|The Elbow Room. CarlosdaRat Wasn't There at Photo Time|
Written 23 February, 2007
III: The Elbow Room
My last time out was typical. I rezzed at the Isabel info hub. It was empty, so I flew to the adjacent shelter to play trivia. But every time I reached the trivia area, I fell through the floor. And when I used the teleporter to go back upstairs, I was launched into space. And when I tried to fly back to the shelter, spatial weirdness ensured.
I finally managed, by relogging, flying to the shelter, and choosing SIT while still 15 yards away from the trivia lounge, to get within Chat range of the trivia machine, but by then I was in no particular mood to play.
And so I started bouncing around the mainland.
Looking at the map, I would see places where avs were gathered and teleport there.
Only to find them sitting in camping chairs.
Camping chairs here.
Camping chairs there.
Camping chairs everywhere.
What IS it with people, that they’ll sit in camping chairs all night to make 50 Lindens. Don’t they know how to give blow jobs?
I mean, if they MUST degrade themselves, they might as well do so efficiently.
Finally, I chanced across a tiny place called, tongue-in-cheek, The Elbow Room (I believe it was on a 512 plot). Avs were dancing inside, and I joined in. But no one was talking, so I flew up to look at the map.
And noticed an apparition on the roof.
He looked like a mafia don, and had a name like one—Carlosdarat something-or-other.
And he had big ass wings and a halo. And not just an alpha effect halo. A real halo.
I looked at his profile, which made a big deal about him being a Christian and a conservative and being a member of the anti-av sex league and part owner of the Elbow room.
I asked him what his deal was, but he wasn’t talking, which I figured was more about him being AFK than about me having blue hair and striped leggings, so I flew back down to the Elbow Room, where everyone was already cracking up from my comments about the mafia angel.
“Yeah, he and the J-Dog are down,” said one av.
“Yeah, the J-boy is cute,” I said. “But the mafia angel isn’t.”
After a while, Carlosdarat woke up and came down to the club.
“I was taking bets that you wouldn’t fit in here with those humongous wings,” I said. Indeed, he had taken them off.
The mafia angel was on message, but in a lighthearted manner. Still, there was something strange and disquieting about him—more than just the fact that he was espousing conservative views of the world that are rare among the geekazoids in SL
Just a typical night in the life of Malta.
Which is why I don’t rez very often. Chey has a much nicer time.