Warning: THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN WITH REFERENCES TO WORLD OF WARCRAFT Once upon a time I played an orc hunter in World of Warcraft. His name was Beltch. The intentional mispelling was because of his mother's desire to name him Theodore before he was born.
But thankfully (what self respecting orc would want to be named Theodore?) The tradition among the orc tribes is for the mother to name the child after the first thing she sees (or experiences) after it is born.
Once Beltch was born his father came into the wigwam where his mother had birthed him and upon seeing his newborn son, let forth a mighty burp that lasted a full thirty seconds and caused many in the tribe to think the cavalry from Stormwind was attacking.
Clearly his name was meant to be. His mother had no choice. But stubbornly she insisted upon keeping the T for which she always proudly proclaims is for Theodore.
I'm telling you about Beltch because he was a story teller and the following is his tale of the time he went fishing with his grandfather when he was a "lil tyke":
Please read the dedication afterwards.
Once when I was a lil tyke my grandpy and I went fishing. Well actually, we went fishing often but this here story is about only one of those times. We'd gotten up real early like cuz grandpy always used to say "you gotta wake up and git sitiated on the water like yer supposed to be there afore the fish wake up so as to make the fish think like yer supposed to be there". I'd grown up believing fish to be an extremely suspicious and intelligent foe due to this statement.
Grammy had made us breakfast and lunch for our trip the day before so she'd not have to wake up to make us anything so early. She'd made us spice bread, herb baked eggs and curiously tasty omelets for breakfast which granpy and I'd gobbled up as we were heading out towards our favorite fishing spot. You all may have tried those recipes yourselves, my grammy swears some sneakthief gnome got hold of her secret recipes some time in the past and now it seems like everyone has them.
Well, grampy and I we lit out towards the water and our hopes were really high, just as we'd put the boat in the water and started to troll out to our favorite fishing hole (I'll not divulge it's location other than to say the best fish are caught in the Stranglethorn Vale) grampy he pulls out this leather pouch from his chest pocket, opens it, pulls out some sort of brown lookin weed and commences to chawin down on it.
Well he sure made it look really good. So naturally I asked "grampy... grampy can I have some of that there whatever it is yer eatin, it looks mighty good". My granpy got a real serious look on his face looked at me as if to size me up and found me lacking before he responded, "This here is chewin tabaccee. This ain't for lil tykes like yerself".
I guess you could say I got my muleiness from my granpy others have claimed over the years I've created my own brand new level of muleiness apart from the blame of any of my ancestors. Call it what you will or
blame whoever you want but tellin me then as my granpy did that I couldn't try somethin just cuz I was a "lil tyke" just didn't go over so well. Being just old enough to realize yellin was not the best way to get what I wanted and nowhere near ready to give in to my granpy's "lil tyke" judgement I adapted a subservient strategy which I was confident would ultimately win me my prize: a glorious taste of the heavenly smelling, forbidden herb known as "chewin tabaccee".
I responded "Granpy, are you suuure I can't have any?"(hey I was a lil tyke. You were expecting poetry or something?).
Now my granpy was a pretty shrewd negotiator. Our family has told tales for many years of how he talked the mount trainer in Sen Jin down to 20 gold for one of his prize raptors.
Well my granpy could see I wasn't gonna let the subject rest so easily so he told me. "I can see I may have misjudged you boy. Maybe you are old enough. But there's a test to find out. Are ya willin to answer a question honestly so as to find out?".
Thinking I'd won my victory I beamingly replied, chest puffed out, "Yessir I can answer any question you ask me honestly". My granpy he asked "is yer peeder long enough to reach yer bunghole
Taken aback yet unflinchingly I replied "Nossir it isn't". My granpy to his credit didn't smile or gloat he just plain out laid down his verdict, "Well then yer too young ye can't have no chewin tabaccee".
Naturally I was crushed but I could tell that was the end of it. Any further discussion at that point would do me no good. I'd hold off further argument until such time as an opportunity to overturn his verdict presented itself.
We spent the entire morning fishing without even a bite. We didn't mind. The day was clear the summer air refreshingly crisp not muggy. For lunch we had the roast raptor and jungle stew my grammy had made for us and washed it down with my grammy's famous thistle tea. (you guessed it, that same sneakthief gnome took those secret recipes too). Just before we were about to get started fishin again after lunch granpy pulled out his small leather pouch again and grabbed hisself a great big ole chaw of tabaccee.
It was too much to take. I knew it was too soon but I was unable to resist askin him anyway, "Granpy... are you suuuure I can't have a chew o tabaccee ?". Without missing a beat my granpy looked me in the eye and asked "has yer peeder growd long enough to reach yer bunghole boy?".
This time I actually visually verified before responding resignedly, "Nossir it ain't.". He replied simply, "Then yer too young boy. Ye can't have any.".
Without another word I commenced to fishing determined to drown out the sounds of my granpy's obvious enjoyment punctuated by the occassional distinct ring of his spit hitting the waters surface and splashing accross it. (Hey, to a lil tike this sounds almost like pure heaven).
The day passed us by and dusk was fast approaching and found us without a single fish caught between us. Granpy pronounced "Well that's it boy, no luck today. We'll be needin to head in before it gets dark. Reel in.".
As we were pulling in our lines I hooked something on mine. At first I thought I'd hooked a log because there was no movement in the line just a constant steady resistance. As I pulled more I began to realize it was not a log. "Granpy, I think I got something!!" I exclaimed excitedly.
To his credit granpy never tried pulling my pole away from me to "show me how it's done". Granpy talked me through it and sat there and watched as I fought that ole fish (we named it Henry later) we fought and fought. I thought my arms would fall off.
I'd lost all feeling in my back I'd been using it's muscles to pull backwards against the fish for so long. Finally after what seemed hours but what was actually only 39 and one half minutes, my granpy told me later, I pulled in a 10 pound spotted yellowtail. I was so relieved it was over, so proud I'd done it without help.
My granpy looked at "Henry" shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you pulled that giant outta the water by yerself boy." "I'm real proud of ye.". (Before I go on it's worth mentioning my granpy was a champion fisherman. He'd been winning STV fishing tournaments well before I was born.)
My granpy he got a really serious look on his face and then he said, "You know boy I sorta have a reputation
to uphold. I can imagine the sorta guff I'll be gettin from ole Nat Pagle if, no not if... when he hears about you catching ole "Henry" here right under my nose without me catching anything all day. I tell ya the embarrassment would be too much!".
What d'ya say boy, what say we tell everyone I was the one that caught ole Henry here and I'll give ye that chew o tabaccee ye been bellerin about all day?".
Well now I'd done it!! I'd gotten my chance at that wonderful chew o tabaccee. I could
almost feel the spittle trickling down my chin from the glorious amounts of excess saliva this heavenly treat would produce in my mouth. I could almost think of nothing else I wanted more than to taste the chewing tabaccee... almost.
I looked my granpy straight in the eye straightened myself to gain every bit of dignity and height a "lil tike" could muster and I asked my granpy, "Granpy... is yer peeder long enough to reach yer bunghole?". To which my granpy proudly and perhaps a smidge too smugly responded, "Yes boy, yes it is!".
Then I said to my granpy "well then Granpy, you can go f**k yourself.".
The above was a story I'd told in a Guild story/ joke contest on Argent Dawn. Just imagine Beltch w/ a fishing pole strapped to his back sitting on the bank of the pond in TB w/ a campfire and you'll be able to pretend you were there. I've forgotten which guild it was. I had written it out as a document, so I could post it to the guild site as requested by the guild master since it won first place. I'm posting it here for you all to read because I found it, still on my hard drive, now several years later and thought some of you might enjoy it.
The story is obviously a modified joke some of you might be interested to know was actually told to me by my RL grandfather. I imagine the reason he felt the need to share the joke with me is that, we had in fact gone on a fishing trip at which I was the only person who caught any fish and of course he was an ardent fan of chewing tobacco. My Grandfather passed away many years ago. I am hopeful this story will allow some of you to think fondly of your own relatives and perhaps renew ties if it's not too late. That would be a great memorium for my grandfather. The character of "Granpy" is based pretty much on my Grandfather as he was and I could tell you some stories about him that'd likely be more amusing than the above joke. Maybe I could but that'll be for another time. Right now I hope my Grandfather can read this and knows I think of him often and miss him terribly. I know there's chewing tobacco being chewed and George Jones music blaring somewhere in heaven today because of the war fought over my Grandfather's soul before he died. As I said... that's a story for another time.
ANOTHER WOW STORY Once there was an Orc named Ding. He'd been forced to retire from adventuring because he'd burned his hands so badly while retrieving his favorite pocket watch when his pet Corehound mistook it for a Kibblers Bit. Ding was in a bad way. He needed cash and he needed it badly. Unable to hold his bow any longer, Ding went out in search of work he could do without using his hands. Our story begins in Durnhold during Ding's job interview with the town's Councilman Durnst.
" We here in Durnhold have need of a bell dinger in our bell tower. You'd be expected to ding our bell on the hour every hour from dawn till dusk. Of course, you'd need to determine the hour it is in order to designate the proper number of dings ."
"That would happen without discord, I'm quite good at delineating the hours of the day".
"Yes I deem the job simple enough, however I discern a detriment in your ability to ding throughout the day due to the damage to your hands. How do you determine to circumvent your deficit?".
"Ah, I expected you'd deliberate that issue. I think a demonstration would do more to define my solution to that problem than any dialogue."
Ding and Councilman Durnst dawdle up the deasil stairway of the bell tower and direct themselves to the bell.
" Councilman Durnst please denote how I've determined to ding your bell."
Ding rears back and with a great surge of momentum and a spine cracking jar, drives forward and impacts the bell with the dome of his head. The chime is quite distinct.
"I'm dumbfounded!" Says the disquieted Councilman.
"Say it was 8 o'clock I'd keep hitting it like so... " Ding continues to drive fully into the bell as it begins to swing back and forth, gaining momentum with each additional clang of Ding's dome.
Finally Ding connects for the eighth time and when he does the momentum of the bell is so great it dislodges his center of gravity, knocking him backwards. As Ding desperately struggles to dig in his footing he drops backwards over the railing and falls downwards to the ground directly below. Ding lays dormant in the street as Councilman Durnst dashes down the stairway of the bell tower and out into the delirium on the street.
A dismayed crowd has gathered around Ding's deceased body.
" D'OH!! What happened?! Who is this dude?! The town guard asks as he approaches Councilman Durnst.
"Well he was using his dome to ding the bell and it donked him good enough to send him diving out of the bell tower."
"Why in great Azeroth would he be using his dome to ding the dang bell?"
"Well he was applying for the job of bell dinger. As you can see his hands are damaged and he was demonstrating how he could ding the bell without deficit."
"Poor dumb dumb. Well what's his name? We'll be needing to deliver him to his domicile."
"You know... he never told me his name, but his face sure rings a bell."
ALL OF THAT READING FOR THAT!!!!!? Oh wait... there's more You see Ding has a twin brother Dong and Dong was the one that fed the pocket watch to Ding's dog Dinger. It was a humdinger of a turd Dinger dealt for Ding and Dong to dig through. So you see, Dong's dainty hands were damaged as well. You could say it was a dual debilitation.
I oughtn't tell the next part, dast I?
Dong doubled his brother's demented density. Doing all the same dings, donging all the same dongs. The councilman of Durholst was dumbfounded.
Before the councilman could demand Dong to stop his demonstration lest Dong duplicate Ding's demise, Dong dropped from the bell tower damn near where his brother had donked down earlier that day.
Dead as a door nail with Dong in the street is where the details of our story resume.
“Councilman Durnst, what went down?!” “Why is your bell tower dropping dead guys this day?”.
“I dunno guardsman, it's our dang bell dinger demand and the dummies dropping by to discharge those duties!”.
“Another?” “Well what's this dinger's name?”.
“Well guardsman, I never discerned his name, but he's a dead ringer for his brother”.
OMFG are you kidding me!! My eyes are bleeding for having read this garbage!
So then should I disembark upon the next part? You see Ding and Dong had a sister Darla. She's a real southern belle.
No? Is that a death threat I just heard you muttering? Well damn, I guess I will desist!