Wikipedia:Sandbox/History

Hello, I'm [[User:{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}|{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}]]. An edit that you recently made seemed to be a test and has been reverted. If you want to practice editing, please use the sandbox. If you think I made a mistake, or if you have any questions, you can leave me a message on [[User talk:{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}|my talk page]]. Thanks!

Yo fool. NeowinNeowin

I don't get these boards sometimes. Okay all the time. I would say "boy, it sure seems like people come out of the woodwork to post here!" but somehow that...really doesn't cover it. That's like saying, golly the Jews sure were treated badly by Hitler. Or, geez Jennifer Garner is an attractive woman. Or, heck I'd probably kiss Jennifer Garner if given the opportunity. What a beautiful woman. Alias is such a great show.

I mean, basically the entire premise of Alias is that Jennifer Garner is stunningly beautiful. I love that. Every other shot is of her in a just a bra, or her lithe body performing some compromising acrobatics, or her shapely posterior egregiously displayed. Yeah, sure, there's some crap about spies and patriots and KGB or some crap like that. I don't even know. But Jennifer Garner flashes that smile of hers, looks down from the camera in the demure way, and I'll tell you what, I don't even CARE. Man, I hope she's spying on me right now. God that would be so hot.

Sometimes I've gotta wonder; why do half the posters on this board even bother typing stuff into the keyboard? Hell, who LET them have a keyboard? Hey guys, let's give a zippo to the pyromaniac. Who honestly says to themselves, "Hey, I'll respond to this thread with 'stfu n0ob'."? What kind of person does a thing like that and is able to dress themselves? I'm thinking about Jennifer Garner dressing me right now, and man is that pretty awesome. I wasn't kidding about the shapely posterior. THAT'S what night elf women should look like.

I am a God in my own history.

There's not a man in existence wiser to the ways of the world than my Grandfather. Guy knows everything from how to fire a shotgun to how to fix the fuel injection system of your jeep in the Amazon when you're surrounded by violently angry pygmy insurgents (GREAT story) to how to properly make love to a woman (GREAT story wait what).

So I decided to pay him a visit at the assisted living home in which he currently resides, consult him for some insight to the singularly odd ways the World of Warcraft forums.

CRASH. A plate hits the wall as I enter his room. Food trickles down the painfully cheery floral print wallpaper. "...DAMN YOU INCOMPETENT FOOLS! I ASKED FOR A SIDE OF MASHED POTATOES AND THAT'S WHAT I EXPECTED TO GET!"

Oh Gramps, you charmer. You ALWAYS know how to get the best out of people.

"Herb, look at the food on the wall. Those ARE mashed potatoes." That would be Lauren, the aid on the morning shift. Young, pretty brunette, eternally patient. Smile like Aphrodite rising out of the sea. I think I'm in love with her.

Gramps cackles and slaps the side of the recliner he's sitting in with his cane. Oh, he can walk just fine on his own--he just enjoys carrying around a cane. I can't say I blame him. The wheelchair might be going too far, though. "Ha! I know!" he says, "I just wanted to throw something against the wall. Anyway, get Michael in here to clean it up. He doesn't do a damned thing anyway." Michael's...well, I'm not sure what Michael is. I'm pretty sure they pay him to stand outside the backdoor and smoke weed. And leer at Lauren I swear to Christ, if he does that one more time while I'm around I'm going to kick the Christ out of his poncey litt--

Anyway, I rap my knuckles loudly on the door, open though it may be. Lauren looks back, smiles. Little wave. My heart flutters, I forget where I am. There's just me and Nancy. Nothing else. Just our passionate, unbridled god damned passionate passion for one another. The universe stands still. The winds of time blow around us, through us. I want to lick her teeth. That's normal, right?

"Boy, what the hell are you gaping at? Get the hell out of the doorway and come give your Grandpa a manly one armed hugged slash pat on the back where we at once affirm both our affection for each other and determined heterosexuality."

Gramps always has such a way with words. I clear throat, embarrassed, give Nancy a smile and a little wave of my own. Jesus Christ, I say to myself, you're such an immense nerd. What the hell was that little wave thing? It's cute and endearing when Lauren does it; you just look like a god damned poncey night elf. What gives?

"lol night elves." I say.

"What?" says Lauren.

"What?" says Gramps.

I shuffle me feet. Clear my throat again. "Ahem, listen, uh...I...I can't read or write," I stammer.

"What?" says Lauren.

"What?" says Gramps.

The two-way radio strapped to Lauren's waist (all the aides wear them) crackles then, something about a goiter erupting. I hear elderly women screaming in the background. An extremely obese man dressed in naught but tattered, once-white underwear runs past the doorway, screaming about crocodiles in his crab bisque. God, it's my tenth birthday all over again.

But honestly, why does modern literature put utter hacks such as John Kn kn...grr..>JOhn KNO GOD IT IS HARD FOR ME TO EVEN TYPE THAT IMMENSE HACK'S NAME John FREAKIN' Knowles (HELLO "A SEPERATE PEACE" MORE LIKE "A SEPERATE JOHN KNOWLES IS A PRETENTIOUS HACK AND I WISH I COULD DRIVE OVER HIM WITH A DUMPSTER ON WHEELS AND THE WHEELS ARE ON FIRE AND THERE ARE SHARDS OF GLASS STUCK TO IT AND THE SHARDS OF GLASS ARE ALSO ON FIRE HELL EVERYTHING'S ON FIRE ESPECIALLY JOHN KNOWLES' CRAPPY LITTLE BOOK") why do we night DEIFY hacks like that while virtually ignoring true literary geniuses and visionaries such as John Ronald Reuhl GOD DAMNED Tolkien? The DaVinci Code is hailed as a work of genius? THE GOD DAMNED DAVINCI CODE? HELLO DAN BROWN THE CODE IS THAT YOUR HORRIBLY RESEARCHED BOOK SUCKED I HOPE YOU STUMBLE IN FRONT OF MY DUMPSTER ON WHEELS.

Lauren sighs, shakes her head. Her gorgeous long auburn tresses move in a delightful way. I want to bury my face in them. I want to lick her hair. That's normal, right? She over at me, shrugs, then smiles again before rushing out of the room. So very in love. The God Damned winds of time.

I sigh longingly, then walk over and take a seat on a stool near Gramps. He's settled back into his chair, a blue afghan placed over his lap. A small dog rests on top. The dog is not alive--it was at one point, but then it died and a taxidermist stuffed it. It wasn't even Gramps' dog; he just keeps it around because he thinks it's funny. The television is on, and Gramps is directing his full attention towards it. I attempt to draw his focus. "So...Gramps, what've you been up to lately? Listen, I came here to ask you your opinion on the World of Warcra--"

He throws his stuffed dog at me. "BOY YOU'D BETTER LEARN WHEN TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH, I AM TRYING TO WAToh lordy lord in heaven that woman is gorgeous." I turn to glance at the TV. Alias is on. Jennifer Garner is looking at the camera, flashing one of her trademark "better than a Yes song" smiles. That's saying a lot, you know. Yes is a probably the best band of all time. Jennifer Garner is easily cooler than Air Supply.

Gramps sighs loudly, leaning back in his recliner. The velvet covering, a deep red hue. looks immensely comfortable. I have to hold myself back from giving into the urge to run my hand gently over it, feel its sweet softness. So soft. Like Jennifer's pretty face. Like Lauren's. I think I'll ask her out after she's done with that whole goiter thing. I did NOT like my tenth birthday, I'll tell you that much. "Boy, I'll tell you this..." Gramps says, slowly, deliberately. Accentuating each individual word. I know I'm about to hear some supreme words of wisdom, some insight that can only come after decades of life and the overcoming of all sorts of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. The kind of thing you might make a year long pilgrimage to the deepest mountains of frigid Nepal to hear the Dhali Llama impart unto you.

"Son, that Garner woman has an utterly fanTASTIC derriere. GOD I love this show and I love that woman." He sighs again, content.

I scratch the week old stubble on my chin, stare at the image on the television screen. As always, I'm deeply affected by the profound simplicity of the man's words. Why oh WHY didn't they model female night elves after her? Or Lauren, for that matter. LOVE. I hate that punk Michael. Swear to GOD I'll kick his scrawny, weed smoking a--

"You know something, she's very nearly the most beautiful woman in the world, that miss Garner." He slaps his cane against the floor.

I toss the stuffed dog onto his lap, saying, "I won't disagree with that particular assessment, certainly. But it raises the question, then--who is the MOST beautiful?" Notice, there. Notice how I didn't say BEGS the question. Because that would be a flagrant error of speech. Indeed, the phrase "...begs the question" means literally that--the point in question (ha ha) refers to the question itSELF in order to validate its existence. That is, something that begs the question would be circular reasoning. Using "begs the question" when one really means "raises the question" is wholly and utterly improper and it makes Jennifer Garner cry and if you make her cry I WILL NOT HESITATE TO KICK YOUR SCRAWNY LITTLE A--

"Are you kidding? Who's the most beautiful woman in the world? Why, your Grandmother of course." He picks up a picture from the table next to his chair, looks at it wistfully. He's kept it at his side ever since Grams passed away a decade back. It's about fifty years old, depicts Gramps and Grams holding each other, smiling, just before Gramps shipped out to the Pacific in '42. Grams is wearing a simple white dress, looking at the camera, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulder. Gramps is looking down at her face, completely ignoring the camera, utterly in love. He holds the picture close to him now, quietly and with dignity chokes back a sob, a duo of tears slowly drifting down his cheeks in erratic lines. "Most beautiful woman in the world."

You know something? He's right. Grams was a hell of a woman. We sit for a few minutes. In silence, both lost in memories, contemplating a woman we both loved differently though no less dearly.

Gramps coughs, wipes his eyes, places the picture back on the table. Gently. Reverently. He breaks the silence. "I'll tell you something else, some of these damned idiots on the World of Warcraft message boards? I'll tell you what, I'd like to spend a couple of my social security checks to a send a singing telegram to some of these chumps and by singing telegram I mean some thug punches them in the back of the head and steals their keyboard." He pulls a laptop computer out from a pocket on the side of his recliner, sets it upon the afghan on his lap, boots it up.

I cock my head forward, eagerly awaiting him to open the shells containing his precious pearls of insight.

He points his browser--Mozilla Firefox, as he's far too proud a man to debase himself in such a way that Internet Explorer or the like requires--to the official forums. As it loads, he turns to me. "Honestly though, I can't get over this. I can't get over that the final talent in the Priest talent tree is a SPIRIT BUFF. A SPIRIT BUFF. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA," I laugh

Lauren pokes her pretty little head in, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA A SPIRIT BUFF!"

The radio at her side crackles again, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH SPIRIT, CRAP THE GOITER'S GOING AGAIN WE NEED HELP ASAP BUT SERIOUSLY HAHAHAHAHAHAH SPIRIT BUFF!"

The obese man runs by. He no longer even has underwear on. "SPIRT BUFF HAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahahahaa...." his voice fades as he stumbles down the hall.

A half an hour passes. We've finally stopped laughing, our sides hating us for their torment. Gramps wipes tears (of humor, this time) from his eyes, snickers again. "Ooooh god. Oh thank you Blizzard, a...haha...a SPIRIT BUFF. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

I throw my head back. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Lauren's head pokes in again. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The fat man runs by. "I DON'T EVEN PLAY THE GOD DAMNED GAME, BUT SPIRIT BUFF WHAT THE CHRIST WERE THEY THINKING HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahaa...." his voice fades down the hall.

An hour later, we can breathe properly again. Gramps is finally able to log on to the forums. He snorts--whether in humor or disgust, I'm not quite sure. Perhaps both. "Look at these people. No sense of perspective whatsoever. They'll literally become hell-bent over the smallest thing, become absolutely INDIGNANT over the most inconsequential detail, the most irrelevant happenings. LOOK at this!" he says, shaking his head, laughing helplessly. "Blizzard implements a *test* server and invites random people to participate in the *test* server, complete with already made high level characters. AND THEN THESE PEOPLE HAVE THE GALL TO CRITICIZE BLIZZARD FOR THINGS RELATED TO THE *TEST* SERVER. Omphalos, an undead--BOY YOU KNOW THE PERSON'S GOING TO HAVE SOMETHING GOOD TO SAY WHEN YOU SEE THAT AVATAR DEPICTING AN UNDEAD--Omphalos is up in arms and demands to know, 'WHY do we have to download a file to try the test server?'. He DEMANDS to know!" Gramps titters in laughter.

I shake my head, amazed. Befuddled.

Gramps raises his voice. "I'LL TELL YOU WHY YOU HAVE TO DOWNLOAD A FILE YOU PRISSY LITTLE CHUMP. YOU HAVE TO DOWNLOAD A FILE BECAUSE BLIZZARD WAS KIND ENOUGH TO ALLOW YOU TO PARTICIPATE ON THEIR *TEST* SERVER TO *TEST* THINGS WHICH IS TO SAY THINGS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE PERFECT THAT'S WHY YOU'RE *TESTING* THEM. YOU HAVE TO DOWNLOAD A FILE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF WORLD OF WARCRAFT AND YOU'RE HUGELY EXCITED THAT YOU WERE CHOSEN FOR THE TEST SERVER. THAT'S WHY. NOW FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST GET A GOD DAMNED LIFE YOU IMMENSE NERD AND GET SOME PERSPECTIVE ON LIFE. THERE ARE LITTLE GIRLS STARVING IN PARAGUAY FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY. WHAT IN THE CHRIST IS WRONG WITH YOU AND AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE IN SCHOOL YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SH--"

Lauren tears into the room then, rushes to Gramps' side. She picks up some instrument attached to his arm. "Good GOD," she says, "Your blood pressure is skyrocketing, oh my God we need to--" She grabs the radio at her side, speaks hurriedly into it. "Listen, we need an EMT here, Herb's going into cardiac arrest." She glances at the laptop, sees what's on the screen. Her brows furrow in anger (very prettily, I think to myself), and she mutters, "DAMN you world of warcraft forums. What tragedy WON'T you cause?"

Indeed, a question all of us must ask. Five free days and a full rested experience bonus? DAMN YOU BLIZZARD. DAMN YOU AND YOUR PITTANCES I COULD MAKE A BETTER MMORPG GAME WITH...A SERVER...AND SERVERS AND...STUFF...I COULD MAKE A BETTER ONE IF I WANTED TO I COULD. LISTEN SHUT UP BLIZZ I DEMAND A FULL REFUND AND...A BODY MASSAGE...ALSO I WANT YOU TO DO MY HOMEWORK. AND A PONY. ALSO THE GIRLS AT SCHOOL MAKE FUN OF ME I WOULD LIKE TO SEE PICTURES OF CAYDIEM PLEASE. HECK EVEN JUST HER DESK I AM THAT DESPERATE. OKAY EVEN PHIL THE JANITOR WHO CLEANS HER DESK, A PICTURE OF HIM WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE AT THIS POINT. FIVE FREE DAYS, DAMN YOU BLIZZ.

They put Gramps on a stretcher and rush him out of the room. As they pass through the doorway, one of the stretcher's back wheels catches on the frame, jerking Gramps upwards. His eyes meet mine. He very clearly mouths the words, "Spirit Buff." His maniacal laughter echoes hauntingly as the they wheel him down the hall.

Forums, if you've killed my Gramps I'm going to be ANGRY. And you don't want that. I've been watching Jennifer Garner kick ass and take names on Alias so I KNOW how to work you over. I'll defeat you all and win the heart of Lauren.

You'll see.

You'll ALL see.

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Hello, I'm [[User:{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}|{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}]]. An edit that you recently made seemed to be a test and has been reverted. If you want to practice editing, please use the sandbox. If you think I made a mistake, or if you have any questions, you can leave me a message on [[User talk:{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}|my talk page]]. Thanks! Hello, I'm [[User:{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}|{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}]]. An edit that you recently made seemed to be a test and has been reverted. If you want to practice editing, please use the sandbox. If you think I made a mistake, or if you have any questions, you can leave me a message on [[User talk:{{subst:REVISIONUSER}}|my talk page]]. Thanks!

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