A Call To Arms

He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Launch day.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Launch day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Digo the Weasel, Binks and Bag,
Gasmask and Asmo, Stent and Aquasheepa
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Launch day shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that raids with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in Azeroth now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Launch day.

That might seem too snobby, so let me include some familiar vulgarity:

Now we're back on track.

Maybe enough time has passed and you can't quite put your finger on what drove you to unsub or the feeling of dread as you logged on for raids (that was it). Maybe you've even wistfully thought of what it might be like to have unqualified fun again.



Maybe you look out the window, your mind drifts to the uncensored boiler room of gchat, and a misanthropic smile creeps into the corner of your mouth. Yes, yes. The exquisite joy of hate. You remember the feeling. Greatness cannot be sought but for first casting aside the societal burdens of certain stigmas (moral turpitude is a grey area).



Have a seat on the couch and lets peer into the emptiness behind your eyes where one might have expected to find a soul. You've probably been searching for meaning these past 15 years, undoubtedly finding little of any substance. You've struggled with new hobbies, new leisures. But it feels dull, like a washed out page printed from a beleaguered factory ink cartridge (replace cyan). Crumple that paper up and throw it in the trash (or eat it, depending on the level of incrimination).



Now that you're done with what I'll gently note in your chart as self-indulgent distraction, it's time to put all those hours spent lying to yourself back to work. Invest in something meaningful--something approximately 40 times larger than yourself. Something gilded with purple borders.



I know we have all grown up. Many of you have taken it upon yourselves to reproduce. Sometimes more than once (and maybe even on purpose). You have careers now. Don't let that discourage you. Put that baby in the microwave and spend your vacation hours in Azeroth. Grab your poop sock and send tells to Binks for dkp. See you in IF.

WOWClassic


To keep you entertained in the coming days, here are the (mostly) recovered historical updates for your perusal (and arousal):

Nostalgia

We're putting the band back together!