Bucket Guild | FUBU BH Forums

Write something.... ty. <3

Come sail with me, oh chums and chaps. Set aflame your fears of an uncertain world where the rich get richer and the poor get children, for we are all about to drip slick and wet with an unrivaled anticipation. Some of you are feeling it now, others are dry as a bone; well prepare to be hydrated by the anal glands of my pet cat because there won't be enough tortillas for this conversation.

I, Bleeding Hollow's most unremarkable and inexcusable Calx persona, wish henceforth, hitherto, to apply for an ever most concrete and legitimate raider status for my darling god-daughter Beel. Long ago there was a cereal called Sprinkle Spangles which tasted very weird but I kind of miss it.

I will now adhere to your country's customs in an uncreative manner, as per my desire to apply for the aforementioned position:


---Under the evermost Required category, you do so ask of my age. All Calx are over the age of eighteen. I am 21, I am qualified to purchase alcohol, pornography, tobacco, and indulge within said activities within a voting booth, whether or not I indulge in such pedestrian affairs is a whole different flavor of sparklefashion altogether. Voting is so canadian.

Further interrogation wishes to garner from me information as to whether Ventrilo is installed, working in concert with a functional microphone so that my ever so velvet tongue can wordsmith the most luscious sentences for all your aural pleasures, to this I say yes... and no. Yes, Ventrilo is installed, and yes I have a working headset, however

http://www.imagedump.com/index.cgi?pick=get&tp=533508

with ear #2 severed, it will sit awkwardly and smellilly on my head. Don't count such sacrifice beyond my abilities, however, as the article still functions. To a degree.


---As it would seem, we have come to the Basics category. Paltry information; ever so paltry. I am best known as Calx, however it is Beel that is the object of affection this time around. Beel, as you well know, is our realm's paramount horde ret and silver-medal second of the top two (uh, only two) horde raiding retributions on our smashing old realm! With an embarrassing 80 or so days played at 70 (contested only by my warlock's total days /played) it would be within the bounds of fairness to proclaim myself capable of not standing in fire.

You ask of my maturity. To date I've not yet received a suspension of any duration for calling another player a 'faggot.' Charming. Though maturity aside, I must confess: though I don't know any Bucket chaps in person, I do see the gentle eyes of Srmoocow in every mall santa, the gentle kindness of Crebain in the pucker of every prostitute's lips, the soft touch of NK in the handshake of every war veteran, the scathing glare of Mayo in the eyes of every ruler-wielding nun, and the loving, friendly smile of Tira in the decaying remains of recent roadkill.


Please sit and be fascinated with my evermost wonderful spec: the finely tuned I-know-what-I'm-doing raiding retribution spec. At the time of typing this, I am abortion arena spec (20/41), but I shall respec and logoff, toot-sweet for your sniffing pleasure. Should this fail, indulge in http://www.worldofwarcraft.com/info/cla ... 3125331051

Things to note in this spec, as it may vary from other raiding rets, and I've the right to defend my opinions:


2/5 Ben Addiction, besides not liking Ben too terribly much, the talent has some negative synergy with sanctified judgment, and cannot be maxed without detracting talents

1/2 Improved Judgment, going 2/2 creates a cooldown cycling conflict in which crusader strike and judgment arrive at the same time, forcing you to decide on one of the two to cast or risking a melee swing without having a seal charged. Dropping one point solves the conflict.

1/3 Vindication, though nearly all bosses (except Void Reaver for a hilarious previous patch) are immune to it, a lesser known fact of it is one point in it will proc judgment of wisdom on the mob, yielding more mana returned for a talent spec that cannot manage mana worth the love of a dying mime's bowel release.



The remaining talent selections should be self-admonishing.

Apart from general hitcap, statistics of note are nearly +15% haste in full haste gigs, unbuffed attack power nearing 1950 without BT gems, crit rating hovering between 22% in haste gigs (sadly, normal), and 27% in Shut Up and Jam apparel. Quite an excellent start in fielding a guild ret mascot when the more entry level chaps are troubled by 1600 AP, no haste, modest crit, and a S1 weapon. It does so break my heart to see them as such, but a large amount of personal work went into the crafting of Beel's state of affairs. The net result was well worth the effort, culminating in an all-time high of 1587 sustained dps in a high threat ceiling environment, fully buffed and supported by brave bucket companions and having tremendous fun staring at Recount while playing an abortion of a defensive hybrid class.

screenshots:

http://www.hemmy.net/images/photography/liweiart05.jpg Beel vs illidan.
http://www.nedavno.ru/albums/ads-all/puknez-beel.jpg no pls
http://www.pantherhouse.com/newshelton/ ... onwalk.png Beel and Beel's dad, and the event that led to her becoming a ret paladin



But yes. Previous guild experience consisted mostly of SG's glory days (oh yes, once a tyrannical empire that was a blast to be a part of). Learned just how painful raiding was when I farmed my own nature resist gear to be a huhu soak, and we never got her down and were cockblocked out of AQ40. The coolest place ever, second to naxx. When SG pooped itself and it's members diffused every which way, most found their way to Tempest, and I fell into Bucket. I believe I can help fill a niche roll to assist in catching Bucket back up to Tempest, after a few player breaks and a bit of raid disillusionment gave Tempest a bit of a PVE lead. If I'm wrong or incorrect in my assumptions, please feel free to give me a proper spanking.


As for name, work, and where I live and all that, the only other place I've seen my name was in FF12 where it's actually a very obscure and rarely mentioned country, but I've always just gone by my shortened middle name. My partner in crime who I used to pingpong our WoW account with back and forth in pre-BC is still around, and I doubt revealing her name without a fight would be very cricket either. Sorry dorry. Currently living in Arizona, raising money to move and situate myself in Washington. The only negative bit that I foresee is I am always out to snag another job, and I don't know how that would affect raid schedules, but between working part time, doing online classes and kissing sailors, I do guarantee Beel will be all up in your grill for as many raids as possible, if not all (hopefully).

I do totally hope this is enough information in regards to bringing Beel out of freelance. If there is anything I failed to cover, you most assuredly know where to find me, and how best to interrogate me. For now I ask unto you to look back upon that which I have written, and say to yourself "I actually read all that."

If I'm going to John the Baptist for you, the least you could do is walk across a wading pool, so people will know my abilities to judge stylish, irreverent prose is Biblical, and only challenged by my considerable skill at concocting run-on sentences that not only make sense, but often offer pearls of wisdom only accessible from the craggiest of brains that spring forth like bubbling refreshment in the fertile grounds of the young mind, although said pearls are sadly absent here in favor of the creation of a Bataan-like gauntlet for our intrepid fellow forum-crafters. Whilst we wait, I leave you with some vintage wisdom from the ever optimistic Chuckie B...

I have a certain glass of ICE COLD MILK that belongs to a Calx.
With accompanying letter.

Competing with Nathaniel Hawthorne for literary style there, Dooj.

I always liked you very much, mr seismic. Your kind message was a surprise and it gave me pleasure. Thusly, I wish to share naughty things with you :*), even though im surda not supposed to.

Thank you for expressing interest in my client, the lovely miss rubeel. At this point in time, she is not in very good condition.



etc blah blah
- - -before looking back up the path to see Beel closing in on her tiptoes, dragging them through the dirt, being forcibly lifted and pushed towards the twins, clenching her teeth, breathing labored. Blood bubbled at her lips, grabbing the strands of her hair shaken loose by a recent impact.

Rubeel had been impaled thrice with a spread of thick, black quills, raising her slightly off the ground. Behind her stood Calt's boil, undergoing several dramatic bodily changes, bloating with dying tissue that housed an ongoing restructuring of bone and organ deployment. Quills protruding from the man's body had locked her flush with him, penetrating her gut and chest, bursting through her clothing, slick with shine. A weak trickle of blood came shy at the corner of her mouth while her eyes darted about in panic, trying desperately to see what was happening, afraid to look where the pain was. Simultaneously, the twins disengaged, reflexively distancing themselves from Rubeel and her aggressor.

Clutching at the spines caused them to violently retract, slashing Beel's fingers down to bone, drawing no blood at first. Dropped to the ground, the skewered templist felt a crushing grip on her shoulders and was whipped about and pinned by hundreds of pounds of force. What now only vaguely resembled the withered old man took her by the skull, lifting it up and smashing it against the ground, bruising the brain and sounding off hollow, wooden notes, again and again, sending her body into a weak seizure. Straddling her, the boil covered her entire mouth with his own. The boil's tongue ran inside-out down its own throat, tickling and triggering a gag reflex. A churning of guttural noise prefaced an acrid flood of coarse vomit, pouring deep and thick from the bowels of the man's body, pumping an organic orange slurry into Rubeel's stomach while the twins held back and assessed.

Both screamed for her to swallow what she could to keep from drowning, but the odds of compliance were low. Pints of what smelled like infected skin continued to pulse into her body as the delirious templist fought her instincts, gulping it as it came, tickling her throat with slivers of bone and raw meat, setting her stomach on fire as it entered. The dead man maintained an unnaturally lengthy siphon, sending chunks down her throat by a broth of falsely sweetened intestinal syrup, irritating to the touch, contaminated with thick hairs and torn scraps of the man's destroyed intestinal tract. Beel tried to swallow it all, filling herself with as much of the torture as she could, fighting hard to submit, but she soon reached capacity and the slurry backwashed into the attacker, forcing him away as her mouth and nose sprayed jets of fluid; the attacking creature chirping something akin to laughter. Running down her face, the burning orange excretion carried a strange shine in cherry sunlight; the daintiest trickle of tree sap. Shivering and spasming, black quills began to burst from various portions of Rubeel's body that had not been dressed in mail, but the slithering beneath her chest and legs signified that her entire body was being torn apart, attempting to change its shape.

Such quills did not remain on her body for long, as each seemed to wilt and wither upon reaching full extension, crusting and breaking off like rapidly decaying plant life, collecting in piles of shed hair around her. Waiting for the massive boil to wander away and set its attention on other matters, Beel turned to her side and began to expel her colorful filling, fearful it would dissolve her from within. Blood-tinged, viscous and hairy, the mess violently issued out of her, taking far longer to expel than it did to accept. Orange currents continually destroyed the soft flesh of her throat and face, searing enamel from her teeth and splashing beyond her lips, piling on the ground in a single amber puddle of gelatin, meat and needles. The dirt had great difficulty in absorbing the vomit, and much remained inside her still, proving too thick and rough to pass.

Blind with hysteria, she attempted to prop herself up and take a stab at standing, only succeeding in a quick fall, slopping atop her acidic sick. More was throbbed upon the pile while the puncture in her lung coughed trickles of the substance in tandem, unable to heal. Nearing the end of the agony, the expulsion's consistency had started to take a lighter hue. Sweet rice, blood and lemon bread began composing the bulk of her fountain, marking the end. Unable to continue the painful contractions, she fell to her cheek with a splash, the pink flecks of her eyes shaking, never blinking. Tiny sections of frayed organ tissue floated past her, hopefully not belonging to her. Some of the more condensed collections of orange matter continued to pulse outside of her body, mimicking the elevated heart rate of the host before the separation caused the cultures to misstep, slowing their rate of pulsation. Ripples begat of this pulsing became less frequent within her gelatinous puddle, though the host's heart rate pained her shoulder with its speed, having only a single lung left to slow it.




if writefagging were more popular i'd be inclined to share the whole section, which unfortunately indicates the presence of an actual story. the whole chapter is wicked smaht but still full of errors and aids. gonna remake it first week of november if i run out of brain jizz on other stuff. poor stupid useless worthless beel is so much fun to destroy

highly doubt i'll ever get a publisher due to lack of talent, but that never stopped gay twilight butthole lady. must kill twilight lady with force of 1000 suns.

anyway seismic hope this answered your questions. wanna be jay and silent bob for halloween with me? :*) beel and seismic bob

p.s. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aeld-Og ... re=related