-Quite-As-Faithful-As-Ol’-Faithful,” as I liked to call her) that I realized how out-of-hand things could soon become.

There was so much shit that I didn’t do on normal days, that I would now have to do on Opposite Day.

And I didn’t just mean simple shit like bathing, or feeding my cat.

I meant crazy shit that no one ever did.

For example, I didn’t normally fill a couple hundred water balloons with angry bees, thus creating “beelloons,” and then hurl them at the elderly on their way to church.

Did that mean I had to today?

I didn’t normally board up all the doors and windows to an orphanage before setting it on fire.

Did that mean I had to today?

What was even the point of setting fire to an orphanage in the first place if I couldn’t wait outside the front door with a giant net in order to catch all of the orphans fleeing in terror?

And, another thing.

I didn’t normally hide naked in the center of those circular clothing racks at the Gap Kids, hoping—praying—that some unsuspecting child would reach just a little too far.

Wait.

Yes I did.

Bad example.

Anyway.

I didn’t normally kill myself.

Did that mean I now had to do the opposite, and end my own life?

I didn’t want to die.

After all, I loved life.

But, I loved Opposite Day, too.

And, if I didn’t honor the laws which governed this universe, what kind of message would that send to my children?

I didn’t have children.

But, if I did, what kind of message would that send to them?

It would teach them that we lived life entirely at our own convenience.

It would teach them that we only had to follow the rules when they proved directly beneficial to us, as individuals.

On second thought, that’s exactly the kind of message I wanted to send.

I was now satisfied that I didn’t have to commit suicide.

“Good,” I thought to myself.

“Now, time for breakfast.”

Every morning for the past three years, I’d gone to Denny’s.

But, since it was opposite day, I decided to go somewhere good instead.

Suddenly, a giant swirling portal materialized in the air in front of me.

Out of the portal appeared a man who looked exactly like me.

He was holding a spanking paddle that was identical to my own.

“Sorry about this,” he said, rearing his paddle back.

THE END

I thought Google Adsense was only supposed to display ads for websites that are relevant to my own.

Just what the hell are they trying to imply?

(Also had to recently block interracialromance.com and blackscene.com, sorry guys!)

I’ve been playing too much arena lately.

I can’t make love to my wife unless it begins with a countdown at opposite ends of the bedroom while holding different colored flags.

Which is especially difficult since my wife is a picture of a female Draenei I printed out on my deskjet and stapled to a pillowcase with two feral cats inside.

Anyway, green and gold flags always seemed to me like a strange choice for team markers.

If I was Blizzard, I probably would’ve gone with red and green balloons with faces drawn on them that change expressions mid-fight depending on how well your team is doing.

Let’s play a game!

Rules

Pretend that a hopeful young holy Paladin and his enhancement Shaman friend are zoning into a rated arena match for their very first time. See if you can match each event with its corresponding balloon facial expression. Good luck!

Events

1. The Paladin discovers that buffs cost no mana in the waiting room.
2. The match begins and the gates open.
3. The Paladin watches a Tauren Warrior with S4 shoulders charge toward his friend.
4. The Paladin gets pounced by a Druid and cycloned.
5. The Paladin watches as his Shaman friend gets 3-shot by the enemy Warrior.
6. Cyclone wears off.
7. The Paladin bubbles.
8. The Paladin discovers that Hearth Stones are disabled while in Arena.
9. The Paladin discovers that all this time, the female Night Elf he’s been e-banging isn’t really a female Night Elf at all but rather Rock N Roll legend Jon Bon Jovi.
10. The Paladin’s bubble wears off.
11. The enemy Warrior rearranges the Paladin’s face with his S4 mace.
12. The Paladin and his Shaman friend lose 27 rating.

Balloon Facial Expressions

A. :x
B. :/
C. >.>
D. ^____________________________________^
E. :)
F. :(
G. :O
H. :P
J. ):
K. XD
L. :|
M. >:(

Solution

To read this, turn your monitor upside down and stand on your head:
1D ; 2C ; 3G ; 4A ; 5F ; 6E ; 7H ; 8L ; 9K ; 10B ; 11J ; 12M

If you scored a 80% or higher, follow this link to collect your prize:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLHOguo2ibs

I was in Hell.

I’d always pictured Hell as being this giant, fiery cavern, full of serial-rapists and Mormons.

But, as it turned out, it was just a small, solitary room.

Full of serial-rapists and Mormons.

Not really.

In fact, there were only three people here.

Myself.

Hitler.

And the customer from the 1997 film Good Burger who tells Ed that he’ll “see him in Hell,” to which Ed responds, “Okay! See you there!”

Ed was nowhere to be found.

As for the room itself, I hadn’t been this surprised by the size of something since that time Vin Diesel invited me over for strip poker.

“Wow,” I remembered thinking, as Vin lost yet another hand, and began to remove his boxers.

“They don’t get much smaller than that.”

The poker table, that is.

I couldn’t even find a place to rest my Red Bull energy drink, the table was so small.

You’d think that someone with so much money could afford a bigger table.

Or, at the very least, have the decency to keep his enormous penis off of it.

Anyway.

In the middle of Hell was an automatic ticket dispenser with a sign next to it.

The sign read, “PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER AND BE SEATED.”

I walked up to it and took a number.

My number was 69.

Wow.

I was born in ’69.

Was this merely a coincidence?

Out of all the numbers in the entire universe, could I really have just received the same one as the year of my birth, purely by chance?

It didn’t seem possible.

And yet…

There it was.

The astonishment was too much for me.

I needed to sit down.

Unfortunately, the only chairs available were the ones with those plastic backs that convex.

Man those things really dug their way into your spine.

This truly was Hell.

Either that, or this was the local Office of Zoning.

And Hitler wasn’t really Hitler, but some scary dude with a mustache.

And the customer from the 1997 film Good Burger who tells Ed that he’ll “see him in Hell,” to which Ed responds, “Okay! See you there!” wasn’t really the customer from the 1997 film Good Burger who tells Ed that he’ll “see him in Hell,” to which Ed responds, “Okay! See you there!”, but the CPR Kid from the 1989 film Back to the Future II who tells Biff that the guy with the hat “went that way,” and then adds, “I think he took your wallet!”

And, as for myself…

I walked in here as a man.

A man on a mission for knowledge.

A man who would not rest until he found out whether or not current zoning regulations permitted his home to be replaced with a giant moonbounce castle.

But, what was I now?

A woman?

No.

Even worse.

I was a number.

The number 69.

The same number that millions of middle-schoolers around the globe giggled at every time it popped up on a math quiz, or at the bottom of a book page.

The same number that served as a suffix for more than half of the AOL chat room population.

“Oh well,” I thought.

“At least I can take comfort in the fact that I’m the same number as the year of my birth.”

It was at this point that I made a horrific discovery.

I wasn’t the number 69.

I’d been holding my ticket upside down all along.

All of my prior amazement had been for naught.

The comfort I’d just sought in my number was worthless.

What was I to do now?

Holding my breath, I turned my ticket right side up, and read my true number.

69.

What my new number meant, I had no idea.

But, I can tell you one thing.

There was no way in Hell I was about to sit around there to find out.

THE END

Vacations suck.

I miss my bed and my cat and jacking off whenever I want.

Hmm…

I probably shouldn’t have included all of those things in the same sentence.

After all, I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

Let me try that again:

I miss my bed.

And I miss jacking off with my cat.

The only thing that can appease me now is if Blizzard implements the following ideas via hotfix within the next 24 hours:

1) Plug-N-Play Support for the Nintendo Power Pad

I’m very proud to say that I still own a fully-functional Nintendo Power Pad, and would love nothing more than to be able to hook it up to my computer, stack a few Pringles cans together as a make-shift pillar between the 6 and the 7, borrow one of those wild cats my neighbor keeps in her pants, pump a couple dozen Pixie Stix directly into its heart, and then let it loose the next time I arena, so that I can REALLY immerse myself in that Druid-chasing experience.

2) Arena, Double Dare Style

Instead of killing each other, let’s stick one member of each team on roller skates and hand them an empty milk jug, while their teammate, harnessed to a vertical, slowly-revolving wheel, tries to fill their team’s jug the fastest by shooting at it with a green-ooze spray cannon. All this while a pixelated Marc Summers leaps around screaming in excitement. (I’d be willing to negotiate here and keep the current Arena System, just with full live 24-hour Marc Summers narration.)

3) Random Bouncing Fruit

How much more enjoyable would this game be if, while ERPing along the scarred plains of Hellfire Peninsula, or enjoying some relaxing ERP among the lush vegetation of Terrokar Forest, or ERPing your way across the gorgeous rolling hills of Nagrand, or posting valuables on the Auction House, so that you may increase your money supply, and thus afford more premium ERPs, a watermelon or pair of cherries WORTH SEVERAL THOUSAND POINTS EACH randomly bounced by.

4) ERP Trainers

Speaking of ERP, which is all I really ever want to talk about (the rest is just filler), what about for people who are quite interested in ERP but are far too bashful to actually pursue it, we scatter some ERP Trainers across the world, kind of like those rogue practice locks, to help skill players up, or an ERP Dummy made be Engineers, or hell can someone please anybody just log on and whisper me parts of the female anatomy.

They don’t even have to be sexy parts.

Mmm… sweet, sweet ovaries…