Madelyn and Mirsha: Coming to a Sim Near You

I have a mate in-world named Mirsha. She's just one of those people I clicked with almost instantly, and now we are prone to having very silly and very funny chats in the middle of masses of people who are simply trying to have a good time. For Christmas, I thought I'd do the copy-and-paste trick and give you perhaps a gift of a giggle or two.

This took place when I visited her at the place she works, which naturally enough, is all about dancing and sex.

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Mirsha Loudwater: what'cha looking at?
Madelyn Writer: taking a short tour of the upstairs with my camera
Mirsha Loudwater: ooh, I see
Madelyn Writer: oh good, you have a 'fisting' option on Bed One.
Madelyn Writer: nothing i like more than five fingers up my cooch.
Mirsha Loudwater: I've never been into that...
Madelyn Writer: i prefer footing. same principle. you just have a bloke bury his leg up to the knee.
Mirsha Loudwater laughs
Madelyn Writer: if you get a small enough bloke, you can have a reverse birth
Mirsha Loudwater: tried that once... Took a while and one of his friends to get him out again
Madelyn Writer: oh dear. did they have to use a cro bar?
Mirsha Loudwater: no, they attached hooks and stretched so he could climb back out.
Madelyn Writer: good. at least it wasn't painful.
Mirsha Loudwater: now, if only he hadn't been a reporter, I wouldn't have to hear from it
Madelyn Writer: reporters are lousy lovers. i had this one fellow who would NOT put down his microphone. "this is chuck stevers, live from Madelyn's bed" etc.
Mirsha Loudwater: better than weathermen. oh, I hate weathermen
Mirsha Loudwater: the term 'looks like it's going to be wet and slippery' gets real old, real quick
Mirsha Loudwater: then he started bitching about dry seasons. i'll never sleep with my dad's friends again.
Madelyn Writer: i got lucky. i had one once and he went on about a high pressure zone moving in from the south. of course, he was 50/50 when it came to predicting.
Mirsha Loudwater: oh, I had this traffic reporter once, he ended up blocking both exits
Madelyn Writer: better than having a restaurant critic, though. those fellows are never happy. kept stopping to write notes.
Madelyn Writer: kept talking about ambiance. jeez. talk about pressure.
Mirsha Loudwater: you should try a wine taster
Mirsha Loudwater: 'this one has a big upper body, but weak legs and a shallow lower body'
Madelyn Writer: i did once, i think. showed up, had a sip, left. i was put off.
Madelyn Writer: that's why i'm off your dad's friends, too.
Mirsha Loudwater: dad himself is pretty good, though...
Madelyn Writer: i'll say
Mirsha Loudwater: he's unemployed, so he can focus, at least...
Madelyn Writer: he is? he told me i gave him a good job.


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Dear Members of BLOODLINE

Dear members of BLOODLINE:

Like a virtual version of HIV, you have entered and spread through Second Life. Like HIV, you contanimate and offer nothing in return. Like HIV, much of your behaviour can be linked to assholes. Like HIV, life is better without you.

When I show up at a ballroom, I don't want to see a dropdown menu asking if you can bite me. When I go shopping, I don't want to see a dropdown menu asking if you can bite me. If I'm at a coffee shop with mates, I don't want to see a dropdown menu asking if you can bite me. You get the idea, yeh?

And when I get a dropdown and you ask me if you can bite me and I say, "Sure! Can I shit in your mouth?", don't cop an attitude. It's you invading my space and interrupting my time that inspired my retort. I am just as short if someone would ask me for my shoes or ask if they can put a tattoo on me for their own benefit (and, in effect, you do, as the only thing a victim can get is a crappy looking pair of holes to wear on one's neck).

Whatever you get from going around "on the hunt", as you lamely put it, I suspect it's only marginally more than what your victims get. You "own" 500 souls? Whoopie mother fucking doo, mate.

And if you accuse me of "being young", as Whatevah Antfarm did, and your boyfriend decides to orbit me when I refuse to be bitten, as Wandering Antfarm did, you transcend stupid and go directly to retarded. You get reported, fucktards. Now you'll have something else to tally up that's meaningless.

In short, please, please, for the love of God, fuck yourselves.

Best,

Madelyn

Teleport THIS

The other day, I was approached by a very aggressive Italian fellow who seemed committed to the idea that I was to be his sweetheart. Like most Romeos, this bloke used arguments of feelings to convey his intent; there was nothing rooted in fact and nothing rooted in deed.

"u will be my sweetheart," he cooed via IM.

"Not likely."

"u r my mistress"

"Very unlikely."

"lol"

Now, I'll chat up anyone at anytime and show respect and compassion. However, as soon as disrespect enters into the other person's words and deeds, well, all bets are off. No negotiation, no warning.

So I did an old trick of mine. I teleported to the Isle of Lesbos, which as you may guess, is not very freindly to the male half of the species. I flew over the main dance area, where gals were slipping and sliding all round each other. Then I IMed the Italian stallion.

"Do you want to join me in my bedchamber?" I asked. Always found the word 'bedchamber' to sound rather like a torture device, but still, it fit the moment.

"yes," he answered in monosyllabic joy.

So I sent him an offer of teleport. He materialized, and fell 200 meters to a lynch mob in thigh-high boots.

Viewer to a Kill

So I was driving the other day and split a newbie in two. I felt bad, of course. I had just bought those tires, and now I had to get all that newbie blood off of the grooves for fear my car would start acting like a newbie: running into walls, jerking back and forth, overusing gestures and asking women, "were u from?"

I haven't read much about this from any other SL'er, but the new viewer is making me want to strangle some puppies. Thanks to the latest batch of improvements, which includes generally outpacing what my computer can keep up with (and automatically readjusting my settings to "piss poor", I believe it is) and having people materialize as a cloud of vaper (a wiiiiiiiiiild improvement over the greyness of strangers, eh?) for 1 second to about 5 minutes, I now crash more frequently than John McCain over Vietnam. This has curbed my shopping sprees severely - I have only bought one new dress in a fortnight, which is a personal record - as well as taking a great deal of the fun out of my traditional activity of plonking a random word in the search engine and exploring to my heart's content. Even transporting can give me that frozen-moment-in-time feeling just as the Second Life Crash Notice arrives in the middle of my screen.

The other day, though, I was happily united/reunited/introduced to the one and only Olivia Hotshot. Olivia and I met, of all places, on flickr and had been bandying about some chuckles and observations for a few months, it seems. Finally, we met in-world and she was even more frustratingly lovely and kind in virtual person as she is in her flickr photo account. Still, I did have to take a break at one point, as I crashed in the middle of a balloon ride. How embarrassing is that? It's like crapping oneself on a date with a handsome rogue of good breeding. "Sorry, be right back..."

When I get irritated by such things, I tend to seek out newbies and - well, not pick on them, exactly - but pass on my irritation to them. In most cases, honestly, I do like to chat up new folks to SL because they are, for the most part, the nicest people. They haven't learned to be right bitches and bastards yet. But those aren't the ones I seek out. I seek out the ones who read about hot sex on SL from CNN or the BBC and show up with their muppet faces and wooden cock attachments looking to rub one off in time to watch the news. They are easy enough to spot (see Cock, Big Wooden, Attachment Of), so I sort of get in their sights and then mercilessly rip them to pieces. Usually, this takes the form of correcting their grammar, but sometimes, I simply deride them with cruel and intense laughter. Of course the best way to make these morons get stuck in the mud of their own logic, is to chide them with, "Do I want to fuck you? Are you serious? Would *YOU* fuck you? Not likely. So why would anyone else want to?"

Yeh, I'm not the nicest person at times...