Chet’s Dad Will Wtfpwn Your Horde Ass
So I was out of town this past weekend, attending the unholy union of my sister and her new husband, Chet. You may recall that Chet is a dick. I managed to corner Chet beforehand and let him know under no uncertain terms that if he were to manhandle my sister again, there would be consequences. We're talking immediate 10-die-6 lightning bolt, no saving throw. Bitch.
Well, the summoning ceremony was small and uneventful. I'd say it was intimate, but I throw up a little in my mouth when I think of the adjective "intimate" and the proper noun "Chet" in the same context. The reception afterwards, however, proved more interesting and therefore blog-worthy. It was held at Chet's parent's house.
I'll try to describe the house, but you should know that words cannot do this hellish domicile justice. I could use words like "clutter," and "dog urine," and "decades of filth and disease," but those are simply words with which you might describe to a set designer when asking him to build a sterile approximation of the dwelling in question. At best, these descriptions for the benefit of our fictional set-builder can serve only as inputs to some domestic Mandelbrot set whose function can approach, but never intersect with, the "zero" axis that is the baseline of filth represented by this house.
An example: When I sat down on the 70's-era Naugahyde couch, which was next to an engine block or transmission or whatever the hell hunk of big-ass automotive metal it was, I felt a scurrying beneath the springs and coils that threatened to puncture my ass. A fucking scurrying. That's not natural, is it?
There were some other interesting characters. Most of them delegates from the "other side of the tracks," although technically my family was the "other side of the tracks" delegation, being that we were now on their side of the tracks. And lest you think I'm being a little snobbish, let me just say that I don't exactly come from wealth. But I don't think you need to come from wealth to maintain a certain level of…I don't know…hygiene. I mean, I could understand it if they were Canadian. But there wasn't a maple leaf in sight. (It has been brought to my attention that of all the nationalities I typically shit on, Canadians have been largely underrepresented. We here at AN regret the omission.)
Chet's common-law mother (I think that's what you'd call Chet's father's common-law wife), whom I'll call "Regina," played hostess, in much the same way that Keanu Reeves might play Atticus Finch. Which is to say badly. Regina's idea of hors d'oeuvres is a bag of Lays and a bowl of burnt microwave popcorn in a dirty bowl. Regina crafts though, which I found interesting. Well, she doesn't exactly craft, but she does play slots. It's a game whose strategy can be broken down to "put a coin in the slot and pull the handle." Crafting.
Chet's father is a really scary biker guy. Not a cool biker guy like you might see on American Chopper. Scary like Mad Max biker guy. He's abrasive, loud, kinda creepy, and sweats beer. I like him, and here's why: He plays World of Warcraft. And not Horde, like you'd expect. No, he plays Alliance. If you've never heard a scary drunk biker guy rant about Paladin nerfs, well then you just haven't lived.
Chet has a sister who likes to call me "princess." While I do like the ring of the title, I don't think she means it in the royal sense. It did make me a little self-conscious though, until my brother assured me that my tiara was, in fact, still on straight.
The rest of the soirée went about as well as it could. My dad smoldered the entire time, but for Betty's sake managed to hold his tongue. My mother, who is not what you would consider worldly, spent much of the time in a state of shell-shock, looking sometimes as though she might cry at any moment, and laughing a little too quickly and nervously at just about anything. For the most part my brother and I sat back, enjoyed the show, and traded snarky comments between ourselves.
Ah, weddings. I can't help myself, I always cry. It's not usually because of the dog urine fumes though.
September 28th, 2006 at 10:33 am
In EQ2, crafting machines fight back.
September 28th, 2006 at 11:02 am
I had a similar experience with a one-year-old’s birthday party I was forced to attend by family. The highlights of the trip were:
1) Every female between the age of fourteen and twenty had a baby in one hand resting on her hip, while the other hand had a beer and a cigarette in it in that peculiar configuration that allows you to take a swig and then take a puff.
2) The hostess offered to get me a chili dog and I was starving, so I accepted. Quickly a family member came by and suggested that I decline, so I backpedaled. Later, they pointed out what I had failed to notice before as the hostess took the broom in the kitchen and turned it upside-down to use the broom handle to stir the chili.
3) One of the other guests, from the same side of the tracks as the hosts, seemed to want to impress us city-slickers by how tolerant she was. She said that her daughter (also fourteen years old) had just delivered a baby that she had conceived with a black teenaged boy who was no longer in the picture. The mom and the daughter-mom agreed together to name the baby girl Chanel, “so she could have her heritage.”
After that … I didn’t care what crap I had to put up with from family and got the heck out of there.
September 28th, 2006 at 11:29 am
Which might be apropriate if the black teenage father is also French.
September 28th, 2006 at 11:39 am
Your sister volunteered to be a part of this “den of defilement”, or “ilk of ick” if you prefer. Is she bewitched or otherwise charmed? Perhaps your 10d6 evocation will be required to counter the enchantment? [Yeah... counter nerd reference, how do you like me now?]
I lol’d
Atticus Finch? Literary references in lieu of song lyics are an acceptable substitute. Syntax approves. Carry on my wayward… blog…ess, er something.
September 28th, 2006 at 12:48 pm
It might also be appropriate if she was the fifth child..
September 28th, 2006 at 12:59 pm
I should mention that the phrase “immediate 10-die-6 lightning bolt, no saving throw” is from the moi excellente indie film Fear of Girls.
September 28th, 2006 at 5:54 pm
/cry… I use to have an alliance and a horde 60… that makes me evil and confused… /cry…
For the short amount of time that I have followed this blog, I can’t really tell if you are serious or not. But I know there’s at least a hint of truth to it, or else it wouldn’t be funny. Hmm… I wonder what would have happened if it was “queen” that was used instead of “princess”.
September 28th, 2006 at 7:27 pm
In place of a dark lord you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn, treacherous as the sea, stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!
So yeah…you might want to hold on to that ring.
September 29th, 2006 at 6:05 am
You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.
September 29th, 2006 at 7:12 am
You are correct. I’ve been misspelling “muy.” Thanks for the catch!
September 29th, 2006 at 7:51 am
See there, and from the description of the guy I was assuming he was alliance all along. There’s a brain-cell count requirement to enter The Horde.
September 29th, 2006 at 8:02 am
It’s funny that you meet wow players almost everywhere you go. The waiter at the restraunt I have lunch at last week heard us talking about wow and told us he played too and then we talked wow with him for about 10 minutes. And a friend of mines mom is in her 50s and plays wow. Theres a lot of people playing this game.
Dave (someone stole my cool internet name)
September 29th, 2006 at 9:34 pm
Thank goodness my future brother in law is good to my sister, and plays BF2. In another note, my wife and I play Alliance together on Gilneas.
October 2nd, 2006 at 2:30 pm
One of the local radio stations here in Detroit would term the house “a house of skank.”