Topic <Communist Slumber Party> LFM Leveling/PvP
Edited by Dare on 4/6/11 10:46 PM (PDT)
/gives funny look
I remember those days... CSP Onyxia runs, lolz.
Edit: Everyone pester Sarannah to do his damn homework so we can level more. If I have the time to acquire insomnia again (cryyy) then he can do his work, dayumit!
>:( Why are you up at 2am!!! ):<
Yes, Im pretty sure I had 50k life. Stam stackers 2009 sexiest druid crown went to me. Also hi mr hunter dude.
Don't pester me! Pester my professor for giving me assignments I can procrastinate on and get screwed over the 2 days it's due.
Also, someone remind me to update the website this weekend.
The forums too. All of that russian porn and other ad spam can go fluff off in russia land, not BT paradise.
CSP is also looking for the following
-525 Engineer w/ PvP skills to lead our Paratrooper Corps
-Photoshopper (no guild change required)
-Video editor extraordinaire (no guild change required)
The last 2 aren't needed RIGHT NOW, but they will be paid...in gold or blood.
85 Undead Rogue
I'm not sure you realize what a huge gold investment engineering is now. Its abysmal. I honestly don't know if il level it again. Anyway this is now a discussion thread as I'm working til 4 with literally nothing to do besides 6o on the internet on my phone. And sara, the key to homework is to wake up early the day of. 5am, bang it out, smoke a ciggy butt to wake you up, you'll be good.
*sights draws up a chair to the campfire*
Alright you aspiring, would-be brommunists, I've got a story that'll turn you white. It begins just a few years ago, when the world was younger. When men were men, and blood elf females were also men. This is the story of the communist slumber party.
The world was in chaos. Our heroes were few and far between, and more often than not, bickering amongst themselves. The great clans were falling. Avarice. Onslaught. Logic. All had b een left to their own devices, and all had fallen to their own woes. Just when it seemed that this world of ours, this bt, would be nothing more than another grizzly hills, a new light was dawning. And it was dawning under the brutal irrationality of a great visionary. Ultimately, this would lead to his demise of sanity and approachability. But today, we look at him as he was: an unassuming troll warrior with a small place in a smaller clan. And here we follow him, shaking in his boots at the sight of a tiger in the stranglethorn vales.
The tiger, admittedly, was doing significantly less shaking. In fact, it was steeling a killers eye at young Tekken. But our hero had courage, if nothing else, and he buckled his neck and charged.
The fight was a foregone conclusion. Within seconds the tiger had tekken pinned, already slobbering at the meal it was about to receive. Tekken tried to pray but only succeeded in pissing himself. He accepted his fate and closed his eyes.
Just then, an ungodly howl sounded. Straight from the darkest depths of horror-terror nightmares, it echoed and reverberated around the warriors skull. Not one second later, the tiger lay limp with a still searing hole in its chest.
Moving slowly to his feet, tekken stood weeping to face the new doom that was surely facing him.
Tekken looked. Then stared. Then walked over and poked the deformed and twisted creature that had just saved him. He was looking at the figure of an enormous, ridiculous owl creature.
"of all the ways to die," Tekken thought, "I really did not see this one coming."
But the creature did not attack. Instead, it seemed to be quietly contemplating something. Within a few moments, the creature grinned like it wished it had a mouth instead of a beak. It spoke.
"There are some who call me... Alamo... I'll go ahead and let that sink in."
Tekken, possessing no tact, responded quickly. "Never heard of 'im."
"REGARDLESS! I shall show you favor anyway. Twice you have shown yourself to be thoughtless. For this, I reward you. There shall come a day when I send one of my own to your clan. Maybe a rogue. We'll see. Anyway, your clan will
suffer a tremendous loss. Your leader will mysteriously disappear. When this happens, keep an open eye on the horizon. Both within your midst and from my candidate will find great potential. But be wary. For if you yourself fall from grace, so will your clan. And it will take more intervention on my part to bring it back. Stay vigilant." And with that, the overgrown chicken disappeared into a thick and smelly air.
Tekken promptly brushed himself off and forgot everything the crack chicken said.
And now, we switch to a different perspective. That of a lonely, if gorgeous, blood elf male warlock, sitting on the steps of silvermoon, thinking quietly to himself. This warlock had a name. And it was dare.
The warlock sat. And pouted. And admired his trim features. Which made him feel a little better. He then pouted again.
"What is the point of being ridiculously good looking if theres no one around to tell me how ridiculously good looking I am?"
Although the question has been asked by many great people, Dare took an unconventional approach to things.
"I know!" He said. "there are guilds out there absolutely filed with people! I can chat, be pampered, and have people literally dying to hear what I have to say!"
So he gave up warlocking and started hunting. I don't know, it made sense to him. Moving on.
Dare became a great hunter. I mean, as far as hunters go. You know what I mean. "Great."
Anyway, he was strolling in Orgrimmar one day, both showing off his latest pet (it matched his hair) and looking for friends. As he always did. Eventually, he came upon a young troll shouting from atop a mailbox.
"Communist Slumber Party is looking for more people to fill our ranks. Oh and we also have oreos."
Being mildly retarded and open to new ideas, Dare leapt at the opportunity. Rushing to join the quickly swelling throng, Dare signed his name without hesitation.
"Woah. That elf chick just joined. Score!" Thought Tekken, heedless of the impact that this one action would some day have.
And now we switch our views to Naxxramas, where the fearless and cunning members of phase two were just about to finally end the might of the scourge menace, kel'thuzad.
"I'm out of mana!" Screamed alamo.
"I'm out of health!" Croaked perplehaze, drawing his last breath.
"I'm out of knives!" Whined Alainne.
Kel'thuzad did not care. He simply charged up his most horrifying and contextually tasteless move, bus shock, and unleashed it upon phase two. The group was devastated. Destroyed. Blown to smithereens.
Eventually, though, two would wake up, having been blasted through the walls of naxxramas, and landing in the soft snow far below. They were none other than alainne, the rogue, and alamo, the boomkin.
"Alahomo, you tool, come here. I'm about to die." The blood elf whispered.
alamo nudged close, trying to cop a feel, not knowing alainne was really a dude.
"Nah, son. I've got big plans for you. You can't die yet." Alamo spoke with assurance.
He looked down. Alainne was dead. "Welll, *%*!."
Alamo looked around. He saw a bear. He walked over to the bear. He then punched it in the face until it roared uncle.
Alamo walked over to the dead elf. Alamo picked up the dead elf and walked over to the bear.
Without revealing too much information, Alamo shoved the elf in the bear.
"That grossness aside, lets get this ritual started."
First he smoked a ciggy butt. Then he merged the souls of alainne and the extremely unhappy bear.
"Welll, that went better than expected." He said loudly, nudging the new druid, Sarannah, with his foot.
When Sara regained consciousness, she looked around. And then proceeded to glare violently at Alamo.
"Shut up." He said. "I had to. And now you owe me. So do this: Seek out the Communist Slumber Party"