Irony, thy name is Achievement

Lunchtime. I log in, pick up 43 brewfest tokens, and rush to the vendor with my 350 in hand. I get completely smashed. I throw a bunch of mugs at dwarves, go on two raging whirlwinds of tankard-throwing, brawling doom, and get sick no less than three times.

A goblin rents me a dress, slippers, and a funny little hat; I hearth to The Filthy Animal tavern wearing them, and promptly burst into dance in the doorway, doing a smashed rendition of the electric slide. I trip myself out of the tavern and all but fall back through the portal to Orgrimmar (did the Sunreaver guards push me?), clamber aboard my trusty worg mount, and careen back to the goblin to return the rental.

Bemused, the goblin gives me a pink elephant and a membership card for the Brew of the Month. My worg warily paces through Orgrimmar once more, carrying me back to the lake as I grip the reins with unsteady hands and nearly slip off a few times, and finally reach the troll's lodge to turn in the card for Brew Club membership.

...ding ding ding. What's all that?

I have mail. From the Queen of the Dragons, no less. Once I've tumbled back down the side of the canyon into the trade district to reach the bank, I take my time unfurling the crisp scroll of parchment from my mailbox, squinting down in my intoxication at the elegant script dancing across the page--truly dancing, in my dizziness.

With the Drums of War pounding in the distance, it is easy for the denizens of Azeroth to forget all that life has to offer. You, on the other hand, have maintained the dignity of the good races of Azeroth...

I stop there, unable to contain my merth. I read it aloud in guild chat: "You, on the other hand, have maintained the dignity of the good racesh of Azeroth! HAHAHA! ...hic!"

My worg turns his great furry head to stare back at me, then shakes himself with a sigh, even as my guildmates laugh at my slurred rendition. Still giggling to myself, I finish reading the letter,

...with your ability to remember what we fight for. To not celebrate our victories is another form of defeat. Remember that well, reveler. May others be inspired by your good cheer, Alexstraza, the Life-Binder.

Grinning to myself, I attempt to reroll the scroll, tearing a corner in the process. My worg rolls his eyes at me, feeling my unsteady hands pull on the reins as I nearly fall off his back reaching to stick the letter back in my mailbox for storage. Dignity, yes, that is precisely the word for this moment.