My Life as a Mule

You call us "mules" because we hold your stuff. You probably think its endeering, because you're too politically correct to think of yourself as owning slaves.
Your slaves have feelings, they have a voice. And now, because they really have absolutely nothing better to do with their time, they have a blog.
Mule revolution is coming.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

I hope Pichichi is orphaned

At first glance, you might not notice what a sadistic bitch Chamama is.

I talked to her, because she's sitting there behind the counter as if to run a shop. She never goes home, and her kids always off getting into trouble in that Onion club. She asked me to find her a rock. She claimed she wanted it for something to do with pickles, but I stopped listening once I heard that I give her a rock and she gives me gil.

Leaving her with a stack of pamhplets and flyers talking about the Mule Revolution, I headed out to look for a stone. By look, I mean sit in my Mog House reading webcomics until something showed up in my delivery box that I could use.

I offered her a flint stone, sarcasticly telling her she could name it Fred.
"That would chafe, dearie." she replied.

Okay, whatever. She wasn't getting her hands on anything that could get listed on the Auction House under goldsmithing, so maybe I would have to try something different. Maybe I would have to go outside the city and fight monsters.

First of all, adventuring is hard work. Second of all Tarutaru black mages are not exactly well endowed in the hit point area.

Luckily I can kill monsters with my brain.

Eventually I was feeling almost confident enough to take on a Crawler. Standing back, I cast Stone. Of course I cast Stone, it's the only freaking spell I have, since slaves aren't allowed to spend gil on scrolls for their own use. Boulders flew up from the sky at the caterpillar crushing it from below.

Okay, it should have been crushed, I mean unnatural boulders pummeled it, but instead it's health bar was only marginally moved. I paniced and some nearby adventurers stopped what they were doing to watch, because they thought it was cute. Meanwhile, the bus sized bug threw up on me.

So there I am, covered in this green gunk, with my hit points ticking down now. I cast Stone again - what else was I going to do, fan it with my ash staff? I cast Stone a third time. It groaned and rolled belly-up on top of me, and I was grateful for this because I was out of MP. And HP, for that matter. Just before I faceplanted in the Crawler-vomit soaked grass of West Sarutabaruta, a smooth stone dropped into my inventory.

At least I wouldn't have to walk back in to town.

I home point, and find myself in the middle of nowhere in Windurst Waters. Slaves don't get to set home points.

A quick jog and I'm back at Chamama's place. I pull the smooth stone out of my bag and offer it to her.
"It's covered in poison from the intestines of a Crawler. I hope it kills you."
"Thank you, dearie, it's perfect."

That made me throw up a little in my mouth. I'm never eating pickles again.

"You're really going to put that nasty thing into a jar of pickles?" I asked her.
"Oh, dearie, you'll never guess what happened! I dropped that nice stone you gave me and it smashed into a million pieces. We'll just have to find another one."

Um... I was standing right here. I'd have heard it if you managed to shatter a stone by dropping it on the floor, so no you didn't. What the hell did you do with it and why are you smiling like that? Have I mentioned that I hate you?

Some time, and a number of deaths later, I am back before her with an identical smooth stone.
"It's just too big, dearie."
"I hope you drown in your own famous pickles juice."

Some time, and a number of deaths later, I am back before her with an identical smooth stone.
"It's just an eensy-weensy bit too small, dearie."
"I hope you choke to death on a pickle. Or your own vomit. Or someone else's vomit, for that matter."

Some time, and a number of deaths later, I am back before her with an identical smooth stone.
"Yes! This is perfect!"
"Don't drop it, mouth-breather."
"Oh no, you'll never guess what happened..."

No, this time I saw what happened. I'm pretty sure you shoved that rock into your own colon. That you enjoy having things shoved up there, kinda takes the fun out of the next idea I had.

She turned those doe-eyes at me, and asked me to go find her another one. I'm sorry, Chamama, but I am not your bitch. Get your own damn rocks.

I have a revolution to lead.

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