I’m a Product of My Upbringing

I’m worse than Pavlov’s dog, honestly.

I’m like Daffy Duck in the one cartoon – where as soon as someone rings a bell, he goes nuts and begins swinging at everything near him? Only I get beat up a LOT more.

The problem is that I’m conditioned to respond a certain way when I see a little even-conning lurikeen. I begin drooling and bouncing up and down – much like the same symptoms I exhibit walking through the frozen treats section of our local grocer.

Immediately, I’m slapping my zombie into action. Yes, slapping. You’ve heard of idiot savant? Well, I’ve got an idiot zombant. He can take down stuff that cons orange to him – but if I order that pile of putrescent flesh to come “here” or “stay,” for some reason that suddenly translates into “run way the hell over there until you die and I’m left with a sliver of health.” And it’s not like he’s choosing good times to do that, either – if I’m in town or in a safe area, you can bet he’ll stick to my heels like me on Gillian. But the second that it becomes possible – no, likely that I really need my health… For example, we’re sneaking through a horde of ogres into Krondon. Does he sit by my side, as a faithful pet should when commanded?

No, he charges straight off at the nearest ogre. I’m screaming, everyone in my party is screaming, and he’s skip-to-the-loo-da-daying straight at Shrek-boy. And let me tell you something: Shrek might be all cute and cuddly and a big softy in the movies, but when that guy and about a million of his cousins come screaming down at you, there’s no pretty princess, no funny songs, and no smart-alec donkey. There’s just a lot of pain, mister.

So back to my point: when it comes to getting my zombastich to follow orders, I’m fully of the “Spare the rod and spoil the evil-demented-creature-that-should-not-exist” school of parenting. I kick him into action quicker than Jackie Chan in a Hong Kong flick. Aman and I are out be-bopping around the Frontier, and everyone knows, the Frontiers are dangerous places. That’s the sort of reflexes that you need to properly survive in this deadly world of Realm vs. Realm, see? When I see a member of the enemy realm (especially one that we have outnumbered), I don’t play any of this ‘fair chance’ crap – I’m going straight for the throat, talking trash the entire time! It doesn’t really matter that the enemy can’t understand me, right? It is, as they say in my country, the thought that counts. And the obscenities.

Of course, sometimes, pausing to think wouldn’t always be a bad thing.

Right, co-operative server.

So about five seconds after this little fiasco I’m hauled before the guild leaders and left to explain my actions.

But see, the problem now is that I’m already angry, so it’s fair to say my reasoning is clouded. And then this troll walks up to me like he’s the head of my guild or something…

“Smeese, get that stupid rock-crunching excuse for a lump of ugly! Tear that stupid look of his stupid face! Blow his… er… oh. Co-op server. Right. Hah, what a kidder I am…”

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