Tag Archives: creepy

Hooked on Virtual Reality

I’ve always been proud of myself for not getting hooked on Facebook like many of my friends. Bebo – which is Facebook for fourteen year old girls – was another matter entirely; I was a Bebo addict until I deleted my profile a year ago. I’ve had a Facebook profile for years. I rarely used it, only logging into it once a month. I hated the fact I had to decline so many invites to join friends’ applications such as becoming a zombie warrior; determining what kind of cocktail I am; or discovering the age I am likely to die. Facebook was pointless in my eyes, until now …

I recently discovered Farmville and Yoville applications on Facebook. Farmville was the first to draw my attention. Farmville involves the growing, maintaining and harvesting of a virtual farm; I choose crops, animals and trees. I run the farm as I see fit. The aim of the game is to earn money (by selling produce) and gain experience points. I am allowed access to greater varieties of features as I earn more points. This game – with its lame graphics and non-existent purpose to progress through levels – should be well beyond the vast scope of my interest and coolness. I am completely hooked!

This is a picture of my farm. I am quite proud. I perceive it as an agricultural powerhouse.

Farmville

At the moment, I am growing rice in paddy fields, squash, soya beans and trees of some kind. The little farmer next to the 98% almost grown rice crop is made in my image. So far today, I have logged into Farmville three times to harvest and replant. Yesterday, Boyfriend asked if I would be nice enough to make him tea. I informed him I would after sowing my egg plant. He threw his eyes to heaven and accused me of having an addiction. He just does not understand life on the farm. It requires 100% commitment.

When I am not busy on the farm, I occupy myself in Yoville. Yoville is a virtual town where you can interact with other Yovillians. When I joined Yoville, I received an apartment. I suppose Yoville operates similarly to communism. The town of Yoville has amenities such as cafés, diners, furniture shops and even a nightclub. It’s necessary to earn money by working in the widget factory. I have not yet figured how to actually show up for a shift. Money allows for the purchase of food, drinks and refreshments; clothes and accessories; gifts such as plants and lamps; and furniture for a minimalist apartment.

Some of my friends have also started using Yoville. These friends live in my apartment block. I can drop by their apartment and interact with them. I can even sleep in their bed if I wish. There are no locked doors in Yoville; there is potential to be creepy. One of the best things is that the game allows you to interact with other random inhabitants of Yoville, who you might bump into during a mosey around the town. I chat with them via speech bubbles and emoticons.

I’d like to inform you that my interaction with my fellow Yovillians has been high-brow. It hasn’t. So far I have asked random Yovillians if they would sleep with me so I could buy furniture for my shitty apartment. Yesterday, while attending a virtual party I offered a group of female Yovillians a lap dance in exchange for Yocash. They were entertained, but my robot dance failed to win any currency from them. One invitee at the party showed up wearing just a swim suit. Some of the attendants called her a slut. Oh how I laughed.

This is my apartment in Yoville. You now understand why I might allow my Yoville character to sleep around in order to pay for some home improvements. Yoville

As you can tell I am hooked on Farmville and Yoville. Boyfriend forbade me from using the laptop this evening. He forgot we have an old desk top upstairs. I secretly harvested my rice in Farmville and went fishing at the lake in Yoville.

My Pet Pervert

During a recent trip to Gourmet Burger with Boyfriend, I noticed a face at a nearby table. I recognised this man’s face from my gym days. The guy at the table was the man I had branded “Pervy French Guy”. Pervy French Guy used to ogle me at every opportunity he could. He would stare and look me up and down. He is creepy. His perviness reached its peak one evening in the dressing room, when he stripped off to his starkers and sat in front of me. The changing room was full to capacity. I could go nowhere. I held back vomit and whimpered. He continued to stare intensely as I did my best to change behind a towel. He enjoyed the peep show. That evening, at home I moaned to Boyfriend. I intended to complain to the management of the gym that Pervy French Guy had exceeded his quota of tolerable perving. When I think back, I can’t recall if I complained or not. It’s definitely something I would have no issue in doing.

So there sat Pervy French guy only feet from me in Gourmet Burger. There he sat stuffing his pervy French face with his pervy French fries. So that is what perverts eat, I thought. They obviously require a high carbohydrate diet to maintain high energy levels for perving. His companion looked normal and did not appear to have any amount of creepiness about him. I felt like informing his companion of the extent of his friend’s perviness, but I didn’t want to interrupt some sort of pervert’s committee meeting. I shivered in remembrance of the time he and I spent together in the gym, which I am no longer a member of. I did my best not to allow his presence put me off my food. I identified him to Boyfriend who strained his memory to recall Pervy French guy.

“Yeah, you see the weird looking guy with the beady eyes three tables down on your right. That’s Pervy French guy! Do you remember me talking of him? He was the guy in the gym that use to perv on me. Do you remember him? Is he looking at me?” I quizzed Boyfriend. I did my best to be discrete.

“No, he is not looking at you,” answered Boyfriend.

“He was the one that always stared at me. He just looked over and saw me. Is he looking now?”

“Nope. He is still not looking at you”

“He’s not looking at me? What the fuck is his problem? Does he think I’ve gotten fat since I quit the gym? Am I not good enough to perv on any more? Screw him!”

“Yeah,” replied Boyfriend. “Don’t worry. You can do so much better than him.”

“I can so do better than him,” I consoled myself. “You’re right.”