"This note should be pretty easy to understand.

All the warnings from the Second Life immersion courses over the months since my first introduction to the shall we say, ethics involved with online relationships in virtual worlds, it's proven to be very true....

After the humiliation salvation of being kicked from Big Brother, I needed to get away. Some time far from the madding crowd, to get my head straight.

And where better than Second Life's premium hotel destination, The Aloft. What a nice surprise. Bring your alibis.

And so it ends, not with a whimper, but with a bang...

Two days building and all I have to show for it is one stupid music box. Clearly I am not cut out for a life as a Second Life construction worker. Video after the jump....

Big Brother finally sent down our challenge for the week.

All sarcasm aside, and despite the fact that 99% of you have neither heard nor could care less about Second Life, this is the first truly International Big Brother, open to all, and where peoples of all faiths can come together, set aside their differences, and respect one another's beliefs. When we try to escape the values of the mundane world, and stand side by side as one people - christian, jew, islam, hindu, buddha.

So naturally, our first task was to build a fucking Christmas Tree. Oh come all ye faithful.

The excitement of the opening event fades, the challenges are yet to begin. And so we settle into the day to day existence of life in captivity. It has all the downside of the state penitentiary, except that with 12 girls, a dude in a wheelchair, and a Gorean slavemaster, I'm less worried about bending down in the shower to pick up the soap. Although the wheelie dude does keep looking at me funny. Just in case, I carry my Death Duck wherever I go, but realize that whoever gave a steaming Starbucks to a man with absolutely no motor-control has sabotaged him more effectively that I ever could.

I awake on Day 3, the machines buzzing in my head. The brass bed I built has all the comfort of a sack of lactating scorpions. I stare at the ceiling fan and croak "Second Life. My God, still Second Life".

And then I hear the dulcet tones of my Lillani, the Martha Stewart of BSDM, and the day gets brighter. I'm clearly rooming with the hottest chick in Big Brother.

When I awoke the next day, it soon became clear that I'd missed some fireworks while I was out. More furniture had been installed, more floors had been built, one contestant had been sent to the emergency ward. But none of that compared to the dawning realization that there's was something different in the air. something.... electric.

Yes, I'm talking hot girl-on-girl "alliances".

Put twelve good women in an enclosed room together for a month, and there's a couple of things that you can be sure will happen. Firstly their cycles will synchronize, leading to a single week of hell every lunar period.

And, without fail, they'll begin to rearrange the furniture.

And so it begins. 15 avatars, one house, one month. And this is my confessional.

Of course, there's every chance my fellow houseguests will read this, and I'll be strung from the ceiling like a festival pinata. But you know what they say, no pain, no gain. So here it is, the unvarnished thoughts of Gideon Television, Superstar™, as I make virtual history.

Forgive me, children, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession, In that time I have taken hallucinogenics, I've had impure thoughts about my neighbor Lanna, I've fornicated many times (with both women and animals) and become an apprentice to the current fad of guerilla bukkake. And frankly, that's just the tip of the iceberg.

But now I have seen the error of my ways, I have found the light. And in doing so, have built a shrine to my revelation, high on a green and pleasant hill in Second Life.

Come join with me now, in The First Church of Gideon Television, (Superstar)™.

I guess it was an innocent enough comment, right here on YesButNoButYes:

"Is there any sort of drug scene in Second Life for Gideon to explore?"

I'd been clean six months, but as soon as I read the words, the roof of my mouth went dry, and I got that weird itching between my knuckles, like cunnilingus from a thousand angry fire-ants. I knew I shouldn't, but I also knew it was too late.

I was going to have to go back. To score some Seclimine™.

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.

"I think it's time you gave us something more hardcore".

It was Scaramouch, the editor of this digital rag. "A longer form piece, something that'll really show us what Second Life is all about, through the eyes of it's first gonzo journalist. Tell me, what do you spend most of your time there doing?"

My fingers paused over the keyboard - it's the same goddam stupid request Editors always ask, to 'get under the skin' to 'peel back the layers'. Only two weeks on the payroll, and already this jackass was wearing thin on me.

"Mainly, I fuck strippers" I replied, truthfully. After all, why lie? A beat, and then...

"OK then - how about the "Ten Best Escorts in Second Life"? We LOVE those Top Ten lists".

It was either continue to type, or punch my fist into the screen. "Do I get an unlimited expense account? In Linden Dollars?"

And so it was decided. I would spend seven days on a road trip - call it "Fear & Loathing in Second Life" - taking in ten of the best escorts the Lindens have to offer. It's a hard assignment, but someone had to do it.

Gideon Television (Superstar)™ reporting directly from Second Life.

It's a sorry fact that, when you frequent as many Escort clubs and titty bars as I have to (if only to give those lonely strippers a brief moment of escape), you also see a good amount of seedy slots, worn baize and cheap lottos. While it's true that there are more places to gamble in Second Life than hungry fleas on a dog's carcass, there's still only one place for a true gentlemen to spill his financial seed.

We're talking Vegas, baby.