A special request from Carole's Official Fan Club (well, alright - Orfeu) for a derriere shot.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Carole Franizzi is proud to present her Great Aunt Agatha Marbles and one of her stories of murder and mystery.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. My terrifying tale tonight is about the nasty end of a bright young woman….
I was sitting by the fire in my favourite armchair, gazing out across the village green, wondering when I’d have a new mystery to solve, when suddenly the phone rang. It was my dear niece, who sounded most aggrieved.
“Gagged and suppressed!!! Silenced forever!!!”
”Goodness gracious! A sex crime! Tell me, my dear, who was the victim? A friend of yours?”
“My avie, Auntie Agatha! They shut her up for good!”, the girl’s voice was shrill with outrage.
“Maya Vee? Don’t think I’ve met her”, I murmured, pulling thoughtfully at the hairs on my chin wart. “They you say? So it wasn’t a sole perpetrator…that rules out a serial killer….they usually operate alone…”.
I confess I felt a thrill. Blood-baths of all sorts were my hobby, together with flower arranging and baking, and I have to say that tracking down the murderer was almost as exciting as winning first prize at the annual village fete for Best Crumpet in Show. Being invited to view the scene of a crime, with skulls bashed in, limbs hacked off and blood, blood, blood spattered everywhere, although you might think to be highly distasteful and hardly suitable for a lady of my age, was a source of great entertainment for me. I mean, of great interest. Usefulness! That’s it! Of great usefulness in finding out who the murderer was.
“So, tell me dear – you said “gagged”. Are we talking about a ball-gag? It’s very important to establish what sort of sex fiend we’re dealing with. If he used a ball-gag, he may be one of those followers of De Sade, although it’s been my experience that such people usually consume any aggressive feelings they might have with a splash or two of candle wax.
“A ball-gag, Aunt Agatha?? No, no, you’re getting hold of the wrong end of the stick!”
“Oh, a stick!!! So she was bludgeoned to death! How frightful! Poor creature…are there any photos you could show me?”, I enquired hopefully, as clear, detailed, up-close photographs of the victim with the open wound sprinkled with shards of splintered bones and rivulets of dark, dried blood were immensely helpful in understanding the exact nature of the crime.
“Mm?” It was evident that my niece was lost in her thoughts, probably in a state of shock over the violent death of a dear friend. “Erm…no I didn’t get screen-shots…” She tailed off as her mind wandering back to the horrendous crime once again.
“Screen-shots? Maya Vee was an actress then? Good Lord! She wasn’t one of those actresses who perform in films of a sexual nature? My experience tells me that people in those circles are shady characters indeed and the industry harbours a shocking number of psychopaths. This is starting to make sense…”
My own thoughts caused me to trail off as I recalled the Case of the Strangled Stripper, the Case of the Impaled Porn Star and the Case of the Horny Hollywood Hooker. Oh, wait. That last was the title of a film. I do get confused at times. I tried to focus on the case in hand. A young woman, in her prime, silenced forever… The perpetrators must not be allowed to get away with this! I suddenly realised that my dear niece had been talking and I snapped out of my enjoyable reminiscences regarding my favourite scene in the Horny Hollywood Hooker, to hear her splutter indignantly something about “…just like blackmail!”
“Blackmail, you say? Do you suppose they were threatening to tell her family the truth about her new job in the “arts”? Perhaps she rebelled and threatened them with something too! Maybe she was about to reveal the truth about how the male actors manage to keep it up for so long….”
This made sense. I had often timed the duration of intercourse during such productions and had always been highly suspicious of the hour-long copulation. I felt we were making progress. This would be a perfect motive for the crime! The poor dead girl could have shattered illusions all over the planet among devoted porn-watchers! She had to be silenced!
“I have the solution, my dear. Just mention to the police that they might want to check on the owner of the pornographic film company she was working for. I feel certain that if they perform forensic tests on his clothing, it will reveal ample quantities of your poor friend’s DNA.”
“Mm? DNA? Pornographic film company? Listen, Aunt Agatha, I have to ring off now. I have to look for a new forum to post in.”
I totally understood her eagerness to see the murderer in cuffs before heading to Rome for a holiday, so I quickly said goodbye to her, insisting that there was no need to thank me, as Agatha Marbles was always willing to lend her keen mind when there was a murder to solve!
That’s all from this spine-chilling corner of the blog for this evening, my friends. I hope you don’t have too many nightmares…
Bring Back Perma-Banned Forumites, chucked out because they only spoke the truth.
Friday, November 4, 2011
BRUTAL VICIOUS SADIST DOM for subby pain-slut. Will be utterly obedient, loyal and willing to serve in any way. Will submit to beating, clamping, waxing, whipping, plugging, stamping, slapping, pinching, hair-pulling, racking, stuffing, gagging, choking, burning, nose-pinching, pumping, enemas, forced immobility, caging, cutting, needle-play and torture in general. Reply only if sincere and willing to build a deep, meaningful and loving relationship. Send IM to Dolor Babii
I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE Sweet, romantic 36 M looking for his other half. When I find you I will be willing to take it to RL. I will love and cherish you forever. Marriage definitely the goal. You will be loving, caring, sweet-natured, faithful, kind and have absolutely massive knockers (SL and RL). IM to Jugluvver Deckard.
ROMANCE Bored unemployed compulsive eater now permanently wedged into chair at pc desk seeks love of her life for constant 24/7 SL romance. IM please to Skinnybitch Kanto
KINKY M SEEKS KINKY F for in-world fun. Are u a latex fetish teddy bear hypno-slave into being done by cross-dressing heavily-pierced robotised Dalmatian Doms? Contact Dirtydawg Dalek. No weirdos.
SOCIOPATH hates interaction of any sort (chat, voice), incapable of interpersonal relationships, looking for gf who will follow him around SL in stony silence. IM Justdonttalktome Aeon with blank message.
M CKS F 4 CSI RP + gr8t PB X - IM ShakespeareWordsworth
HAWT FUN-LOVING CAREFREE PARTY BABE (unemployed divorced mother of 7 in RL) looking urgently for SL/RL romance. Looks unimportant. Age unimportant. Hair gone? Saves on shampoo. No teeth? I’m well used to cooking baby food. Missing bits? No biggy. Can’t get it up? Don’t worry about it. Don’t fancy sex much myself either since the fifth kid. Very slight preference given to RL doctors and MDs of multinationals. Oh. And Texan oil tycoons. Did I mention it was urgent? IM me – name’s NorepinephrineDopamine Xenga
LOOKING FOR LOVE Anybody know Love Seesaw? If you do, can you contact MrRomance Fullmoon? Did her at Slags For Stags last Fri and forgot to friend her. Name doesn’t show up in search so was wondering if anybody knows her. Would really like to do her again. Great ride!!
LAV - Ai luk fur lav at SL to. Thes gud yes? Yoo end me maik cunverseyshon meibe teik to RL end speek on fone. Ai iz Vrreezbooshyayayaknovitch Ah
PRIM CAT Ginger with red collar. Responds to the name of //123petname*Marbles*//. IM pls to LibrarianLady Resident
PRIM BOOBS Lost them at Milky Way Moo Moo Club on Wed. Was rezzing them on ground to edit nips when pc packed up. Now are gone. If you found them (size 50 triple-D Juggernaut Jugs brand) please return them asap as bf says he will chuck me if I don’t have them on. IM Blubbalubbawubbalubba Voom.
SL HUSBAND Last seen at Shaggalot Swingers Club in company of cheap and nasty-looking tart called Open247 Trumbo last Saturday. Lying scum of a husband’s called Hubert Lane. Dark brown hair and blue eyes. Nice-looking (I did his shape and bought the bastard a decent skin), mid-twenties (but he’s 65 in RL and I doubt he told the slag that so I’m just saying so she knows what she’s getting into). I think he’s unchecked me so he can spend time with that nasty fake blonde (omg you should see her hair - must be a freebie!) who didn’t even come to the club with a partner (who’d have her with that skin??) so I didn’t even get her husband in exchange for mine. Left them on poseballs (Inverted Backflip Double-Driver position) for 5 mins to make a cup of tea and when I came back both had gone! Both appeared offline! Since he’s too mean to open an alt account, I’m sure he’s sneaking about with me unchecked and has told skankypants to do the same so I can’t give her a piece of my mind – what a shithead! This isn’t the first time he’s done this since he talked me into joining the swingers scene so I know its not just his pc playing up. I reckon the horny cheating slug must have shagged half of SL by now and that’s why he’s hitting on ugly noobs. Anyway, if you see him, let me know, cuz he’s my babes and my whole universe and I’ll love him 4eva. IM Devoted Beerbaum
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
CAROLE THE CRONE
Carole the Crone cackled evilly. She was on her way back home through the forest to her cottage after having successfully managed to poison Sleeping Beauty with a botex O.D. Nobody with three brain cells would have been fooled by the addition of a headscarf as a “disguise” and would have easily recognised Carole the Crone’s characteristic bulging eyes, fifties-style, diamante encrusted specs and fag hanging from the corner of her mouth, but not the Dozy Bimbo. Oh no! The Paris Hilton of Fairyland had only two brain cells and now both were in La-La-land thanks to the botox, so Carole the Crone was now skipping along the path as merrily as her rheumatism would allow, congratulating herself on getting rid of her arch-enemy (they fancied the same handsome prince) at last. Or at least until the effect of the chemicals wore off or until some interfering do-gooder tried to resuscitate her. And with a bit of luck, since the princess usually had a pretty blank expression on her face at the best of times, it would take weeks before anyone noticed she was in bimbo-limbo.
Suddenly, Carole the Crone spotted movement behind a bush. A dark shadow of a large wolf fell across the path.
“Oh my….mmm….where are you going, my dear?”. The voice was husky, gravelly and hungry.
“Oh, please d-d-d-don’t hurt me. I’ve heard ab-b-b-bout you.” Fear made the words come out in stutters.
“If you have heard about me, then you’ll know there’s no escape. You might as well avoid wearing yourself out by trying to run away and struggling. It’s pointless. You know that, don’t you? Now come here where I can see you better. Oh my! What a fine handsome furry beast you are!”
“Be g-g-gentle with me, Crone”, whimpered the wolf.
“Please…call me Mistress Crone”, hissed Carole, as she lassoed the beast’s thick, muscular neck with a studded leash she always kept looped through her belt.
The animal yelped as the leash tightened round its neck. The Crone yanked the leash viciously every step of the way back to her cottage and once inside, opened the cellar door in the floor of the stone-paved kitchen and pulled the terrorised wolf down the dark steps to her dungeon.
The animals in the woods that night huddled, trembling in their dens, as the howls of pain and tortured whines echoed through the dark. The lashes of the whip and the cold clank of iron chains were the only sounds which interrupted the howling and moaning of the wolf….and the Crone.
Only at daybreak did the shiver-inducing sounds of the Crone’s pleasure cease, as she staggered towards her bed on unsteady, slightly bowed legs. Soon a satisfied snoring could be heard and the forest animals breathed a sigh of relief.
The Crone awoke refreshed and with a crooked grin on her face many hours later and, after having partaken of a light lunch composed of five bacon sandwiches, threw some stale bread, half a rancid hamburger and a handful of vitamin supplements down into the dungeon, fearful that the furry beast might not be able to perform again that night due to a lack of nourishment. Just as she was closing the cellar door, she heard a knock on her front door.
The Crone peeked out from behind her curtain and spied seven very short, but otherwise perfectly formed and really rather study little men. Seven! She scurried to the door, smoothing down her hair before swinging it open.
“Why, hello, big boys”, she crooned, hand on hip, eyebrows wiggling provocatively.
“Well hello there, beautiful. Is your mum in?” asked one of the dwarves.
The Crone giggled and blushed. “She’s just popped out to the shops. Maybe I can help you? All of you….”, she twisted her face into a lascivious wink.
The dwarves looked her up and down and sniggered, the leader murmuring, “I bet you could, babes”, as he pushed in past her into the cottage. The others filed in after him, the last one pinching the Crone’s bum as he passed.
The cottage door slammed shut.
For five hours the cottage trembled and creaked. The wooden beams shuddered and released billows of ancient dust. The wolf in the dungeon, huddled in a corner, trembled as the insatiable witch tried out a never-ending combination of meaty midgets. Suddenly all was quiet. The poor beast, convinced that the lustful old witch was about to come and drag it upstairs to “meet” her new friends, hid behind a strangely shaped wooden trunk.
In actual fact, the Crone and the dwarves were having a ciggy break but the wolf could not know this and wondered if inside the trunk would be a better hiding place. Its furry paws tore at the lid, but a couple of large nails held it in place. Panic and desperation lent the animal great strength as it tried to lever the lid open. A sudden creak signalled the nails giving way and the wolf jumped inside. Onto something soft. Something soft which cried out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You weigh a ton. Gerroff!”. The wolf scrambled out of the trunk as a black-cloaked figure sat up and rubbed sleepy eyes. “My gawd, that was a good snooze! I really needed that! That randy old dame really wore me out!”. The pale-faced creature looked at its digital watch. “Bloody hell! It’s October!!! I’ve been in there for three frickin’ months!”.
“Erm…the lid was nailed shut…”, murmured the wolf.
“You’re kiddin’ me?? That ungrateful old cow! After the good time I gave her! What a liberty!”, the creature smiled, revealing two pointed fangs. “I’ve a good mind to teach her a lesson. Want to give me a hand?”.
“I’m…erm…chained up…”. The beast shook the chain to demonstrate its plight.
The vampire scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s a bit of a problem as she’s probably got the key on her. Probably in her undies and no way am I going back in there after that last time. Lemme think. There must be a solution.”. The vampire cocked his head and looked the wolf up and down. “How do you feel about becoming a werewolf? Werewolves have enormous strength. You could snap those chains in a jiffy.”
“Well…couldn’t you just snap them?” asked the wolf.
“Nah. Vamps aren’t strong. We’re good at flying and stuff but a bit on the wimpy side, to be honest.”
“I see.” The wolf considered the alternative. “Okay…I’m up for it. What would it entail exactly?”
“Well, I bite you, suck a bit of blood and that should set in the whole thing in motion, if I remember correctly. It’s a pretty good lifestyle, actually. You get a super toned body. Wouldn’t get anything like that by working out. You get laid loads. Females of all species love big hunky beasts. You’re not a vegetarian, are you? ‘Cause you won’t fancy salads and whatnot much after. That’s about it really. New look. All meat diet. And loads of action. Ain’t bad at all, frankly.”
“Actually, it sounds very appealing. Let’s do it!”, the wolf proffered its hairy neck.
“Oh dear. A bit of a woolly mouthful. You don’t happen to have any fur-free bits, do you?”, asked the vampire.
“Well, I do, actually.” The wolf looked pointedly downwards and coughed.
“Oh my! I don’t usually do that sort of thing. Well, if we don’t count that time in the locker-room when I played five-aside in the Transylvanian Suckers Championship…but I’d bitten a binge-drinker and was sozzled… Oh well! What the hell! It’s all in a good cause!”.
An hour later (yes, I know, the transformation didn’t need a whole hour, but the less said the better…), the Crone’s cellar door crashed open and an rabid, salivating giant werewolf sprang out, its fangs glinting, its eyes burning red, followed by a slightly flushed vampire, flapping its cape.
The tangle of bodies on the floor quickly unravelled as the dwarves and the Crone tried to make their escape, but the werewolf leapt on each little man devouring him in the blink of a bloodshot eye as if nothing more than an amuse-bouche. Only the Crone was left quivering in the corner.
“Oh, no! Now you’re both going to have your wicked way with me!”, she cried
“No bloody way!”, growled the wolf and got ready to pounce, its jaws wide open.
The Crone realised the werewolf’s intentions were more culinary than sexual and began to panic. “Please, Vampy, spare me! I’d do anything – and I do mean anything – if you tell the wolf not to eat me!”.
The vampire placed a hand on the wolf’s straining muscled shoulder. “Hang on a sec there, Wolfy. I quite fancy a bit of permanent female company up at the castle. And this old broad is highly entertaining in a perverse sort of way. I think I might transform her into one of us undead. You know, having her around would liven things up a bit. And if she doesn’t behave, I’ll have her put out of the castle in broad daylight”.
The Crone brightened up. “Undead? You mean I would stay young and beautiful forever???”. The vampire looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“Well…erm…let’s put it this way. You won’t get any worse. This arrangement okay with you, Wolfy? Seeing how you and I are very good friends now, I think you have to be on board with this idea.”
The werewolf blushed under his fur at being reminded of how close they’d been. “Well, I suppose so. She’d have to be good, wouldn’t she?”.
The vampire laughed. “Gawd. I hope not! I was kind of hoping we’d all be very bad! In a fun sort of way, of course…but I get what you mean. She won’t be bothering you ever again. That I can promise you.”
The werewolf shrugged. “Well, in that case, be my guest!”. The beast stepped aside.
The vampire raised its cloak and descended on the now eager-looking witch. He sank his fangs into her right knocker and sucked enough blood to ensure the transformation. The Crone swooned as the teeth punctured her flesh and the vampire’s mouth clamped down on her bewb. “Oh my…”, she moaned, “I think I’m going to like this..”.
A short time later, the three figures – the two vampires and the werewolf swept through the forest headed in the direction of the castle. The forest animals watched their departure with enormous relief and from that day onwards, peace and quiet reigned in the leafy wood. Up at the castle was another matter altogether and no matter how much the neighbours complained about the wild parties, the antics of the terrible trio became legend. But that is quite a different story altogether…
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
|Sir Stanley Bottomsley-Ffookes|
THE DEATH OF GHEDDAFI
By Jove! Fine business that is! That Arab chappie - the one who takes his tent with him everywhere - been topped by his own people!!! Never been to Libya myself. Wasn't part of the Empire, what? Damn hot place I imagine. Full of flies, probably. Can't drink the water in these places. Jolly inconvenient. Had Bombay Belly once. Put water in my whiskey. Miserable business! Servant chappie who had to clean up next morning actually passed out! You'd think they'd be used to it, wouldn't you? Do their business in the street, I believe.... Fine looking fillies out there. India. Not Libya. Never been to Libya. Don't fancy Libya at all. Yes, damn pretty gals. No blondes, mind. All dark. Big eyes. In India... Mind you, don't mind English gals either. Not quite so shy. First wife, Cecily, wasn't at all shy. Was always up for a roll in the hay. Used to pop into her room every night when we were married. Well, when that big-bosomed maid, Bessie, couldn't be found... Good Lord! She was a great sport, was Bessie! A chappie could really let off a bit of steam with that little vixen! Never said no to anything! Did some things with Bess I hadn't done since I was in boarding school! What a sport she was! Wouldn't be surprised if my second cousin's girl, Carole, wasn't a good sport too. She has that look about her. A chap can always tell... Bet she'd give a chap a good run for his money...
Good grief! It's frightfully late! That new gal will be lighting the fire in my bedroom soon. Better go up and ...uhm....check on her. Have to make sure that standards are kept
stiff high at Bottomsley Ffookes Manor.
Well, I’m truly flattered, I am. Tickled pink, even! Dear Cousin Carole has asked me to supply hygiene advice to the thousands – nay! – millions of her blog fans. Of course, it is understood that when we talk about “hygiene” issues, we are referring the whole sphere of personal and inter-personal digital doings and anything at all related to computerised carnal knowledge, be it solo performances (as in viewing films of a sensual nature alone) or involving fellow pixel pals in the joint attempt to achieve mutually satisfying and fulfilling long-distance intercourse. So, my dears, set aside any embarrassment, and feel free to write to Nurse Bertha if you have any worries, concerns or perplexities regarding…erm….you-know-what.
I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you that your friend has won the bet. You see, it’s perfectly possible to contract a very nasty STD if you've recently used a public loo and haven’t washed your hands thoroughly before fiddling with yourself. Your letter highlights the fact that many people erroneously think that cyber congress is completely without complications.
Remember! Always wash your hands! You can never be too careful!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
|Sir Stanley Bottomsley-Ffookes|
The Second Wave of the Global Economic Crisis
Yes, well, I should jolly well think so! A blog run by a female was bound to be utterly over-run with silly female nonsense and absolutely nothing in it for us chaps. Just as well the old girl (my second cousin’s youngest – decent enough looking filly when she was younger – not in quite such good form these days, I have to say… Gone rather to seed. Always did have a face like a bull-dog though. Still, if it wasn’t for the fact we’re cousins of some sort, I’d be more than willing to take the old girl for a bit of a canter) thought to reserve a bit of space for a sort of gent’s corner. Rather like my club up in London, really. All pipe smoke, tweed and a whiff of good whiskey in the air, what? No silly female nonsense there! Good Lord, no! Wouldn’t be able to discuss politics and current affairs with a bunch of silly females around! Indeed not. And that’s what this little corner of the blog is all about. I’ll be commenting on the world’s most important events – a bit of serious, no-nonsense writing about serious matters – such as today’s topic – the second wave of the global economic crisis. Can’t talk about such things with girlies around, can you? You see, this is the problem with today’s world – they let women in everywhere!!! They’ll be letting them into the Club next! Over my dead body, I say! Over my dead body!!! I fought like a Ghurkha attacked by a rabid tiger when old Blatherington-Bilge tried to get his daughter into the club last year. Had the damn cheek to say it was a man. Any fool could see it was a female! Long hair and a pink shirt!!! Even wore an earring, by Jove! Asked what she did for a living and it turned out she was a hairdresser! A hairdresser??? What sort of profession is that for a chap, I ask? I’ve nothing against females wearing trousers. Not at all! Perfectly sensible in the country (though they really do hold a chap up when he’s up for a jaunt in the saddle with a pretty member of the staff and he hasn’t much time, what?), but trying to pass a girlie off as a chap to get into the Club by getting her to wear trousers, that’s simply not cricket, what? Good God, Blatherington-Bilge, your son’s a girlie, any damn fool can see that, I said! Either that or one of them damn arse-prodders! So which is it? A gal or a bum-poker??? That’s what I said to him! And then the bounder grabbed his daughter Hilary by her arm, turned heel and headed for the door! Knew it all along, I said. Now get her out of here! We’ve had no females in the club since the day it opened back in 1790 and we’re not starting now! All that silly female nonsense! Rouge and silk stockings and perfume dabbed in places they want to be kissed! Black lace brassieres and garters and Lord knows what else! Their white flesh wobbling under a chiffon blouse….their thighs rubbing against one another as they bend over to pour you a snifter… letting their blouse tops fall forward, giving chaps an eyeful of their chest-pillows…
Good Lord! Is that the time? Well, I hope you now have a better understanding of the second wave of the global economic crisis. Now I really have to go speak to one of the staff about….uhm….her dusting.
Monday, October 17, 2011
I would like to take this opportunity to thank the two fellow SLers who kindly accepted my offer of L10 in order to leave a comment on my blog. To these kind souls, aside from the L10 (which is in the post), I wish to dedicate my latest work of poetry. See below.
Auntie Carole reveals the amazing truths behind some SL "facts".
1. The number of active residents is around 60,000
Yeah, right, sure. The number of active residents is actually about a couple of dozen. Come on – how many times have you had the sensation you’d already had the exact same conversation a hundred times before? It’s just the same old folks with new alts. And a few bots of course. Oh, and a good few people you see are actually you – with an old alt you forgot about and who got ghosted and “stuck” there. You’ll know that you’re talking to your ghosted self when “they” ignore your friendly IM greetings.
2. SL is full of sex-maniacs.
Absolutely not. SL is full of people who are so asexual that they can’t cope with actual flesh-on-flesh intimacy. Seriously, how can anybody who prefers watching cartoons bonk be considered even vaguely interested in sex?
3. SL is full of stalkers.
Mm... The reality is that SL is full of lonely people who wish they had stalkers. Next time someone tells you they’re being stalked, take it for what it is – a hopeful, not overly subtle invitation.
4. SL is full of Masters and Doms.
Ah well, yes indeedy. Where better for a controlling, domineering type to hang out but in a dimension where all that it takes to escape “control” is a click of the mouse?
5. SL avatars don’t look anything like their operators.
This is a malignant rumour started by those jealous old busy-bodies over at WoW. SL avatar operators are on average 21 years old, are super-models in their spare time and hang in SL when they’re just too knackered by all their RL partying. Everyone knows that.
6. SL was invented by Philip Rosedale on a crappy old pc in his garage.
No, this is the cover-up version of the origins of SL. The truth is that SL was created by US prison services as part as a pilot scheme to create a “safe” space to allow the criminally insane to “let off steam” (that’s a euphemism, by the way), whilst keeping them in the confines of their padded cells. The unexpected popularity among the general public, apparently perfectly happy to interact, mate with and even partner raving loonies, came as a great surprise to the project creators and they hastily formed a commercial “company” in order to keep their psycho-inmates happy on a log-term basis. Think about it. It explains a lot…
7. SL real estate was the main money-making scheme of LL.
No. The idea for selling fresh air at exorbitant prices was suggested during a drunken LL office Xmas party as a joke. Everybody had a great laugh over such a daft idea since nobody could be soooooo stupid as to spend loads of money on something which didn’t exist, until the next day when the college kid doing work placement at LL and who had thought they were being serious, announced he’d already sold $ 500,000 worth of pixel land. The rest is history.
8. SLers play SL in order to fiddle with themselves
Absolutely not. The vast majority of SLers watch the news, the football and soap operas during virtual seks, as digital nookie alone is simply too boring for words. The news, the football and soap operas are just amusing and engaging enough to pass the time without totally distracting from the occasional obligatory ooohhh! and mmmm!
9. RL is RL and SL is SL
Fallacy! Appearances aside, what you see in SL is what you get in RL – and by that I mean – you get the distinct impression that he’s a psychotic maniac? Then it’s highly probable that’s exactly what he is! Beware! The parallel existence thingy is not quite as clear-cut as you’d imagine and there’s a great deal of over-lap. For this reason, meeting up in RL with your cling-film asphyxo-kink master is probably not the best idea you’ve had this millennium…
10. People play SL for fun
You’ve read it in a thousand profiles – “I’m just here to have fun”. This is, in actual fact, a secret Masonic code which substitutes the impossible-to-emulate RL funny handshake members use to recognise one another. Admit it – you’re not surprised, are you?. SL is boring as hell - nobody has actual fun there. That’s why everyone is outside it, writing blogs...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Reasons to Blog
Reasons Not to Blog
1. No newspaper or magazine will ever let me print my crap on their pages.
2. You can never have too many SL blogs.
3. Leehere Absent has 487 SL-related blogs and forums. Surely I can think up the odd thingy to write in one?
4. Sometimes I’m just too damn lazy to actually go and do stuff and tapping my keyboard is about all I can face.
5. Nobody can whine if I do one of my walls-of-text. Well, they can. But I get to “moderate” (read: boot) them. Highly satisfying.
6. I’m dead interesting and lead a truly fascinating Second Life.
7. I can stick my photos all over the place here and turn the whole thing into my own personal vanity thread.
8. I can create an army of adulatory alts who will post their total agreement and awe over my wisdom and wit without actually having to go to the bother of composing posts which are the slightest bit logical, fact-based or persuasive.
9. There just aren’t enough SL blogs around.
Reasons Not to Blog
1. There’s a very good reason why newspapers and magazines wouldn’t publish my crap. It's crap.
2. Since just about everyone in the SL forums is advertising a blog in their signatures, I do worry a little bit about there being anybody left over to actually read the bloody things.
3. Note to self: Contact Leehere and ask for a suggestion for a blog post.
4. And sometimes even tapping the keyboard is exhausting. Might just go make a cuppa…..
5. Re: point 2. – what if nobody reads the damn thing? Who would I get to boot??
6. I’m actually on a SL hiatus. Which might just affect the content of my SL-related blog a tad.
7. My avie is ugly as sin.
8. Not entirely sure that talking to myself is a good road to start going down.
9. Well, okay – there are too many SL blogs. Can’t move in cyberspace for falling over the damn things.