After an un avoidable [Fucking Massive Wall of Fiery Death] Bonzo has taken some time out for some self love, purchased a very fetching cowthong and journey down for a sweet seaside break in STV. Lets see what our unlikely hero of the Horde got up to this time, lets hope he doesn’t get sunburn *sniff sniff mmmmm the smell of roasting beef yum.*

The Bonzo Chronicles part 5 : Written by Bonzo himself

WARNING: Some rude words

I’ve got no energy today. Not. A. Sausage.

This raiding malarkey is beating ten kinds of crap out of me. I mean, there’s only so many times some fuck-off great monster with five heads can kill you before it starts becoming a bit of a downer.

I’m relaxing in Stranglethorn.

It’s a great place for a holiday, but you wouldn’t want to level there.

The Zandalar are all, like, ‘Hey mon, you go kill dat Bat Lady, yeah? Den you come see me again.’

No ‘please’, no ‘thank you’, just a bunch of voodoo bullshit.

Bloody trolls. It’s hard to believe some of my mates are tusk-tuggers, but I guess there’s an exception to every rule.

So I’m sitting on the beach.

I have my [Small Picnic Basket] out, with an umbrella beside me to protect my delicate hide from the depleted Ohnoez layer or some such.

I have my [Iron Fishing Rod] stuck in the sand with a [Only Slightly Better Than Dirt] lure attached. I should get a bite sometime before the next expansion.

I’ve made use of the ever-nifty Equipment Manager to change out of plate mail and into something more appropriate.

If anyone ever sold swimsuits I’d be the first in line, but until then these folks at Grom’Gol had better learn to appreciate a thong wearing cow in their midst. Maybe I didn’t need to stroll into the square like that and ask the vendor if he sold ice-cream, but fuck ‘em. It’s only natural. And it’s not like I’m taking the boys out for juggling practice or anything.

A few beers later…

I’m dozing off in the sun, a pair of [Tinted Exothermic Goggles] perched on my snout, when these two Mulgore girls arrive at the beach.

I recognise one of them from Thunder Bluff – they hang around the auction house. They’re obviously also on vacation.

My first thought is ‘OMG! Equipment Manager!’, but then they whip their kit off too, and are left standing in their own tribal thongs and not much else. Tats oot!

They don’t seem at all fussed about modesty, or the fact that I’m only a few yards down the beach. In fact, they seem to be enjoying the fact.

For my part, I’m udderly delighted.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to get a better view, when suddenly a shadow looms over me and I hear an ominous loud huffing sound. A sense of overwhelming dread starts to rise in me. Unfortunately it’s not the only thing rising, and my visitor notices. Lil’ Bonz ain’t playing by the rules, but it’s way too late for Equipment Manager.

This is going to hurt.

Molpadia: Hello Bonzo.

/Feign death

Molpadia: BONZO!!

Bonzo: Ohai Mol! Didn’t see you there!

Molpadia: Bollix you didn’t. I was watching you perv over those two cows.

Bonzo: Cows? Where?

Molpadia: Oh please. So – is that your fishing rod or are you just happy to see me?

Bonzo: Er… what are you doing in STV?

Molpadia: Same as you, really – just chilling out, taking a break from the grind.

Then it dawns on me: Mol isn’t green anymore.

Bonzo: No more Orc? What happened?

Molpadia: I didn’t like the colour scheme. Besides, all my friends said they missed the ‘old’ me.

Bonzo: Well I prefer you this way. FWIW.

Molpadia: Thanks Bonz, that’s sweet.

Mol gets her kit off, and Mr. Lumpy starts twitching again. But she’s a nice girl, and she’s gone for the full-body swimsuit approach. She must have made that herself. Nerf tailors.

I’m slightly disappointed, but not much – there’s something not quite right about seeing too much of your friends.

Molpadia: I’m going for a quick dip. Join me?

Bonzo: Um… sure.

I need to cool off. Too much excitement lately isn’t good for my old heart. A warrior’s life is dangerous enough without the possibility of a stroke.

So we head towards the water. I try really hard to hold my gut in, but it’s like trying to hide a kodo behind Egbert. Failsauce.

Even so, I’m hoping the laydeez will express even the smallest amount of jealousy at seeing me walking along with Mol. They don’t. And hot-DAMN if they aren’t holding hooves! No remote possibility of cow-pie action for old Bonz then. Meh, at least I have some reading material stored for later. And besides, Mol’s being really friendly, so best I start paying her some attention. Maybe after one quick (and altogether surreptitious) glance over my shoulder to check that the girls are still ok. This is a dangerous place for the inexperienced.

The water’s bloody freezing. You’d think a little cold would be alright after the whole Northrend business, but the twig and berries still head north.

Fortunately we’re waist-deep by now, so Mol doesn’t notice my discomfort.

Molpadia: Come on Bonz, let’s go get us some pearls.

Bonzo: Er… I haz about a million [Blue Pearls] Mol, not really needing too many more.

Molpadia: Oh come on, it’ll be fun.

Bonzo: W… er… I…

Molpadia: You scared?

Bonzo: What? No!

But of course I am. I hate the water. Cows were never meant to swim. It’s not right. And there’s the fact that my shit-roasted Nagrand Cherries are all finished.

Mol dives under the water and disappears. She’s heading out towards the Vile Reef. I wish people would realise it’s called that for a reason.

I sigh and take a deep breath, then dive in after her.

I guess I should be grateful that we can still speak underwater. It’s one of those things I’ve never quite understood, but it’s useful so I don’t complain.

Molpadia: Check this out B.

Bonzo: Hm?

Molpadia: An [Iridescent Pearl]. These used to go for a fortune on the AH.

But I’m not listening. I’m watching the monstrous beastie that’s swimming towards us. It’s not a murloc. This place is only supposed to have murlocs in it. WTF?

Bonzo: Jayzuz! RUUUUUUN!!!

Molpadia: What?

Mol turns. She sees the leviathan approaching, and she turns pale.

Molpadia: That’s not possible…

I don’t care what’s possible. It must be more of this pre-expansion crap. Wotevah.

I’m leaving behind a smokescreen as I race to the surface. Brave sir Bonzo ran away, away…

But then I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt, so I turn to see if Mol’s ok.

This massive kraken of a beast is at home in the water, and it’s closing in on her.

I can’t allow her to get hurt. I’m better than this. I am a cow of integrity, of honour, and of very little brain.

So I turn and hit the Equipment Manager. Hell, I swim just as well in plate as I do in a thong, so why not. I bellow and roar, and a thousand little fishies phear meh.

I charge at the great huge unnamed monster of the deep, and I slap him something vicious across the face with my [Iron Fishing Rod].

The last thing I see before considering how much my repair bill will be is Mol’s little hooves at the surface, kicking with all her might as she reaches the beach.

I have shown strength in the face of adversity, courage when a friend was in danger, and stupidity of the highest order. All is as it should be.

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