I just had a gay orgy on the beach. It was ok I guess, but I couldn’t cum. And after I got bored and gave up my penis wouldn’t go down. As impressive as my Tom of Finland member may be, it’s probably time to go to the cock shop and get a new one. I hear there are some that let you control the erection, that cum and pee, and that let you auto-fellate! Wow! I probably can’t afford a new one though, although at the very least I’d like one that matches my skin tone – they don’t make very many for those of us who are chocolate-coloured.

No, I’m not really looking for prosthetic dicks. I’m describing the sort of dilemmas that torture a hip guy who’s concerned about his appearance and performance every day in the make-believe world of Second Life, a surreal virtual reality Internet game that is sucking in the nerdy dispossessed faster than blogs did a couple of years ago.

I first heard of Second Life when some losers staged a make-believe anti-war rally on the cyber white house just previous to my mocking it mercilessly. I realised the mockery had potential to become more profound if I went in and had a look around myself, inspired by these hilarious cyber explorations (and these ones. And these ones). What I have found diminishes to the size of a flea any nerdly activity in which I have ever previously taken part – and I am someone who won the Latin award in grade 9 and have had a blog for 3 years.

First off, you can look like anything you want to look like. This means that anyone with the most deprecating self-esteem issues can be that magnificent specimen of hormone-enraging humanity they secretly dreamed of while designing Frogger in the 80s. I myself am now a 7-foot tall black guy with bulging muscles and piercing grey eyes, and named Zulfi Basevi (named after hot Bollywood actor Zulfi Syed), but not because I want to be a 7-foot black man with bulging muscles and piercing grey eyes; it’s because I’d like to have sex with a 7-foot black man with bulging muscles and piercing grey eyes. Hmmmmm … what does this say about me?

Other, more imaginative yet no less geeky people fly away with their fantasies, donning Amazon armour or fairy wings, enrobing themselves in multi-coloured sparkling mists, becoming giant bipedal, talking animals for some reason, or – predictably – Star Trek characters.

But mostly people just dress like prostitutes.

And they do really weird things as they live out their deepest fantasies. The other day while flying around the other day (yes, you can fly in Second World) looking for crap to fuck with, I blundered into a lesbian wedding. Both brides had modified their SL bodies to appear as if they were in their third trimester (the hussies!). Would they give birth, I wanted to know. Is there really someone out there eccentric enough to script the animation of an SL woman in the throes of labour, let alone 2 SL women screaming in birthing agony?

No cyber birth as it turned out. I turned a corner and found the hideous lab where they are practising constructing their virtual baby. Think the climactic scene on Alien 4 when Sigourney Weaver all her mutant, disfigured alien-Sigourney Weaver clone hybrids. Ew. Before I could take a screenshot of this horror I was asked to leave their “safe space”.

And that’s the problem with SL. It’s the same problem I have with most bloggers. Some dear souls take a flexible and wonderful tool for imaginative self-expression, begin to mistake it for the real world, and turn it into an exclusive clique factory resembling high school by calling it “community”. The lesbians didn’t want me at their make-believe wedding. Some cyber goth chic sneered at my preppy looking SL body while I was checking out a really cool haunted labyrinth game. I was asked to leave a bar where all the patrons we giant animals because I was human. Well, you can’t keep this cyber brotha down!

The majority of SL sites are vast empty spaces plastered with advertisements or things you can buy by clicking on them. There are also scads of houses, the fantasy land purchased by SL-obsessed people whose first lives must not be so hot.

Buy with what? Well, you’re given a certain amount of Linden dollars (the SL currency) when you sign up. After that you can buy more fake money with a real credit card (at a pretty good rate, as far as imagination transactions do), you can do various bizarre things like dance on special money making dance pads in make believe casinos, or you can get a Second Life job. A job. In virtual space. In utopia, the best we can do is get a job to pay for our extravagant lifestyle.

And that allows Second Life to demonstrate how truly pathetic we are as a people, even more than the self-indulgent physique changes, the serious attempts at real life, the self-righteous protection of the cyber lifestyle as a valid one, or the fucking talking animals. It’s the idea that this very cool mode for expression (there are some jaw-droppingly stunning places in this little world) has been turned into a tawdry and insidious quest for exclusivity and status, just like in the real world, except you can fly. That’s really depressing.

Now what is geekier than going to Second Life? Going to Second Life and blogging about it.

FLASH Hey! Wonkette totally pays hommage to my cyber-geekiness while mocking me at the same time. Nerdier than blogging about Second Life is being mocked bu another blog about Second Life! I rule!

What can you say to this other than WTF!?  Highlights include the fairy princess whose butt says “No peace, no pussy” and the donkey-headed hippy.  I have a soft spot for the manically dancing elasto-hipster wanna-bes (we are talking bloggers who designed an animtaed Internet protest here) carrying their cute, illegible cyber-signs. What can I say? I’m a benevolent nurturer and when I see something truly pathetic I just want to give it a great big hug.

Holy crap! I may be a lefty, but I’m not stupid. I’m sure your Internets tubes cartoon has totally got the GOP’s attention, Princess Donkey Lover. Although the song’s kinda cool.

(Totally pillaged from Wonkette)

Guess what? Some blogs have stumbled across an amazing fact! John McCain is just as much a lying douchebag pandering to his audience as any other politician. I am totally overwhelmed with shock.

(Totally pillaged from Americablog)

Bloggers across the world were stunned and horrified at the news that a 47-year-old woman from Ottumwa, Iowa killed her gerbil and an entire bowl of goldfish simply because her ranking on a popular link exchange site had slipped.

“So yeah. I spent all this time on this post on finally finding a brand of ketchup I can use in cool recipes and just on hot dog’s when I feel like just hotdog’s, wrote the blogger only identified by police as Rootin Tootin Rita on her blog Radical Ramblings of Rootin Tootin Ritas Roarin Roundup on her blog this morning after killing the animals, “and I spend all this time finding a cute blinking little image that reminds of Hello Kitty and I finally figure out how to make my blog play music as soon as you click on it (I chose Rhythm of the Nite by Debarge because it like totally rox and everyone really loves it!) and some total @-hole comes and gives me a bad rating so instead of being 7.5 im 7.2??!!! No Thank You!”

“What’s the matter @-hole, dont ya like ketchup! Hootie and the Blowfish must die.”

Although she was referring to the gerbil (Hootie) and the goldfish, police were summoned to the scene when another vigilant blogger who actually knows Rootin Tootin Rita – a rarity among bloggers – read this morning’s post and alerted them to a possible death threat against a soft pop band popular during mid-1990s known for their songs about golf.

“I though it was a little strange,” said the second blogger who would only identify himself as the Sybarite Skinflint, “because I thought Hootie and the Blowfish were already dead.”

The reaction across the blogosphere, renowned for its measured, considered responses, has been swift. Noted rightwing blogger Michelle Malkin praised Ms Tootin Rita as a “true patriot” for her love of ketchup and for killing the animals since many pets enter the United States illegally through foreign pet store networks, she claims. “What kind of sicko doesn’t want to kill foreign animals?” she asked.

Ms Malkin then published the blogger’s home address and phone number for “anyone who wanted to let this true red-as-ketchup-blooded American know what we think of her”.

On the left, Ariana Huffington wrote a scathing critique of the Bush Administration’s inability to enhance the free speech of bloggers by stifling the practice of blog rating. “How many dead gerbils, how many uprooted daisies, how many lawn sets smashed to smithereens before Dubya rides his mountain bike up the steep mountain slope of responsible regulation of this scourge on the face of blissful and free blogging?” wrote Ms Huffington, on her popular blog The Huffinton Post this morning.

The most unexpected reaction was from PETA who, in light of the killings, have labelled blogging as harmful to animals and are rumoured to be working on a virus that will be spread through various link exchange sites and blog search engines, in their spare time when they’re not throwing crap on Beyonce fans.

But whatever the reaction, the little gerbil wheel isn’t spinning anymore. And no one is swimming through the gates of the little plastic castle on a lonely and desolate fishbowl. And only the ketchup bottle knows why.

(Pillaged, as a test run, from my old blog)