I wish I had gotten a picture of a Sploder before they all went away. Just one picture! Rumor has it there is a warehouse where the Sploders are being kept. For those of you who don't know, the Sploder was a ball typically found in a club that SPLODED with money in it. One lucky individual could win up to 80% of the take. Now that gambling is history, the Sploder is history too. The warehouse currently holds, like, 5,000 Sploders, I'm told. The fate of these Sploders is unknown. Will they be converted into Prize Orbs? Or will something more sinister happen?
A friend of mine flew over the (alleged) warehouse in a UFO last weekend. He didn't get any photographs, but he said the door opened long enough for him to see a Sploder inside.
I called several people in the area, but none reported seeing any Sploders. One person did say he heard, and I quote, "FEED THE SPLODER."
"He actually heard that?"
"Yes, he claimed it was more like a shout. And it wasn't really a request--it was an order."
I found some binoculars on sale at the Kenyan Safari Hut and went to find out for myself.
'FEED THE SPLODER' sounded like a war cry to me. The Sploders were known to browbeat people all over the world with the words, 'FEED THE SPLODER' back in the day. Now that they've been forced into silence, this could mean trouble.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Soy was handed a gesture. This is what it looked and sounded like.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
"You are allowed 30 flings while in SL," I told them. "After that, you may get suspended."
Milo had a new tattoo that I couldn't decipher that looked like a spider. Turkeys are known to eat spiders so I told him that turkeys were inherently superior to spiders, even though spiders are known for their elaborate webs.
"Yet turkeys never are in tattoos," I dismayed.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
At the club, I hovered atop Elle's dance pole, which resembled an egg (sort of). I threatened to either leave a mess on it, or give birth to it, depending on the crowd's mood. Seriously, it was a fun place to perch and watch the lovely Elle perform, while staying away from humans.
Turkey (Patric): i try not to show humans my legs
Abfab Hax: You got some sexy ass breast meat on ya, Turkey! Bom-chicka -Wah-Wah!!
Turkey: dont compare me with a chicken
Turkey: my breasts are better
Earlier, I had spent time on Abfab's head, which may have been the best nest ever. Certainly the most glamorous. But also short-lived. She loves to dance, so my time there was limited. Then the dance pole became a possibility... How I flew there I'll never know. I landed next to Elle, and got the best seat in the house.
Sexy Elle. Her body was such a pleasure to watch. Writhing. She is a DJ, so she was writhing and talking at the same time. Incredible.
[18:35] Maxwell Negulesco: WOOT!
and my head nearly hit the ceiling. What a shocker! Turkeys have fragile constitutions, so please watch your WOOTS.
And your Wolf howls.
But wolf howls especially. And woots!
I recovered...barely. Elle brought me back down to earth with her saucy, warm voice.
I thought of Thanksgiving somehow. Elle's voice made me think of a warm, saucy Thanksgiving...
Dear God. I thought of my own predicament. Would I be microwaved? How would Elle react to me when the holidays started? Would she prefer me with gravy?
Then I heard someone at the club call me 'plump'. Plump? Since when does somebody call you 'plump' unless it's a compliment?
I was getting nervous. That thing on my neck, the red thing, the thing no one seems to remember what it's called (it's called a wattle by the way). It began to vibrate. Bad.
It was time to go.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Yetrates Bates: lol turkey
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Since I am going to be a turkey for the next few months, I thought it would be fun to record my observations, especially in the days leading up to Thanksgiving.
Since November and December are both associated with turkey, I thought it would be interesting to see if Halloween would acknowledge turkey too.
The next month or two I will be showing up at various harvest or Halloween-type events, attempting to blend in with the local scenery. A turkey should be included even on pagan holidays.
A turkey wandering the grounds of Hippie Island is a surprising sight. I didn't have any hair, just feathers. I decided to let my feathers grow out. Plumage. Beautiful plumage. One hippie said "GET LOST." I told him my back was against the bonfire. "You don't want fried turkey, do you?" He didn't respond. I felt the warmth of the fire against my back. "I'm already baked!" He didn't say anything, but his mouth did start to water. The hippies are prone to munchies, and a walking-talking turkey wouldn't necessarily turn off a determined hippie, so I waddled out of there as fast as I could. "Learn to trot, learn to trot, dammit" I kept telling myself.
I found a surprisingly high number of walkways and entryways that were turkey-accessible. No problem getting in almost anywhere.
Someone asked how the dance balls worked, and I said in order to dance you had to sit on one, believe it or not. Then I was asked to dance. I declined, saying sitting on a ball would be too much like work, since I was a turkey.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Soy was admiring the guy's hat. It didn't look like a regular cowboy hat, it looked more like a Mexican gunfighter's hat. "I will buy that from you for $20L," he said.
Before he had a chance to put it on, though, he was handed a hat by someone else, and when Soy wore it, it turned out to be pink! Adding insult to injury, it didn't really sit on his head right; more like it hovered over his head--like a UFO.
"Or a dipping tray," someone laughed. "Fill the bottom part with chips, the top part becomes dipp-able."
"Yay! Someone used the word dipp-able in front of me" Soy said dryly.
As it turns out, it was the 53,777th utterance of the word 'dipp-able' in the history of the English and non-English world. Soy was so pleased he got himself a beer.
"Is this how you wear it?" he asked, once he got the beer. When no one laughed, he said, "I'm preparing to get drunk, but I'm not sure on how to make it happen."
Someone said, "Wear it between your lips."
"Ahhh," Soy said. Then he said "arrrggghhhhhhhhh" when he couldn't stand holding it between his lips any longer.
The worst part was when Soy removed the hat (or the UFO)...and the beer bottle: He discovered he had no hair left, or at least none that mattered: the bushy part was gone.
"My essence is missing," Soy alased.
All wasn't lost, though. He spotted a lass who had just turned her back on a non-responding boyfriend and was Editing Her Appearance.
"Ma'am, I hate to bother you, but look," said Soy, "this is kind of an emergency. That hair you're wearing. Do you need all of it?" Soy took a huge gamble that she wouldn't disappear.
"A handful is all I'm asking for," Soy pleaded when she didn't respond.
Ma'am was too involved in Editing her Appearance to care about what Soy was yammering about. Until then, there had been no practical reason for Soy to have sheep sheers in his Inventory.
"Good thing I save everything," he remarked.
Monday, September 17, 2007
From the headlines:
Madonna, the Kaballah-practicing no-longer-a-Virgin Virgin, seeking approval by the Jews, in their country, a few months before Christmas, on Rosh Hashana, seeks out the king--or prime minister--instead of the other way around, and instead of wanting to slay him, like he would want to do to her in Olden Days, wants to worship alongside him.
Madonna wants to give birth to a type of old/new religion by giving it mass appeal. She preaches it everywhere she goes.
She is the star, the nucleus of this fascinating religion. The religion follows her around, you could say.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Saturday, September 08, 2007
greedy was offering ways of making money by wearing an ornamental advertising orb over your head, up to 80L$ a day.
Soy didn't think it would fly.
"You do all that work on your hair and you're expected to have an orb hovering over your head? I don't think so."
greedy: "it works."
But there are apparently other ways to make money.
Monty: I just got given 150
Monty: for looking at a mans penis
Soy: can i quote you?
Monty: I am still scared
Soy: was it worth it, monty?
Monty: its was a tiny cock
Meanwhile, Monty claimed greedy's ball was a bunch of bunk, and they traded insults, first lightly, then more heavily. Here is a snapshot of some of the dialog:
[20:44] Monty: who wants a go on Greedy's Orb
[20:44] Monty: hands up
[20:45] greedy: who wants to hear monys fag mouth
[20:45] greedy: hands up
greedy: make me wease
Monty: fuck you
...tiny brain loser
...ooohhh you so scary
...you are so ugly
...im real afraid of you mammas boy
...shove your orb
...and fuck off someplace eles
...we dont want it
...good now i don't have to listen to his mouth
...you are an ass
...on many levels
...and dont ever come back
Each one, head down, furiously typing. Here is a snapshot of it.
Then 30 seconds later, neither had come up for air. Both were still in the act of typing...just not saying anything. Soy figured there had to be some epic insults being typed, yet not expressed.
This pic was taken after 2 minutes, both of them still incommunicado--yet still typing.
After five minutes it dawned on Soy that they were both frozen from lag, and somehow made to look like they were still typing!
After 20 minutes, they were in the exact same position. Quarrelling still. Frozen in time. All around them people moved about freely, in peace, in happiness, yet over in their corner, a mere glance away, both Monty and greedy remained squared off, in ridiculous fashion.
At the 25-minute mark, greedy came alive again, but behind him Monty was frozen still--and still challenging him. Soy hoped greedy would turn around at this point and see the folly in all the fighting.
But before that could happen, a stranger bumped into greedy and he was accidentally escorted about 10 meters yonder.
Soy lost track of him.
Posted by Patrick at 11:44 PM
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
A Graceland visit with Elvis as my tour guide!!
After a trip through the estate, Elvis has another place up his sleeve.
"Come with me to Tupelo"
Sure enough, as I rounded the privacy wall, Elvis's boyhood trailer stood
out like a non-sore thumb.
The rooms inside were carefully cordoned off with rope.
"Will the security alarm go off if I try to grab something out of the fridge?" I asked.
Elvis was mellow. He was content to swing on the porch, after all. This was his boyhood home.
I couldn't help but think of Elvis's Graceland estate, mere steps away. I couldn't help but think Elvis was much happier here. In Tupelo. This is the place where he did most of his dreaming.
I have a picture, which I cherish, of Elvis adding pickets to a fence.
The King building his castle.
This is a pic of me being contemplated by Elvis on the wrong side of his privacy rope.
Here is a familiar sequined arm reaching up, not to point at something while singing, but to position something while building.
This is an actual rare photo of Elvis building his kitchen, modeled on the (rarer still) inside pic.
Pappy has given the world a very nice breakdown of some of the differences between Rednecks, Country Folks, and Hillbillies (Pappy himself is a distinguished Hillbilly). Prepare to be enlightened. http://slprofiles.com/secondlifeblog.asp?a=comments&id=9195
Posted by Patrick at 11:16 AM
Monday, September 03, 2007
Another sentence you thought you'd never see...
"I frantically scrolled through my gestures until I came across a 'point' animation so that I could point at a rather large UFO that was hovering over our frat house, just in time for everyone to see me."