And the best chat log goes to…

…These guys.

Why hallo thar.

Hey. a/s/l?

17/m/can

16/f/cal

I didn’t ask you bitch.  Now let’s cyber.

lol wtf? ok you wanna rp?

Yes.

r u ok with family roles?

I absolutely am.

Ok u be my brother and Ill be in my room changing.

I come into your room without knocking.

Hey sis do you have any – OLAWD.

HEY! Dont com into my room without knocking.

I put my shirt on.

Sorry sis.

Get outta here!!!

No bitch, let’s have sex.

Haha come on get out.  Stop joking.

I walk over to you slowly.  I put my hand on your hip.

Oh your good.

I look into your eyes and give you a passionate kiss on the neck.

Oh brother keep going.

I slowly lift your shirt to reveal…

YOUR BREASTS ARE ACTUALLY TWO LIVE NUCLEAR BOMBS. WHAT THE FUCK SIS?

?????????

OH GOD LOOK AT THE TIMER!

5

4

3

wtf ass

2

1

The nuclear blast vaporizes us both in an instant along with everything else in a 12 mile radius.

Dick.

All that’s left is a charred irradiated wasteland.

wtf is ur problem???

You’re the one with nuclear bombs for tits. Bitch.

Stop fapping,

J

The Great Habbo Experiment

Habbo is a social networking application.  Sort of like the poor man’s Second Life, except full of people claiming to be teenagers.  I had heard about it through ED, and their article on the great Habbo Raid (The pool is closed for teh AIDS”).  I joined in order to see if I could organize a raid… And found something quite altogether different.

Upon five minutes of getting into one of the main rooms, I was instantly contacted by another user.  Thinking it could be a valuable asset, I accepted the friend request and got… This:

“Do u have a gf?”

“Not at this current moment.”

“Will u go out with me?”

I hadn’t taken Habbo for a dating site.  Shit!  A free Match.com!  Except it’s not full of creepy, unwash- Oh, right.  I mean I was flattered, sure.  But it was all so abrupt.  Good lord.  And then…

“Wot is ur MSN, come online and I will show you my bobbies”

What are ‘bobbies’?  Some sort of small animal? It suddenly dawned on me that she was referring to her mammaries.  It was time to make my intentions clear.

“I’m afraid I do not wish to see your, as you call them, ‘bobbies’.  I am wary of being propositioned by random strangers over the internet.  But surely there are other people in real life who would further benefit from your apparent promiscuity?  I wish you luck in your future endeavours.”

“kk”

Slightly perturbed, I decided that this was just a fluke and carried on my way.  But no! The unwashed, unlaid masses demanded more!

“Hi hotty”

“I admit, my avatar is quite dashing.  Although I find it quite strange that you judge my physical attractiveness based on an amalgamation of pixels, as you have not seen a photo of me in real life.  So this is Habbo. Ten minutes of being here and… I’ve been propositioned several times”

The horror.  The sheer horror.  I was expecting an innocent, carefree land where people chatted about hobbies and music!  How did it go so wrong?

The Craigslist people followed us, I’m sure.  They’ve been on our trail for a good few months now.

Shit, if they found us…

Just stock up on therapists.

a/s/l?

a/s/l?

Fuck! Run!

Till next time,

J

An interesting turn of events

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you might remember a few posts back where I responded to a rather funny and somewhat silly comment from a supporter of PETA:

You should be strung up and shot for eating meat!

Now, while the comment in itself may look like a death threat, I don’t feel particularily threatened.  Just amused. Especially by the fact that the person who wrote the comment decided to leave her email address on the site.  Oh yes, delkhazragi@hotmail.co.uk.  When you leave a comment on FTD and leave a valid email address, it becomes oh so simple to find out just who the hell you are.  So I subscribed the commenter to a wonderful monthly newsletter about the meat industry and let sleeping dogs lie.

What I wasn’t counting on, however, was that a regular reader to the blog would actually find out who the commenter was/is.  Then again, who could have predicted that typing delkhazragi@hotmail.co.uk into google would yield up such results.  Of course, FTD was the first result.  Ahem!  But more interesting was an article from Our Dogs Newspaper actually on the commenter in question!

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Dina Kazraghi; Virgin flight attendant and animal lover extraordinaire.  Okay, okay.  To be fair, her saving that dog in New Delhi (in 2002 according to ODN) was a cool move.  Of course, she didn’t bother taking her time to save the thousands of starving children there, but still. No good deed goes unrewarded I suppose.  I guess her act of compassion just confused me, considering she advocated my murder on a public blog.  I hope for her sake that it was only meant in jest.

Now Dina.  Yes, you. If indeed you do end up reading this blog post, I’d like to make some things very, very clear to you.  The internet is a very powerful tool, and if you piss someone off chances are that they will find out a way to make your life a misery.  Knowing your email address, name and the fact that you work with Virgin Airlines gives me something of an upper hand.  I could very easily contact VA and tell them who you are and what you wrote on FTD.  That could lead to you being sacked.

But I believe that in this modern economic climate, everybody needs to hold onto whatever job you can get.  Even if that’s being an airhead flight hostess who doesn’t realise the human race is omnivorous.  I’m going to be surprisingly merciful and not contact your employees.  You may argue that me posting up your name, email address and employer on a public blog is an unfair breach of your personal privacy. I say bollocks.  You send the abusive comments and you forego any and all rights to privacy on this fucking blog or anywhere else on teh intarweb.  I’d also be interested in seeing just how commited you are to this premise.  As you’re a flight attendant, if you’re anywhere near Beziers in the south of France before September, feel free to pop in.  You can murder me if you wish, string me up and turn me into J-Nuggets or we can simply have a friendly and moderated discussion that doesn’t involve death threats. Just remember that I am in a position to possibly put you out of a job.

Sleep tight!

J