~ Some of us, many of us have settled in for some friendly chat with our friends, after a day with our noses against the mill stone. We are exercising our tired minds, building our vocabularies and seeking asylum from the real world. Some of us play while others watch and help. Still others lay in wait for requests for help. Some just chat. All is good in Spelldown.
~ While the attacks are expected sometime during the night, we are never quite prepared for the onslaught when it comes. They seem to hunt in packs. Usually there is one advance scout, already having infiltrated our ranks. This one usually doesn't act until after the siege has begun. It is the classic "Trojan Horse," a sleeper programmed to raise havoc among us as the battle starts. Our peaceful leisure is suddenly shattered! Then the calvary rides in, disrupting the entire room amid the cloud of dust raised by the hoofs of their steeds.
~ "Wazzup," they bellow their rebel yell. That is the first warning we get. Sometimes there is the benign "hello room," that is designed for us to relax our guard. Then the hammer is hefted down with the sickening, "A/S/L everyone." The chill runs up our spines, for this is when the battle royale is imminent. A hush falls over the peace-loving inhabitants. It couldn't be worse if
Atilla himself had thundered in with his Huns. We are to all aware that the dreaded "any hot guys in here?" Equally offensive is the gender variation seeking "chics" or the interchangible "girls." These are the volleys fired upon us.
~ The "ASL," just as deadly in lower case, is a cyber bastardization of age, sex, and location. Of course, it is just as well that use abbreviations, since most of their blathering chat is comprised of misspelled and misused words. Sometimes, but certainly not the norm, we can understand what they say. A quick glance at their profiles reveals very few games played and high scores like 13 or 22, rivaling only the scores of a handfull of orangutans and store mannequins. For a lot of them, the first three or four levels prove to be beyond them. Having discovered that the game isnt for their IQ range, they then revert to their original mission. This is evident when we here the password, an obligatory "this game sucks."
~ If I had a dime for everyone of them who graciously accept our right to not chat with them, I wouldn't have enough for a cup of coffee. On the other hand, giving me that 10 cent toke from the others, would put me in position to buy the coffee company outright! Kids should not be obscene and not IM'd. If their parents happened to walk in and look over the shoulders of their little angels...ugh...too horrible to think about! While I dont like violence, long live parental corporal punishment! Maybe if those kids' ears were boxed every now and then, they could go out to find the perfect hooped earrings that go with cauliflower ears.
~ Their game is hormonal, no mensas they, having nothing to do with vocabularic skills or knowledge. They are OTP, on the prowl, looking peers of the opposite sex. Damn the people in here who are playing. Screw those who won't talk to us.
~ Our first line of defense is to simply pretend they are not there. They are not about to let us get away with that! We
are clued to this fact when they fire off a round of letters spelling nothing. At times this done at the expense of two to ten lines of chat. Then they blast us with a gauntlet of asl's and "any hotties here?" They break down the doors of privacy by launching streams of IMs, riddling us with such childish questions such as "R U BOY OR GURL?" Yes, you read correctly, they are even ignorant enough to break out the caps key.
~ We are finally left with no recourse, but to pull out our secret weapon. It is left a last resort, because it nearly drops us to an amoebic level down there with them. The secrect weapon, afectionately known as "iggy," is impervious to their assaults. You might say it is the ultimate weapon. As effective and powerful as the mute button on a TV remote, this device silences them uncerimoniously and utterly. Once iggied, they eventually give up, not knowing what hit them.
~ A serene shroud returns to the room. Peace, ah how sweet it is! As the horde vanishes into cyber space to infest another room in some other game, we gravitate back into friendly chat and spelling. however, we know full well that soon that blood-curdling cry will bark, "ASL Everyone!"
why not queck out the blue beetle?