A Little (What do You Call a "Ditty" if it's in Writing?)

This is pretty dorky, but it's my blog and I'll post whatever I dang well please.

Yesterday Blizzard Watch, the successor to WoW Insider (long story short, the writers at WoW Insider made their own blog paid for by crowdfunding; see my tribute post to the old site here), posted a contest to win a free messenger bag. To enter, you have to leave a comment in the form of a little story telling about a man who gives you a bag with mystery contents and asks you to deliver it somewhere. The comment has to say what he asks you to deliver and where.

So I, always up for a free bag, made my entry, which you can read below. Again, it's WoW-themed, so some of the proper nouns may be unfamiliar. But I was rather proud of my little (what do you call a "ditty" if it's in writing?), and I'm posting it here:


"I need you to take this to the Tower of Azora," the man growled at me, staring with his one good eye, the drool cascading through the massive gaps in his teeth. "It absolutely must get there, and you must only give it to Theocritus. He MUST have it by nightfall!"

I snort in incredulity. "Tower of Azora, huh? Isn't that in Elwynn Forest? Near Stormwind? On the continent called Azeroth? ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD?!?"

He didn't answer, but started convulsing in what I realized after a minute was a low rumble of laughter. I shivered as a cold wind blew from the Stonetalon Mountains blew across us - the man sitting in front of me didn't seem to notice.

"Um, maybe you didn't hear me, but that's literally on the other side of an entire world. And I'm not sure I could get there very easily - I'm an orc. They generally aren't too welcome, you know, RIGHT NEXT TO STORMWIND."

By now the man's chuckle had turned into a rollicking guffaw. I turned away in disgust, about to leave this oddity behind me forever, when I realized I still had the smelly leather bag with whatever was so important in my hand. I turned back, and was stunned to see he wasn't there. I blinked hard in disbelief, for I could still hear his laughter.

Then I realized he was trying to hide behind a rock.

A rock the size of a small turtle. I hit my face with my palm, then tossed the bag at his head, narrowly missing. As it hit the ground it fell open, and from inside rolled an egg.

It was a goose egg.

A stupid, boring, now-half-cracked goose egg!

This is why I don't stop to talk to people anymore.



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