The Margaritaville Diaries: Tumbelweed

Hey everyone, Darkbrew here, blogging live from Margaritaville. I’m not drinking Margaritas though; not yet anway. No sir, the drink of the day is the Pain Killer. For those wanting to drink along, here’s how you fix one up.

#showtooltip Coconut Cup
2-4 oz. of Pusser's Rum
4 oz. pineapple juice
1 oz. cream of coconut
1 oz. orange juice
Grated fresh nutmeg

One thing that’s missing from the recipe is that it’s important to stir the drink with your finger. Especially if you’re making one for someone else. Deeeelicious. I don’t know how many are recommended for one sitting, but if it’s less than four, we could be in for an interesting ride here today.

It’s Monday and back home my compadres are heading into Siege of Orgimmar to punch heroic Immerseus in the face, or is it the other way around? I forget. He kind of reminds me of a big ‘ole barracuda I saw swimming today. In addition to being a hit song by Heart, Barracudas are sleek, shiny and scary as hell. I’m pretty sure I can’t out swim a barracuda, but I know I can out swim my wife, and that’s really all the matters in those kinds of situations. Thankfully it didn’t come to that as I’ve mastered the art of swimming casually. You know keeping your distance, but not looking like you’re keeping your distance? Works every time.

But back to my friends and their endeavor to down Heroic Immerseus. Last week we went in there and it was wipe, after wipe, after wipe. I couldn’t wait to get hell out of there, but now, for some odd reason, I miss them, and I feel bad for not being there.

Last week, I was ready reach into my bank and grab and old wood-cutting axe, a relic from the days Hunters used melee weapons, and use it on our Resto Tree, who I was certain was responsible for 99.999% of the wipes that night. It was his birthday and he had been “celebrating”.

He kept dying, which led to a chain reaction of the rest of us dying. I kept wanting to yell at him and say, “I get that you’re a tree, but you know you’re not rooted to the ground like an actual tree? Right?”

Then I wen to Warcraft Logs and watched a replay of our fights, and saw that he wasn’t rooted like a tree, but rather he jumping around like a tumbleweed in the wind. His movement patterns so seemingly random. He was prancing about like a figure skater trying to draw a Jackson Pollock masterpiece on the ice. Only the end result wasn’t a priceless masterpiece, it was death; nothing but gold sucking death.

That’s how I felt that night, but right now, I don’t feel that way at all. For some reason I feel guilty. I’m ashamed with myself for wishing I had brought my Mastiff pet so he could run over to Tumbleweed and greet him with a hearty leg raise to the trunk.

As I sit here gulping my fifth Pain Killer, I’m suddenly appreciative of the fact that his magical healing branches allow me take four and five stacks of Swelling Corruption, and live to tell about it. He is the reason I don’t have to lose precious DPS time popping deterrence to avoid Swirl. He’s the reason why I can finish that Cobra Shot cast while standing in the puddle.

I don’t hate Mystic. I love you man. I love my whole raid team. I love my whole guild. I love my readers, and all of the Hunters. Even the Hunter that killed King Krush while I was mid-tame. That’s right dude, this sixth Pain Killer is for you. IT’S FOR ALL OF YOU!