To the casual reader, the SL Enquirer is a
great Second Life news source. To
others, it’s just a tarted-up blog with pretensions of being a newspaper. However you see the SLE, you keep coming back
again and again. It’s friendly and familiar,
with a great mix of news, views and interesting articles written by a team with
a wide range of interests. But behind
the scenes, gentle reader, lies a different world. A world of debauchery, greed for power and
control.
To begin with, the initiation ceremony is
humiliation enough. But when you are in
dire need of a handful of lindens to feed your starving family, you’ll let
anyone do anything to you with a rubber chicken, a Walmart gift-card and small
statue of Oprah Winfrey. Survive that
and you become embroiled in the seedier side of the SL Enquirer. For a start, you are not allowed to address
the CEO, Lanai Jarrico, as anything but “Miss Jarrico”. The punishment for calling her anything else
will earn you a donkey punch to the back of the head while still being
receptive of a dog toy. And you must
never NEVER look her directly in the
eyes unless given permission.
A
recent image of an SLE journalist ,who missed out a comma in a sentence, trying
to pacify Miss Jarrico.
The hours are long and laborious; often
lasting a few days until Miss Jarrico is totally satisfied that you are worth
of a reprieve from duty. These reprieves
can last from 1 to 7 seconds, depending on her mood, and may or may not include
comfort breaks and/or food. Call into
the press room anytime of the day or night and you will see dozens of avatars,
broken and battered by toil, endless research and spellchecking. Many, just shells of their former selves,
starting to take notice of their other male captives and doing their level best
to hide broners, all why trying to avoid the wrath of their wicked, masochistic
editor-in-chief. Meetings can last for
weeks with little or nothing being said.
The last meeting this reporter went to consisted entirely of singing
nursery rhymes backwards, and mass mutual shame fest; interspersed with
occasional cries of “Fo’ Shizzle Ma Nizzle!” (shouted as loud as possible to
Miss Jarrico’s question, “Do you pathetic waste of prims love working for
me?!?”) .
The women in the press pack don’t get away
lightly either. I observed one reporter
being throttled with her own thong for writing an article that didn’t give praise to the SL Enquirer
and dared to express her own views. The
party line (or should that be the Panty Line) should be followed at all times
or woe betide your soul.
Three
female staffers anger the CEO by not praising The SL Enquirer and are dealt
with in line with the SLE Handbook.
One female presspacker, who we will call
Jill, spoke to me discreetly from under a table.
“I turned up here all eager and peachy-keen
on writing about my passion for fashion…and shoes….and purses….I was
bouncing! I longed to be a journalist
and share my adoration for mesh with the world.
And then I signed the contract…
…I was still aglow at finally being a
reporter and that’s when the mood changed.
She suddenly had a fire in her eyes and her voice changed. She took off her glasses and began
chanting. Two of her goons appeared from
nowhere and held me in my seat. When she
had finished chanting and her head had spun round to the right position, she
stood up, disrobed and……and….”
She broke down quietly but regained her
composure a few seconds later.
“Let’s just say there was a forest on the
outskirts of the Amityville House Of Horror”
Jill turned a vicious shade of lime green at
this point and scuttled away. I never
saw her again. I’ve since heard rumours
that she managed to escape and went into hiding on a sim close to the Blake
Sea. I do hope she’s ok…
 |
| Staff Action Figures on SLE Now! |
Dear reader, please take it from someone who
has seen and experienced the horrors at first hand; the SL Enquirer is not what
it seems! Yes it’s a great read and
seems like fun to work for from the outside.
But brutality and fear reign supreme in the world of Miss Jarrico. Please, spread the word, send help. We implore you.
I must close now as I hear the sound of 12
inch spiked heels approaching. Please,
save us! I must now return to
pixel-counting, if I’m caught writing this, I will be subject to pain beyond
human imagination….
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment
Comments will be reviewed and posted within 24 hours. Please note any abusive content or outside promotional links may not be approved.