World of Warcraft Tankard O'Terror
Price: $185.00


Product Feature
- Brewfest "Scaled-up" replica of in game item
- Superior quality fine-grain stoneware
- Weighs over 4 pounds (1.8 kgms)
- 2 Liter capacity
- 9.75 inches tall!
Product Description
Chope en gr� s haute qualit , sous licence officielle World of Warcraft. Taille env. 26 cm, contenance de pr s de 2 litres.World of Warcraft Tankard O'Terror Review
I took this beast into a bar the other day. Dirty smoke rose and pooled in the ceiling, Metallica was drowned out only by the clinking of glasses, and the smell of alcohol permeated the dimly-lit room. I burst open the door, and like a shining god I stepped in, the daylight from outside filtering in around me like a halo of doom. I took a step inside, my foot pounding the floor as if I'd weighed ten tons at the time even though I didn't. I took another step, only to allow the door to close behind me (it did so daintily in comparison to my effortless labors) and the ground thundered.I stood there for a while and basked in the glory of my own glory. I was holding an object of immense power, and in a way it held me back, like an obscene man-to-object embrace that touched each of our souls individually, but in a more manly and heroic way. I kept this object wrapped, shrouded in a fine sheet of black velvet. It was soft to the touch, and elegant, but mysterious.
I worked my way over to the bar, sending shockwaves in my wake that toppled patrons and their drinks alike, releasing the tides of beer to flow freely until it found a wall. I pulled the velvet sheet away to reveal the glory of my Tankard of Terror in all of its splendour, and terrifying it was; several people near me turned white and then ironically blacked out. I slammed the Tankard down on the bar, and it spewed electricity, lightning that reached out and struck several more people into submission. There were now several unconscious persons at my feet, and the full attention of the bartender was mine.
I stared at him. He stared at me, but because I was the holder of the powerful Tankard, he blinked first. At this point, as he glanced at the Tankard and then the tap, no words needed to be said, but I said them anyway: "Fill `er up."
The room went silent, as he began to pour. He kept pouring, for five minutes, until all two liters of my mug was filled. He stepped back, his professionally-trained hands tired from holding the tap, an exhausted expression on his face. The rest of the crowd was just slack-jawed at the display of sheer volume.
Just then, the roof of the bar was ripped clean off the top of the establishment, Godzilla standing there beneath the twilight. A couple people looked at their watches, surprised at how fast the day had progressed, quickly paid their tabs and left. Others stared at Godzilla, and he stared at me, and I stared back. But because I was the holder of the powerful Tankard, Godzilla blinked first.
He raised his foot in a motion to stomp the remains of the bar completely into oblivion, but I in opposition raised my hand in a motion as if to say, no Godzilla, don't stomp on this bar, there are patrons here who would die from that. Why don't you have a drink?
Godzilla gave me a quizzical face, and then blinked again, and then conceded. He stared at the bartender, and again no words needed to be spoken. They were not spoken, as Godzilla cannot speak, so it was lucky for him that in this particular occasion he didn't need to. The bartender blew on his hands and then poured a big drink for a big beast.
Godzilla and I clinked glasses at the end of the day, as if to toast a job well done. And in actually, it was, in fact, a job well done. Neither of us knew what that job was or remembered doing it, but it was done nevertheless, and well.
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