In the depths of Dalaran
Amidst the filthy rats,
Lore once told of a priest named Jaide
That needed enchanting mats.
She wanted to level her profession skill,
‘Enchant Gloves – Expertise’,
But there were no buyers to be found
Even if she waived her fees.
So she scoured the world for vendor gloves
To do the deed herself;
Wowhead found some in the sewers,
Sold by a shady elf.
The quickest way to the underbelly
Was through the city’s well,
So she hopped into the swirling void
And instead of teleporting… she fell.
She hit the ground that was not there;
Floating in thin air,
Her hearth was down, no guild online,
And nobody in /2 seemed to care.
As the Horde rode past to point and kek
Jaide begged for help with /y,
And when ‘Auto-Unstick’ failed to work
She could do nothing but cry.
The mouse reached for the GM ticket button
As the priest was getting bored,
But even after 20 minutes of waiting
The QQing still went ignored.
So she stared up at the Northrend sky
and as her eyes began to weep,
Maybe this was a sign from Blizzard Entertainment:
‘For fuck’s sake Phil, log off and go to sleep’.
