I Need An Intervention
In the course of installing my new 160GB slave drive and transferring all my files to it, World of Warcraft was lost to me. To make matters worse the install discs had magically vanished, possibly spirited away by some foul-tempered imp bent on spreading human misery. I tore my closet and bedroom to ruin trying to find the missing discs, but all to no avail. I spent two solid days away from the warm, womb-like glow of WoW. Sadly, it was never discovered.
Much like a child cast from his home by great calamity before his time, I have been tested by the fires of adversity and come through this a stronger, better man. No more will I be beholden to the needs of sources outside my own mind. No more will my gut twist as I lay in bed praying for the sweet emptiness of sleep. Nor will I be woken in a cold sweat during my short and fitful slumber, having dream't of returning to the lands of Azeroth only to have my joyous hopes dashed on the cruel rocks of the morning sun. No more, for I am a changed man.
After all, it took me an entire ten minutes to throw whatever clothes I could find around myself before bolting out of the house when I remembered that Fred Meyer (right down the street from me) keeps copies of the game for a small fee. Clearly a man not wrested away from his vice like I have been would have run into the streets stark naked, screaming his needs to the heavens the entire way to the self-checkout lines, slavering with joy and hunger over the box as he fitfully ripped the precious golden discs from their protective sleeves only to slam them into his cd-drive like a juicer ramming the needle home to it's all-to-familiar vein after too long a time without.
And so I say only this, the Tooth Fairy of Doom has returned his services to the Horde. Tremble before my sparkly might.