Damned Moblins

You know, this really pisses me off.

Why do Moblins get their own city? We've been here longer.

Where's my damned city?

Sure they let us hang out there, but I don't see them calling it Govalpolos.

They're not even a new species for Altana's sake. They're goblins. Yes, that's right. Goblins. Sure they get cool equipment and a fancy city *coughbastardscough*, but when you cut out all that other crap, they're just goblins.

Oh yeah, change the 'g' to an 'm' and noone will ever figure out the difference. Good work there, Mr. Bond.

And why the name Moblins, anyway? Last time I check, goblins were not connected to organized crime. No, no. Simple extortion and racquetering, that's us.

Stupid damned Moblins.

So, I head to Oldton Movalpolos one day to check the place out... okay, I was cruising for chicks. But as I walk in the gate, this big Moblin jerk gets in my way. Some idiot named Ashman.

Now, before we go any further, let me describe the situation for you. I am wearing a suit of heavy grey armor that is literally still wet with n00b blood. Seriously, it looks like I just got off work at a slaughter house. I'm carrying a giant blade (also covered with blood and what I can only assume are pieces of someone's face).

And then I get stopped by a moron... I mean moblin wearing shiny golden armor and carrying half of a house on his back. It looks like Trading Spaces threw up on him. The only thing his armor is wet with is the drool running from the corner of his mouth.

Then he gets up in my face.

MoblinAshman>> Where do you think you're going?

This is a prime example of moblin stupidity. I just walked in through a giant gate. Where does he think I'm going? I'm going in. Otherwise, I would not have walked in the giant damned door.

GoblinSmithy>> Uhhh... inside, Genius.
MoblinAshman>> Oh no you're not. You're going to have to leave.

Now, he steps in front of me. I have issues with authority, so I show him my blade. Not to be outdone, he shows me his frying pan.

Yes, you read that correctly. I'm being accosted with cookware. I'd hate to see what they use in wars. Nuclear casserole dishes strewn as far as the eye can see.

Perhaps you shouldn't buy your weaponry at Pottery Barn.

GoblinSmithy>> Unless you're gonna make me an omelette, get the frying pan out of my face, Assman.
MoblinAshman>> I said you're not coming in here.

And that's when he swung the frying pan. I expected iron swords and I get the Iron Chef. I dodge out of the way rather easily.

It's a freakin' frying pan after all.

GoblinSmithy>> Nice shot there, Stevie Wonder. Do you need to go back to the kitchen to find more weapons?

He swings again and misses again, but that's when I hear a loud clang.

He just hit me with a ladle.

Sigh.

Now, it's on. I bring up my foot and kick him in his stupid gold mask. 24 carats of pain, bitch.

So then, it's time to work. I start slashing like a wild man. He tries to defend himself with his frying pan (that gets dumber everytime I write it), but to no avail. Finally, I knock him down and stand on his neck.

GoblinSmithy>> And why can't I come in?
MoblinAshman>> Because you slept with my sister!

*blinkblink*

GoblinSmithy>> Ooooooooh. I'll just leave then.

I thought he looked familiar. I should write this stuff down.

P.S. Somebody owes me a city.