Spell haste will now reduce the global cooldown.
First, I present you with this. Priest trinket from ZG.
And of course, Mind Quickening.
But best of all, DA SCROLLS. (Think Da Bears)
DAAAA SCROLLS.
Best get that BWL group going.
The neat thing about MQG and Da Scrolls is that both are exactly enough to reduce the global down from 1.5 to 1. It's not immediately obvious to me how you might take advantage of this, but there's probably some opportunity in revisiting some of the old haste trinkets.
A lot of people are theorycrafting how this is a mage and pally buff -- I'm going to go with a big N-motherfucking-O on that idea. As the two classes that actually cast spells, it isn't intuitively obvious that everyone having faster instants is a beacon of awesome. I think it's still unclear what, if any, effect this change will have in arena. Probably intended to be mostly a PvE relevant change, but it's a substantial game mechanic change.
More thoughts on 2.4 incoming!
DA SCROLLS
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Alessandra Ambrosio
"Dude have you seen these preggers pics of Alessandra Ambrosio. Shit is hot as FUCK."
Cool.
Let's just put babies in every fucking hot girl on Earth. Nice fucking job assholes.
In WoW news, I tanked 80 points to start the week by losing a 1v1 against a war in a war/druid team and then losing 3 straight to druid/rogue. Fortunately, all my hits have now become crits, and we've skilled it all back. The new pre-game strategy of screaming "We Must Protect This House" is clearly working. I highly recommend it. Naked. As in the juice. As in mine. Okay, yours.
I've been dueling resto druids a lot this week and have found shockingly that moment where Spellsteal is not utterly useless and retarded. Think Britney Spears Toxic here. Apparently, you can, like, steal heals off the druid.
The strat basically involves stacking 5 scorches, stealing some buffs, running to med up if you can (i.e. duel like a total queermo inside IF), and then spellstealing any heal on the druid when Natural Perfection isn't up. The goal is to cast minimally into natural perfection so wind up slow fireballs or even r1 poly to waste some of their globals while it's up. The druid will rebuff with rank ones but you're not really trying to run the druid oom, you're just trying to put some pressure on him while making the dots on you reasonably meaningless. Eventually, you're looking for an opportunity where swiftwend is down, hots are off or minimal, and you're mid Fireball on him and he's sub 80% -- at this point, you can the druid zerg down as the Fireball is midair with pretty high consistency.
This sounds pretty retarded and is a bit hard to explain, but is much better than trying to power through tripple lifebloom stacks. You can also just put on PvE gear and zerg zerg zerg, but I have none, so this is more effective for me. Yeah, you'll still lose when you get those seven in a row Spellsteal failed duels, but it's not that terribad of a strategy and you can be somewhat non-obvious with it and start with a rushdown fakeout and then slowly play the HoT deny game. Shrug.
Pregnant girls and resto druids. Solid post imo.
P.S. Looking at said pictures will confuse you. Avoid. I'm immune to such confusion because I like my girls Calista Flockhart skinny complaining how they can't eat a thing at dinner because they had too much for breakfast (yesterday) and I really have no interest in the "thick" ladies. (Boots wit da fur)
Cool.
Let's just put babies in every fucking hot girl on Earth. Nice fucking job assholes.
In WoW news, I tanked 80 points to start the week by losing a 1v1 against a war in a war/druid team and then losing 3 straight to druid/rogue. Fortunately, all my hits have now become crits, and we've skilled it all back. The new pre-game strategy of screaming "We Must Protect This House" is clearly working. I highly recommend it. Naked. As in the juice. As in mine. Okay, yours.
I've been dueling resto druids a lot this week and have found shockingly that moment where Spellsteal is not utterly useless and retarded. Think Britney Spears Toxic here. Apparently, you can, like, steal heals off the druid.
The strat basically involves stacking 5 scorches, stealing some buffs, running to med up if you can (i.e. duel like a total queermo inside IF), and then spellstealing any heal on the druid when Natural Perfection isn't up. The goal is to cast minimally into natural perfection so wind up slow fireballs or even r1 poly to waste some of their globals while it's up. The druid will rebuff with rank ones but you're not really trying to run the druid oom, you're just trying to put some pressure on him while making the dots on you reasonably meaningless. Eventually, you're looking for an opportunity where swiftwend is down, hots are off or minimal, and you're mid Fireball on him and he's sub 80% -- at this point, you can the druid zerg down as the Fireball is midair with pretty high consistency.
This sounds pretty retarded and is a bit hard to explain, but is much better than trying to power through tripple lifebloom stacks. You can also just put on PvE gear and zerg zerg zerg, but I have none, so this is more effective for me. Yeah, you'll still lose when you get those seven in a row Spellsteal failed duels, but it's not that terribad of a strategy and you can be somewhat non-obvious with it and start with a rushdown fakeout and then slowly play the HoT deny game. Shrug.
Pregnant girls and resto druids. Solid post imo.
P.S. Looking at said pictures will confuse you. Avoid. I'm immune to such confusion because I like my girls Calista Flockhart skinny complaining how they can't eat a thing at dinner because they had too much for breakfast (yesterday) and I really have no interest in the "thick" ladies. (Boots wit da fur)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Night Out After Poker (NOIR) VI
Your hand's in your jacket pocket fingering the knotted-up plastic baggie. Pulse racing a bit. An eighth of an ounce. Twenty-five-ish lines. Way too fucking much, but you're not exactly about to take it with you on the flight back home. What happens in Vegas stays--
You drop the coke on the bed in the space where your and her knees meet. Her fingers are still locked with yours. About ten seconds have passed, it feels like more. Your hands are sweating. So are hers. She looks down. You look at her.
Her teeth show gently above her lower lip. Her face wears excitement. Loudly. The weight of the bed shifts and she's pressed into you in an instant. Your free hand is on her hip supporting her. Funny how we're so evolutionary good at these strange acts of balance.
Her face is ten inches from yours. She presses your interlocked hands deep into the mattress, pinning your wrist awkwardly, and forcing you to fall softly backwards. Her weight presses into you as you uncross your legs and have no option but to hold them around her. Again, there's a brief pause. Her face is ten inches from yours.
Not anymore.
She still tastes of strawberries. Re-applied the lip gloss when she was in the bathroom? The little things that girls do. Definitely. Her lips are sticky with the gloss. Not a bad thing. Just sticky.
You kiss. She kisses your lips. You kiss hers. Her two front teeth briefly click yours. You both laugh and keep going. You roll her over so you're on top. It's immediately amusing that you're still fully clothed and she's, well, not so much. You lean in again. Beeping. You're pressed into her, your fingers still locked, your other hand grazing her very exposed ribcage. Her skin's still cool to the touch. Beeping. You realize your whole weight is now pinning her wrist painfully into the mattress.
You back off. "Sorry." So much for being evolutionary good.
Her face is inexpressive. Beeping. Or just hard to read. The fucking alarm clock won't shut the fuck up. You hop off her and stare at the clock. The beeping continues.
"Um, how?" She shuts it off without you finishing the question or you noticing she got up. This won't do.
She picks up the bag from the bed and tosses it to you.
"I can't use too much or I can't come."
Anhedonia? Maybe nothing that severe. Girls do seem to always take forever to come when using.
"Got any cigarettes?" Her eyes let you know that she understands where you're going with this.
"My friends have some lying around here somewhere." She heads into the jungle of shopping bags. She, however, cuts through them with ease. The insignificant amount of daylight fighting its way past the curtains is really not enough to enable you to help much in finding anything. You sit back on the bed and frustratingly try to untie the bag.
"Your friends, huh?"
"Shut up." She turns around to give you a well-deserved scowl. Meanwhile, you're doing your best to suppress your arousal from watching her bend over repeatedly as she looks through things. My dog is dead, my dog is dead.
"Don't get mad. I like a girl who smokes."
"Flattered." Three seconds later. "Found 'em!" She's the one too excited.
She tosses the pack to you. Camel Filters, soft pack, half the pack remains. "They're filtered."
"Yeah. So?"
You give her a polite are-you-retarded look. She recognizes the expression. "It's fine even if they're filtered, it passes right through."
Once again with the look.
"I'm serious!" She laughs.
"Have you used unfiltereds before?"
"No, but we can go get some. If you want."
Going to buy cigarettes would entail her getting dressed. Putting on clothes. Not the goal.
"Nah, fuck, my friend is great at making these work." You frustrating pick at the filter unsuccessfully on one of the cigarettes.
"The one at the club?"
"Jeah."
"Not a surprise." She grins.
"What does that mean? You have a knife?"
She gives you the look.
You squint and shake your head with exasperation. New idea. "You have nail scissors?"
"Yeah." She doesn't budge.
"Can you get them?"
She sighs and plods off to the bathroom. You check the clock. 7:54. Still lots of time.
She returns with the scissors. You score the filter, and use the scissors to gently pull some fibers out of the filter. You repeat on another cigarette. She watches clearly entertained. You grin at your success.
She golf-claps.
You put the two cigarettes into the opening of the bag and carefully spill a moderate amount of coke into each. You put your finger over the ends and gently tap them against the book on the bedside table. The goal is to mix the cocaine and tobacco reasonably well to avoid burning the coke off immediately when you light them up. You're content.
"Lighter?"
"Nope. Better." She strikes a match. You hold both cigarettes into the flame. She holds the match carelessly, straight up and down, her thumb millimeters from the flame. You douse the match with your thumb and forefinger immediately as the cigarettes light. No time to enjoy the smell of the match, too bad.
"Oh, how Lawrence."
"As in Arabia?"
"Get out!" She punches your arm flirtatiously. "I used to watch that movie all the time with my dad. He did the same thing with matches."
"He was the most --"
In unison, "Extraordinary man I ever knew." You both laugh.
You tell her, "I love that movie. Don't know why. Well aside from it's awesome."
The cigarettes are about to go out. You both notice and you quickly pass her one and you each do your best to keep them alive. They survive.
She sits down on the bed and you join her. You sit side by side, backs up against the headboard, propped up against one another. You smoke.
She's the first to realize an ashtray is needed. She doesn't have to say anything for you to realize it too. You look around the room for something while she tries to balance the ash of her cigarette above her cupped hand. She laughs.
"Sorry, Teddy Grahams." You empty the remaining bears onto the cover of The Phantom TollBooth and set the cup between the two of you.
You smoke.
She grips your arm and leans her head against your shoulder. You clasp her free hand and look down at her face. She returns the affection by blowing smoke into yours. You laugh and cough and return the favor. She doesn't even flinch though her eyes water.
"You're pretty tough, huh?"
There's hesitation. "Duh." She says it jokingly. But she squeezes your hand. You're thinking once again about the scars. And you're starting to feel the cigarette.
You drop the coke on the bed in the space where your and her knees meet. Her fingers are still locked with yours. About ten seconds have passed, it feels like more. Your hands are sweating. So are hers. She looks down. You look at her.
Her teeth show gently above her lower lip. Her face wears excitement. Loudly. The weight of the bed shifts and she's pressed into you in an instant. Your free hand is on her hip supporting her. Funny how we're so evolutionary good at these strange acts of balance.
Her face is ten inches from yours. She presses your interlocked hands deep into the mattress, pinning your wrist awkwardly, and forcing you to fall softly backwards. Her weight presses into you as you uncross your legs and have no option but to hold them around her. Again, there's a brief pause. Her face is ten inches from yours.
Not anymore.
She still tastes of strawberries. Re-applied the lip gloss when she was in the bathroom? The little things that girls do. Definitely. Her lips are sticky with the gloss. Not a bad thing. Just sticky.
You kiss. She kisses your lips. You kiss hers. Her two front teeth briefly click yours. You both laugh and keep going. You roll her over so you're on top. It's immediately amusing that you're still fully clothed and she's, well, not so much. You lean in again. Beeping. You're pressed into her, your fingers still locked, your other hand grazing her very exposed ribcage. Her skin's still cool to the touch. Beeping. You realize your whole weight is now pinning her wrist painfully into the mattress.
You back off. "Sorry." So much for being evolutionary good.
Her face is inexpressive. Beeping. Or just hard to read. The fucking alarm clock won't shut the fuck up. You hop off her and stare at the clock. The beeping continues.
"Um, how?" She shuts it off without you finishing the question or you noticing she got up. This won't do.
She picks up the bag from the bed and tosses it to you.
"I can't use too much or I can't come."
Anhedonia? Maybe nothing that severe. Girls do seem to always take forever to come when using.
"Got any cigarettes?" Her eyes let you know that she understands where you're going with this.
"My friends have some lying around here somewhere." She heads into the jungle of shopping bags. She, however, cuts through them with ease. The insignificant amount of daylight fighting its way past the curtains is really not enough to enable you to help much in finding anything. You sit back on the bed and frustratingly try to untie the bag.
"Your friends, huh?"
"Shut up." She turns around to give you a well-deserved scowl. Meanwhile, you're doing your best to suppress your arousal from watching her bend over repeatedly as she looks through things. My dog is dead, my dog is dead.
"Don't get mad. I like a girl who smokes."
"Flattered." Three seconds later. "Found 'em!" She's the one too excited.
She tosses the pack to you. Camel Filters, soft pack, half the pack remains. "They're filtered."
"Yeah. So?"
You give her a polite are-you-retarded look. She recognizes the expression. "It's fine even if they're filtered, it passes right through."
Once again with the look.
"I'm serious!" She laughs.
"Have you used unfiltereds before?"
"No, but we can go get some. If you want."
Going to buy cigarettes would entail her getting dressed. Putting on clothes. Not the goal.
"Nah, fuck, my friend is great at making these work." You frustrating pick at the filter unsuccessfully on one of the cigarettes.
"The one at the club?"
"Jeah."
"Not a surprise." She grins.
"What does that mean? You have a knife?"
She gives you the look.
You squint and shake your head with exasperation. New idea. "You have nail scissors?"
"Yeah." She doesn't budge.
"Can you get them?"
She sighs and plods off to the bathroom. You check the clock. 7:54. Still lots of time.
She returns with the scissors. You score the filter, and use the scissors to gently pull some fibers out of the filter. You repeat on another cigarette. She watches clearly entertained. You grin at your success.
She golf-claps.
You put the two cigarettes into the opening of the bag and carefully spill a moderate amount of coke into each. You put your finger over the ends and gently tap them against the book on the bedside table. The goal is to mix the cocaine and tobacco reasonably well to avoid burning the coke off immediately when you light them up. You're content.
"Lighter?"
"Nope. Better." She strikes a match. You hold both cigarettes into the flame. She holds the match carelessly, straight up and down, her thumb millimeters from the flame. You douse the match with your thumb and forefinger immediately as the cigarettes light. No time to enjoy the smell of the match, too bad.
"Oh, how Lawrence."
"As in Arabia?"
"Get out!" She punches your arm flirtatiously. "I used to watch that movie all the time with my dad. He did the same thing with matches."
"He was the most --"
In unison, "Extraordinary man I ever knew." You both laugh.
You tell her, "I love that movie. Don't know why. Well aside from it's awesome."
The cigarettes are about to go out. You both notice and you quickly pass her one and you each do your best to keep them alive. They survive.
She sits down on the bed and you join her. You sit side by side, backs up against the headboard, propped up against one another. You smoke.
She's the first to realize an ashtray is needed. She doesn't have to say anything for you to realize it too. You look around the room for something while she tries to balance the ash of her cigarette above her cupped hand. She laughs.
"Sorry, Teddy Grahams." You empty the remaining bears onto the cover of The Phantom TollBooth and set the cup between the two of you.
You smoke.
She grips your arm and leans her head against your shoulder. You clasp her free hand and look down at her face. She returns the affection by blowing smoke into yours. You laugh and cough and return the favor. She doesn't even flinch though her eyes water.
"You're pretty tough, huh?"
There's hesitation. "Duh." She says it jokingly. But she squeezes your hand. You're thinking once again about the scars. And you're starting to feel the cigarette.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Night Out After Poker (NOIR) Part 5
"You know, I think I might just stay." You grin. She laughs.
You're a little afraid that maybe her laughing and her throwing up again might be linked. You're correct. She darts to the bathroom with a truly priceless embarrassed look on her face.
It's getting light out. The little blue LED display on the alarm rock reads 7:03. Five hours till her friends return. Two more till you have to meet your friends after that. No sleep again.
Sleep is a distant memory. Yeah, it's cliché. But true. Provigil has all but replaced it in your daily grind. And while it truly rids you of most the side effects of sleep deprivation, the desire to get a real night's rest doesn't ever go away. No bags below your eyes. No microsleeping only to wake up with your adrenaline racing at work, on the highway, or walking home. No headaches. No hangovers. But even though you're taking three times the dosage every day now, you fantasize about sleeping more than fucking. By far. It's been almost six months since you've slept more than twelves hours in a week.
You're lying in her still damp and recently vomit-soaked bed. Whatever, she's fucking hot. She's been gone a while. You flick the switch to illuminate the canopy lighting above her bed and drunkenly get up to turn down the lamps about the room.
She emerges from the bathroom shyly as you're hitting the last of the lights. Awkward moment. She's frozen in the hall. Your hand is stuck to the lamp. Oh, the implications.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, a bit."
"Come, sit, talk." She smiles. Still, sobering up a bit has killed her aggressive confidence.
She sits on the bed Indian style, legs crossed, back up against the pillows and the soft headboard. Very childlike. You mirror her so your knees are touching. It's silly.
You hold out your palms to play the slap game. What the fuck are you doing?
She rests her hands on yours. You gently curl the middle finger on your right hand hoping to fake her out. No reaction at all. She looks very serious. Still, she wears concentration well.
You tickle her palm with your right middle finger again as you drop your left and quickly sandwich her left hand between your two hands before she can retreat. Too easy.
You let go and give her your best douchebag head nod. "I don't know if you're ready for this."
"Oh yeah?" She smiles incredulously. "Let's see."
Round two has your hands on top. You're watching her eyes. Not the hands. Easy to get faked by the hands -- the face is more reliable. Not that keeping your eyes glued to her face is easy when she's dressed how she is. Still, it's a cute face.
She's making no moves, no fakes, nothing. Just staring. Maybe she is high on something.
"So I was talking to your friend." She says it quite insidiously.
"Yeah, I saw. As we were leaving. I was quite jealous."
"Of me or him?"
"You tell me." You grin. She chuckles.
"Let's keep it just jealous of him."
"Kay. So what were you talking about?"
"Who actually. You."
You're still focused, watching her face, ready to react. She notices and flinches both hands a bit. Still, just fake-outs.
"Yeah? What did he say?"
"He said that your whole stoic tough-guy thing was bullshit. Just an act." She smiles. Still no move for the hands.
She gently moves both her index fingers along the bottom of your hands. "Look at how tense you are, scared?"
"You can trash talk me when you actually hit my hand, girl."
"He also told me you had a ten inch cock." She drops her left hand and cross-slaps your left hand with ease. So much for watching her face.
"Cheater!"
"What?! I thought I wasn't 'ready for this.'"
"I see how it is."
Instead of letting your hand go, she intertwines her fingers with yours. You're vibing pretty hard for this girl. So what that when she says because, she makes it rhyme with claws.
"I think you misheard him though."
"Yeah?"
"Two and ten are hard to distinguish in a loud club." She shoves you lightly. "I have to have some words with him. Talking up your friend that way is borderline inappropriate. Sorta gay too. What else did he say?"
"Said you were off to buy some blow." Guess she wants some after all.
You're a little afraid that maybe her laughing and her throwing up again might be linked. You're correct. She darts to the bathroom with a truly priceless embarrassed look on her face.
It's getting light out. The little blue LED display on the alarm rock reads 7:03. Five hours till her friends return. Two more till you have to meet your friends after that. No sleep again.
Sleep is a distant memory. Yeah, it's cliché. But true. Provigil has all but replaced it in your daily grind. And while it truly rids you of most the side effects of sleep deprivation, the desire to get a real night's rest doesn't ever go away. No bags below your eyes. No microsleeping only to wake up with your adrenaline racing at work, on the highway, or walking home. No headaches. No hangovers. But even though you're taking three times the dosage every day now, you fantasize about sleeping more than fucking. By far. It's been almost six months since you've slept more than twelves hours in a week.
You're lying in her still damp and recently vomit-soaked bed. Whatever, she's fucking hot. She's been gone a while. You flick the switch to illuminate the canopy lighting above her bed and drunkenly get up to turn down the lamps about the room.
She emerges from the bathroom shyly as you're hitting the last of the lights. Awkward moment. She's frozen in the hall. Your hand is stuck to the lamp. Oh, the implications.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, a bit."
"Come, sit, talk." She smiles. Still, sobering up a bit has killed her aggressive confidence.
She sits on the bed Indian style, legs crossed, back up against the pillows and the soft headboard. Very childlike. You mirror her so your knees are touching. It's silly.
You hold out your palms to play the slap game. What the fuck are you doing?
She rests her hands on yours. You gently curl the middle finger on your right hand hoping to fake her out. No reaction at all. She looks very serious. Still, she wears concentration well.
You tickle her palm with your right middle finger again as you drop your left and quickly sandwich her left hand between your two hands before she can retreat. Too easy.
You let go and give her your best douchebag head nod. "I don't know if you're ready for this."
"Oh yeah?" She smiles incredulously. "Let's see."
Round two has your hands on top. You're watching her eyes. Not the hands. Easy to get faked by the hands -- the face is more reliable. Not that keeping your eyes glued to her face is easy when she's dressed how she is. Still, it's a cute face.
She's making no moves, no fakes, nothing. Just staring. Maybe she is high on something.
"So I was talking to your friend." She says it quite insidiously.
"Yeah, I saw. As we were leaving. I was quite jealous."
"Of me or him?"
"You tell me." You grin. She chuckles.
"Let's keep it just jealous of him."
"Kay. So what were you talking about?"
"Who actually. You."
You're still focused, watching her face, ready to react. She notices and flinches both hands a bit. Still, just fake-outs.
"Yeah? What did he say?"
"He said that your whole stoic tough-guy thing was bullshit. Just an act." She smiles. Still no move for the hands.
She gently moves both her index fingers along the bottom of your hands. "Look at how tense you are, scared?"
"You can trash talk me when you actually hit my hand, girl."
"He also told me you had a ten inch cock." She drops her left hand and cross-slaps your left hand with ease. So much for watching her face.
"Cheater!"
"What?! I thought I wasn't 'ready for this.'"
"I see how it is."
Instead of letting your hand go, she intertwines her fingers with yours. You're vibing pretty hard for this girl. So what that when she says because, she makes it rhyme with claws.
"I think you misheard him though."
"Yeah?"
"Two and ten are hard to distinguish in a loud club." She shoves you lightly. "I have to have some words with him. Talking up your friend that way is borderline inappropriate. Sorta gay too. What else did he say?"
"Said you were off to buy some blow." Guess she wants some after all.
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