World of Warcraft & Hot Pockets: A Retrospective Look

This is an anonymous submission to Wow FAQ’s

Logging in, I find myself staring at my level 85 dwarf paladin, Bloodmace.

His glorious, shining armor and massive hammer stare back, a testament to years spent without the warm embrace of a woman.

He is a beacon of virgin triumph; a trophy of long high school years lacking female attention… the muscle in my right forearm can attest to that. I smile fondly as I gaze at this hi-res god, slayer of the Lich King and reminder of my sad, lonely life.

Then I click “Enter World”.


I remember the first day I played World of Warcraft.

I logged in, a lowly dwarf, ready to battle the various boars and kobolds that awaited me.

Upon starting, I had barely enough time to get the first quest before I was called a “n00b fag” and challenged to a duel. I accepted, and proceeded to watch my all-too-weak dwarf get obliterated by a night elf rogue before my very eyes.

At this point, the victorious player promptly did a ‘sit’ motion with his character repeatedly, “tea bagging” my poor paladin’s now-dead body. I’d never felt so ashamed in my life; the squatting continued, his night elf ass battering my characters face like a sledge hammer of digital disappointment.

I realized at this point that this was a dog-eat-dog world, and that if I was going to vanquish Ragnaros, I had a long hard road ahead of me.

My character quickly grew levels, doing quests and killing enemies. I also grew quite a bit, having increased my Hot Pocket intake tenfold. My keyboard became greasy and sticky, a tangible metaphor of my ever increasing commitment to this new world, and my in-game ego became quite large.

I was on top of the world (of Warcraft), pwnin’ n00bs and gettin’ gold. It was me killing scrubs and disgracing their dead bodies with my hairy dwarven rear now. My paladin’s armor became thick and scary, not unlike my body, and I knew what it was like to be on top.

“can u spare sum g!!?” I would read from the other players, who’s characters I dwarfed (no pun intended) but I was ruthless and crooked with power by this point.

“no sry”, I told them. I was becoming a sinister man, and there was no turning back. I had slain thousands of others in player versus player combat. I would run a flag in Warsong Gulch like a bat out of Hell, tearing through the n00bs like an battleaxe through a level 1 troll. I would walk into math class the next day, staring down at the other students.

“If only they knew…” I would think to myself. “If only they knew they were dealing with Battlemaster Bloodmace, Guildmaster of the Knights of the Alliance… who’s the faggot now?”

I would painfully squeeze into my desk at the back of the class and taunt them silently, knowing that they were all n00bs and I could totally pwn them in PvP. Of course, I never openly mocked anyone; I didn’t want to get my ass kicked. Yes, I was living the life.

Fun gameplay wasn’t the only great thing about WoW.

There were other like-minded intellectuals to have stimulating conversations with. We discussed porn, boners, and everyone else’s mom. It was truly a quorum of some of the brightest minds I’d ever seen, and I was part of it.

Me, Chikenugetsz, and Oprahwindfury were some of the greats, running the chat like we owned it. I’d never before had the pleasure of witnessing farts discussed so eloquently, and it was a beautiful thing.

World of Warcraft is an awesome game. I could never find the joy in real life that I do this virtual world, mostly because real life is for n00bs. It is a masterfully crafted adventure, wrought with dungeons and enemies, but more importantly, friends.

I have no joy outside of WoW, and I’m embarrassed to be anywhere but home, but I know that no matter what, I’ll have this game. And that, my friend, is Heaven.


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