Not Addicted

Hey there folks, Bill Clemmens coming to you from sunny Elwynn Forest.
As usual, I'm bringing the latest on being a murloc, a salesman, and
the recipient of random acts of violence.

Sorry I haven't written in a while, but things have been pretty crazy in the house of Clem. We just got back from Cynthia's dentist appointment and - you guessed it - braces! Also, it seems that our house has fallen in the path of a pretty major travel route, so it's gonna be a while before we can sit down to dinner without some low level warrior killing us all. Well, when life gives you lemons...

As you know, we're knee deep in tax season. Thanks to a couple of leveling warlocks, Barb and I are desperately trying to maximize our deductions for all of those darned medical bills. The real tricky part is trying to nail down a figure with such afluctuating number of dependents!

Oh geeze, that reminds me of a story! Better take your seats folks, this one's a real doozey!

It all started a week ago. The missus was really tightening the screws on me about my current financial situation - that's Clem talk for, "ask for a raise you big knucklehead!" Well, I've been at thebureau for ten years and I've only called in sick five or six hundred times, so I figured I was due.

We decided that the best approach would be to invite my boss, Jim Perkins and his wife Sue, for a little sit down at Clem Manor. Barb put together a wonderful meal and I wore my finest tweed blazer. Yessir, the stage was set for one wonderful evening. At about 6:30, our two guests showed up.

We munched on appetizers and talked politics. Things were going fine, that is, until the farmers showed up. We heard some screams coming from next door, and I remember thinking to myself "well shoot, what the noodle can that be?" I peaked my head out the window and saw our neighbor, Nate Gibbons, running across my lawn completely engulfed in flames. It seems that a couple of rubble rousers had shown up to stir up some trouble.

I stepped back into the living room and pulled Barb aside. I told her about the two instigators outside. She put a comforting hand on my shoulder and told me that everything would be ok. Gee she's great!

She's great, but not always right. After a few minutes, the hooligans moved over to the Cook's house. I had to turn up the stereo in order to drown out all the darned screams. I think I'll have to bring that up at the next HOA meeting.

Now, I'm not one to start a fight, but I thought to myself "Bill, enough is enough. There comes a point where you've got to put your foot down!" I politely excused myself from the table and marched outside.

"Hey ya Hooligans!" that got their attention. "We don't want you around these parts anymore. Now get outta here before we throw you out on your Buster Browns!". Holy toledo, what a rush! Unfortunately though, I soon had to put my money where my you-know-what is and when it comes to fisticuffs, well let's just say I'm no Shoeless Joe.

Suffice to say, that ended our evening. The real shame of the whole thing is that Barb's roast went completely to waste. And, of course, I didn't get the promotion. I really should get some flowers out to Jim, I mean, it's the least I can do.