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Happiness is a Warm Gun

Snapshot 010
On Saturday, I finished my last piece, just before deadline. "The Best Little Whorehouses in Second Life". Catchy. With a title like that, no-one would miss the irony. At least, not unless they were OUT OF THEIR FUCKING MINDS.

By Sunday, the feces, as they say, had not so much hit the fan, as had ricocheted back into my face, adding a visceral edge to the shit-eating grin I was already wearing. Angry strippers, jealous husbands, enraged pimps - I was getting hit on all sides, even threatened with elimination from Second Life.

But this is a fair world, a civil and just world. A world where safety systems are enabled so that grievances can be resolved in a calm and resolute manner. And so I put that theory into practice.

I went shopping for the biggest badass gun money could buy. With pictures.

Snapshot 002-1
It's said that once only alchemists knew the secret of turning dull lead into gold. Now that trick belongs to Lil Carducci, overseer of a thriving firearms, gambling and sex empire. If you crave it, Lil can supply it. Here's me walking the aisle of his gun emporium.

Snapshot 001
Choosing the right firearm is like selecting the right narcotic. Too weak and you'll barely feel the essential rush. Too strong and it's liable to blow the head clean off without any suffering. And Mother Superior always told me, that suffering makes us stronger.

Snapshot 003
After heavily tipping a sales guy to leave me the fuck alone, I decide on the Magnum Desert Eagle. Nearly five pounds of cold steel, with a twelve inch barrel that completely rules it out as a concealed weapon. But that's not the point. This is a gun I WANT you to see coming, you whining Motherfuckers.

Snapshot 004
I take it to the firing range, where we cosy up and get acquainted. The first time you pick up a firearm, you can't just roughly stick your finger in, like a Frat boy on date night. You've got to romance her, gently take her in hand, and make her understand who's the Master and who's the Sub.

Snapshot 002-2
Leaving Carducci's, I pick up a bottle of Cutty Sark to steady my aim, along with a stuffed bear that sings Elvis songs. He asks me to Love Him Tender, and I decide to oblige by making it a threesome.

Snapshot 005
Staring down the barrel of the .50, I slowly push it into his goddam musical mouth, feeling the notes choke in his terrified little throat, as he realizes Elvis is about to leave the building. It's a serene moment, our eyes meeting like estranged lovers, before the Teddy is dispatched to meet his Toymaker.

Snapshot 007
In my twisted gut, I know that out there, somewhere, at the same time as politicians begin to make speeches here, there's a new Hinkley, a Bickle-wannabee, looking out over the water from a lonely pier with a gun in hand, fixing to be the first SL resident to assassinate a candidate, to become a new Superstar.

And I thank Linden for the terrifyingly few sane ones like myself, that are here to help keep those crazies in check.

This is Gideon Television, Superstar™, reporting directly from Second Life.

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2 Comments

You are without a doubt one bad ass mofo. Remind me never to screw with you.

said davis freeberg on September 1, 2006 9:19 PM.

I enjoy your writing style and I can't wait to see how this all turns out.

said DanIzzo on September 2, 2006 12:58 AM.
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