Puns somehow soothe my passive-aggressive side. Not sure why. A sweet little bird took pity on my beta-less soul and helped me out. Turns out CD Rogue has had the Beta all along, but told me he never, ever plays betas for some pretty solid reasons: primarily it can only end in tears. Things you like will not make the final cut, and things you don’t will. I know I made such a stink about not playing the Beta; I make big stinks about a lot of things. I get my panties in a knot and put hissy fits on full throttle. Not to mention mixing metaphors. But – please Blizzard, please — I won’t mess with Garrisons yet, and I won’t do anything else. I might ride around on Invincible because like a garage parking attendant, you gave me the keys and while you’re having dinner at your fancy restaurant I’m just going to take it around the block a few times, okay? You’ll never know. Won’t get a scratch on it.
But here’s what my vain self did focus on– outward appearances. All surface, no substance. So here is my quick snap judgment on some of my favorite ladies:
The Night Elf female hands are larger, the ears more rubbery, and feathery unibrow in need of a waxing more than ever before:
Bitchy resting face in full swing:
Kellda forgot her meds:
Please tell me my warlock has not turned into Patricia Heaton (who is batshit crazy):
And Hair, Now!
And in all seriousness, this Dwarf shaman is beautiful:
But my poor little warlock has a bad case of Scythenititis:
I’m sure there are many more surprises in store. I know you’re all thinking I’m a big fat hypocrite right now, and I am. Let me go find a pipe wrench to get these panties untwisted, and I’ll go gaze upon my pretty Draenei faces a bit longer.