Bonzo is back from his trumatic seaside trip and ready to hit things in the face, enter Dungeon finder, exit sanity. Lets see what our unlikely hero of the Horde got up to taking part in the live version of FAILPUG.

The Bonzo Chronicles part 6 : Written by Bonzo himself

WARNING: Some rude words

The old gear’s getting a bit rusty. It’s all this ice and shit – these things never happened in Outland.

Mind you, the humidity in Northrend is a lot better for my sinuses. And when you’re a cow, these things matter.

I need to run a few dungeons, and I know just the folk to help me do it.

Bonzo: So who wants to do a heroic? Maybe POS or HOR?

Chimpfucker: wots hor and pos

Bonzo: Grammar check.

Chimpfucker: ?

Bonzo: NVM. They’re the Icecrown dungeons.

Chimpfucker: inv

Bonzo: You’re level 26.

Chimpfucker: so

Bonzo: So you can’t do an Icecrown heroic at level 26.

Chimpfucker: why

[Chimpfucker has been kicked from the guild by Bonzo]

Bonzo: Ok, seriously. Anyone?

Guild:

[You whisper to Malignant]: Mal? Wanna do a heroic?

[Malignant is AFK]

It’s Saturday evening, and almost no guildies are online. Except for the noob that was random-invited by some drunken officer a while back because they were a friend of a friend, but who has just been kicked and is now sitting on his mom’s lap having a hug and a hot cup of qq.

You know there SHOULD be guild members online, but there just aren’t. Except for Mal, but he’s away washing his cat or something. There’s a feeling of disquiet whenever that happens (the guild being empty, not the cat washing), sort of like a ghost town out of some cheesy western flick. It’s exactly the wrongest time of day, the time when everyone is having dinner or something.

I’m desperate to kill stuff. It must be the supersized packet of Cheeto’s I had this morning, followed by beer all day long and not much else. E-numbers and alcohol make for bad companions.

So I try the random dungeon finder.

I have no idea what I’m doing, which is a surprise – I’m usually on top of my game (and don’t believe any of my fellow guild members if they try to tell you otherwise)

I tick ‘DPS’ because I have a great big axe, and ‘DPS’ means I get to use it. I picked warrior class on day 1 because warriors are supposed to smack the living crap out of things, not get used as a snot-rag for some elite cross-dressing demon with a personality disorder.

I wait.

[Chimpfucker whispers]: ur mom sux cok

[You are now ignoring Chimpfucker]

*Mental note: find out who the kid is and flame him. Maybe with a Molotov Cocktail and some old tyres.

I check my bank.

Do I really need that stack of [Elemental Air]? It may come in handy someday if anyone decides to re-introduce some classic ingredients into new uber recipes. You never know.

What about [Aquadynamic Fish Attractor]? Surely I need to keep a hold of those for one day when I level my fishing skill to anything over 25?

Ooo, and what about that stack of prized [Dark Iron Bar], which could potentially make some very nice goodies if I had some [Blood of the Mountain] and was twenty levels lower.

I’ll hang onto all of it just in case.

WTF? An hour later and I’m still waiting for some action.

A few guild members have come online, but I’m ignoring their requests for getting a party together for POS.

I’m determined to make a go of this new feature.

I decide to leave the queue and sign up again, this time as a tank.

Even while I’m still thinking about using the equipment manager to put on my tanky gear, I get sucked into an instance.

And so the circus begins.

[Loading screen: Asshole Kneerub]

I hate Asshole Kneerub. Only been in here once or twice, and wiped horribly.

Bonzo: Hi everyone! ^^

DK 1:

DK 2:

DK 3:

Healer: hello

A few things I discover rather quickly about PUGs:

Nobody wants to be your friend. It’s all about getting in, getting as many emblems and needing on as many items as possible, and then insta-quitting for the next PUG once the instance is finished.

For heavens’ sake, why should anyone try to actually enjoy a game or be nice to anyone when you can rush about through as many instances as possible over the course of an evening instead?

“But It’s more than a game! Must have epixxxx! Must stretch epeen! Moar, moar, MOAR!”

And that’s just me. Some people can be even worse.

I have the audacity, nay, the impudence, to think about using equipment manager now, before we head in.

The group surges forward, and I forget for a moment that I signed up as a tank.

The rogue tanks the first pack of mobs while I search my bags for a pot – anything will do. I settle on a [Flask of Lesser Agility] that I must have found in my bank and decided to bin, although there wasn’t time for that.

DK 1: wtf???? u tank or wut…

DK 1: bONZO!11 fs!

Bonzo: What?

DK 1: wtf u doin

Bonzo: Checking bags for a scroll that will help me in here.

Healer: u don’t ned scroll here we waste tim

Bonzo: Ok, let me just get my tanking gear on.

Healer: /facepalms

DK 1: WTFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!!!1

[You have been kicked from the party]

I’m back in Dalaran in partial tank gear, wondering what just happened.

A blip. Inconsequential.

I equip my full tanking kit and try again.

I’m instantly whisked to Utgarde Keep. I’m sure I’ve done this place once before, but maybe it was Utgarde Pinnacle.

We head up some stairs. I’m in front because I’m the tank. I’m nervous, but nobody must know. No pressure.

Bonzo: Hi everyone! Ready to go?

DK 1:

DK 2:

DK 3: r

Healer: GOGOGO fs!1

I go.

Bonzo casts [Charge]

Now the interesting thing about a warrior’s charge is that you can’t stop halfway through.

So if you’re about to head face-first into a group of nasties and you suddenly notice a second, previously hidden group of nasties right next to them and very much within aggro radius, then, well… that’s just too bad.

[You have been kicked from the party]

Gothmogs: Ohai Bonz. You up for an instance?

Mogil: We need a tank Bonzy-boy.

Onyxia: Come on Bonz, it’ll be fun.

Calodien: We’re just missing a tank.

[Mogil has invited you to join a party]

You’ve gotta love your guildies. Fuck up as much as you like, and they still keep inviting you back.

Bless their cotton socks.

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