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Alright, I've stayed out of the place while all these nutty new kids that Blizz dumped on us get settled in, but this got me up off my deathbed to rattle my cane at. Yeah it's an older thread, but I'm ancient and I don't care so go soak your head if you are gonna grump about thread necromancy. (I have Forsaken friends, I like helping bring dead things back...the grass that you get to grow on their corpse like bodies is delicious)
Ok, ONE: Some of the oldest and longest continuous players on Exodar are of the proud and Noble Tauren.
TWO: The Orcs came and BEGGED the Tauren to join the Horde, and being the awesomely cool dudes we are, we said yes. I've sat back and not worried about raiding or being the elitest bests in a long time, but the idea of putting my hoof up the backside of the prime butthead Orc known just might motivate me to do so again. (But don't hold your breath, life gets in the way a lot)
THREEE: Steve Jobs was NOT killed by cows, in fact the odds are just the opposite. You are what you eat and Mr. Jobs did not partake of the mighty strength that is imparted upon you lowly humans by dining upon the noble sacrifice that is the beef of the cow.
FOUR: I still want my cupcake.
FIVE: You wanted Cow Television? It's not on all the time, but when it is, it's great.... www.superiorlivestock.com Knock yourself out at the bestest TV there are, I believe they're running one on the 14th.
#K: Don't you come thinking cows are dumb with math, cows be the very reason there is math boy.
and 10: Never ever pick a fight with a Belgian Blue.
I will now go back to loading up my freezer with frozen or...I mean pork, and gno..er chicken. Good day.
I would like to take this opportunity to note that I have completed by Master's thesis, after many long years of study at Bovine University.
Edited by Behemot on 12/14/2012 11:17 AM PST
I do not condone the actions of my cupcake stealing brethren, but at the same time, it wouldn't hurt to share the love from time to time. =(
I love you, O mild ox; you bring unto
my heart a feeling of vigor and peace,
Whether as solemn as a monument
You gaze over clear and fertile fields,
Or whether bowing to the yoke content
you seconds Man’s grueling design:
He incites, goads, and you answer
with a slow turn of your patient eyes.
From the broad black and humid nostril
fumes your spirit, and like a happy hymn
your moo melts into calm air.
And from your grave eye within the bounds
of austere benevolence reflects ample
and quiet the divine green silence of the plain.
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