Our unlikely hero of the Horde returns from his daring feats in the Icecrown Citadel a.k.a S&M Barbie Palace. Unfortunately our brave “cow” is suffering from an identity crisis. (It must have been all that thinking about Sylvanas, camels and hamsters!)

The Bonzo Chronicles part 2 : written by Bonzo himself

Warning : Once again contains rude words

Tauren Warrior

The thing is, I’m a cow. Deep down I know this to be true. I may walk and talk and beat the crap out of things with pointy sticks, but I’m still a cow. And I’m an angry cow. I don’t suffer fools. Or people I dislike. There are lots of those types around.

So my point?

Well, my point is that I’m a cow who can do stuff. I’m evolved. I don’t just eat grass all day and shit down my legs. I have the ability to think. Well, to a certain extent. But not only am I a cow, I’m a cow who inhabits other people’s bodies!

What does this all mean? It means, my friends, that there’s magic in the air. Magic and witchcraft.

Let me elaborate:

You see, for many years I suffered from quite deep paranoia. My fears were grounded around one fact: I was schizophrenic.

One minute I was in the Southern Barrens, getting electro-shocked like a motherfucker by some pissed off Thunder Lizard, and the next thing I’m in someone else’s mind: a young and timid troll standing at a mailbox and checking his savings at the bank in Orgrimmar.

And then, THEN! I’m a CHICK! A bona-fide member of the opposite gender, wearing a dress and watching my bony arms twirling and then flinging this red fireball shit out at wandering zombies. I mean… W!T!F??!
I tell you, it freaked me out something terrible.

Somehow I knew I was still… well, myself, but at the same time I was someone else too!
People called me different names, and I was ok with that. Well, to a point. Who the fuck calls themself Skaramoosh? If I had a gold coin for every dim twat who asked me if I could do the fandango…

So yeah, schizophrenia. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
I didn’t really know what to think.

Was I being manipulated by some higher power? Some omnipotent being who was controlling my every movement while eating doughnuts and drinking beer?

Or was I telepathic and going into mind-controlling trances at the drop of a loosely threaded hat.

Did I have special powers? Was I actually the most powerful being on the planet, but hadn’t yet learned to control my abilities?

And then one day I spoke to Sazon about it. Saz knows stuff.

Bonz: So yeah man, my head is fucked. What’s up with that?

Saz: Naa Bonz, it’s not just you mate. These other personalities you mention are called “alts”.

Bonz: Olts?

Saz: Alts. Short for “alternative”. As in, alternative character.

Bonz: But how am I in their heads? I mean, it’s like it’s me seeing through their eyes, but at the same time they’re doing their own thing, casting spells or shooting arrows or some shit. What the fuck is that all about?

Saz: We do not question these things too much my friend. If we did, we’d go mad. Think of it as “magic.”

Bonz: Magic. Pff.

Saz: Bonz, you’re a cow. Well, not a cow as such, but a descendant of a cow. Anyway, the fact that we’re both cows and we’re having this conversation should be proof enough of the existence of magic.

Bonz: Ooooh, I get it – you’re one of these “creationist” types eh? Like we all evolved from pond life and such.

Saz: Face the facts, man. You haz horns and a tail and you moo when you get excited. And your direction sense sucks balls. And you can’t dance for shit. Dude, you’re a cow.

I couldn’t really argue much after he’d put it that way.
I started to understand my strange fascination with farmyards, and why I’d had no explanation when that farmer caught me outside the milking pens with my plate mail leggings around my ankles.

I was fascinated. What was my ancestry?

I vowed then and there to spend the remainder of my days searching for lost relatives. I’d visit the great libraries, have deep conversations with the wisest scholars, consult the elders, and discover where my heritage lay.

I started to mount up, planning to speedily make my way to the Dalaran University, when Mal arrived.

Mal: Hey Bonz!

Bonz: Mal! Wazzuuuuuup?

Mal: Brewfest is up, dude! FREE BEER!

Bonz: FREE BEER!

Mal: I haz mammoth – hop on.

Bonz: Can I ask ya something Mal?

Mal: I’m not swallowing again, I already told you that.

Bonz: No, something else.

Mal: Okay…

Bonz: It’s kinda personal.

Mal: It’s okay, I’ve seen you nekkid.

Bonz: True. Well… do you have an alt?

Mal: I most certainly do not!

Bonz: Sorry mate, no offence meant. I just seem to remember you used to be… different somehow. You had a bow. And a wolf that followed you around. And you used to kite bosses around instead of just fearing them. Do you remem –

Mal: No Bonz, you’re mistaken. It must have been a dream.

Bonz: Well in my dream you were really keen on getting the whole Beastmaster set. I remember running Blackrock a LOT. You eventually did get it, if I recall.

Mal: Not the whole set. I was missing –

Bonz: Yes?

Mal: It was a dream mate. Honestly.

Bonz: Anyway, I was thinking about looking into my ancestry.

Mal: What? Why?

Bonz: Saz says I’m a cow.

Mal: You *are* a cow.

Bonz: But how does that work? How did I get to be what I am now? How can I hold a weapon? How can I talk? Where did I learn to /dance?

Mal: I don’t think you ever did mate. Get a mirror sometime. As for where you came from, it’s all magic. Speak to the Taunka’le if you’re really bothered about it. They know stuff about cow history. Just be thankful you didn’t end up on an abattoir floor.

Bonz: Hm.

Mal: Beer?

Bonz: Beer.

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