Have you been playing Hearthstone lately? I have. Yes. Yes I have. And I wanted to warn you of a disturbing trend: in the past 24-hours or so I have had my tail handed to me by decks stacked with murloc cards. It doesn’t matter the class: priest, warrior, shaman: all have trounced me within the first few moves with their clever plays of Old Murkeye and Murloc Warriors, and scouts and such. And I mean TROUNCED. Gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em? Did you know playing cards with Kenny Rogers gets old, fast? So does playing with decks stacked with murlocs.
These murloc cards are incredibly overpowered:
I am tempted to start a heavy-handed murloc deck myself, just to see. But it seems somehow…Cheaty McCheaty Pants. One thing I love about Hearthstone is its true nature to the class of the deck: oh sure, the neutral cards round out otherwise thin premises of decks. But what makes each class enjoyable to play is their very nature: polymorphing with a mage, or enraged brawls with warriors, doubling health with priests, and using lightning bolt lightning bolt with shamans. Here is my proposal: if murlocs are going to take over the world of Hearthstone, then perhaps they deserve their own deck? Hmmm? Would you like that, Mr. Snerguls? Or is this your plan all along, to take over Azeroth one small, slimy fin at a time until your girth takes over? I have always smirked at the foot soldiers in Elwynn Forest whose untimely death by murlocs is not only fishy but gruesome. All we heroes find is a pile of meat and bones. I tried to find an image of said meat and bones, but all I could find was this:
This served to underscore my suspicions further. Carnivorous murlocs setting up a taquería in Elwynn Forest? Perhaps if they are making chipotle-lime sauce ones, but still, not sure I could get the image of stupid foot soldiers who can’t even handle a few frog people out of the taste…
OLRG: There are no words.
And on a completely unrelated note–I confessed to Tome a few weeks ago one reason I was having trouble with Mrs. Whitworth is the addition of a kitten in her life. It doesn’t fit. What was I thinking? And then I saw this image:
BRING ME MINIONS, NOT KITTENS!
So I’m not sure where Mrs. W stands, narrative-wise. We may never hear from her again. She was working for the Supreme Court making a case, but sadly her 30-page dissent went unheeded. Much like a delicious blueberry pie I baked in 1989, a blueberry pie so perfect, so exquisite, its like was never to be baked again, I haven’t baked one since. One-hit wonder, as it were. In the meantime, I have long summer days ahead of me, and many scraps and story-starts to organize. I recently purchased a program called Scrivener and it’s pretty fancy-schmancy.
As far as Momokawa and the Staff of Unattainable Perfection of Fiery Kitty from Fandral is concerned, be careful, Señor Fandral: I may leave a box of adorable kittens on your doorstep and see how that brings you to your knees. Give me the staff, punk. Or I’ll make fish tacos out of you.