Friday, October 5, 2007

Luscious P UNDERCOVER

Part Deaux


NEWLIFE PART DEAUX


Luscious P continues her tour through the NewLife Site, where millions build virtual people, have virtual lives and conduct virtual affairs.


I swirled the mixture of melted ice and the dregs of whiskey in my highball glass. A new couple dressed in 1940’s getups did the foxtrot out on the dance floor, a tiny little chick glued to a tall man.



“So tell me, Amelie,” Godfrey said, “what made you decide to come here to NewLife?” His manner was very relaxed with his digitized legs crossed while he sipped on a Cosmopolitan. Ronnie sat across from us, lighting up another long tipped cigarette.

I shrugged my shoulders, which wasn’t as easy as it used to be with the heavier breasts. “I heard about it and thought, what the heck, why not go check it out. It sounded like fun.”


“Oh it’s fun all right,” Ronnie said. “It’s so much fun to some it’s addictive.”

“It’s so much fun it should be against the law,” Godfrey said. “At least in forty nine states, Google, and Yahoo.”



“Why did you decide to join NewLife, Godfrey?” I said.


He looked at me. “Do you want the “spin” or the unvarnished truth?”



“Surprise me,” I said.



“Godfrey’s the kind of person who needs mental stimulation,” Ronnie said.



Godfrey laughed. “And what about you, Ronnie? Why do you continue to haunt NewLife?”



Haunt was an apt description. She had a hint of vampire about her. She took a drag off her cigarette and then let the smoke drift back out of her lips. “I suppose I’m at a place like NewLife because essentially the real world is so… excruciatingly boring. You can change your avatar whenever you feel like it whereas in real life you actually have to work at it.”



“What do you mean, work at it?” I said.



“Think about it,” she said to me, “you can come here and voila, with a few strokes on a keyboard and a some plastic cash you can be whatever you want, look however you want. Erase those wrinkles, extra pounds, bald palates, big noses, or flat chests. You can pretend you’re single, another gender, or a Senator. You can go from a plumber in real life to a prince from a foreign country like Godfrey.”


Godfrey laughed.



I looked at him. “So you’re Roto Rooter by day and Italian prince by night?”

“Well, yes, I am,” he said, “but I try not to bring into the conversation unless it’s relevant.”

“Do you keep your crown in your pocket?” I said.


Ronnie smiled at me. “Godfrey’s rather unassuming for a man who speaks seven foreign languages and has several degrees from rather impressive institutions of higher learning.”



“And carries his own pipe wrench, plumber’s snake, and royal edicts?” I said.



“Appearances can be deceiving Amelie,” Ronnie said. “I mean, how do we know you’re really a woman? Maybe you’re some big fat hairy guy who always wanted to pretend to be a sexy woman?”



I shook my head in wonder. She was right! I could be anyone or anything but then again, so could Godfrey and Ronnie. Just thinking about it made my head spin and a sudden craving for a fresh whiskey on the rocks.



“How about another sugar?” I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was the waitress. What was she, psychic?


“Sure,” I said. “One more for the road.”


“Hello Doll!” A tall man with a pencil thin mustache and zoot suit showed up at our table. He reached out his hand towards me. “Name’s Rube and I’m into boobs, big beautiful boobs that is.” We shook hands while I made a mental note to find the restroom as soon as possible. “What size are those puppies?” he said with a leer. “You like poles?”



“Poles?”



Ronnie snickered and Godfrey laughed.

“Pssst, Amelie,” Godfrey said, “as in pole dancing.”



“Oh, I see.” I said to Godfrey. I looked up at Rube. “No thanks, I’m not into poles.”



“Well, baby,” he said as he pulled a card from his front suit jacket pocket, “If you change your mind here’s where you can reach me.”



I took the card from his long fingers, a diamond flashed from the pinky ring on his left hand. The card read “Rubes Beautiful Boobs A Go Go.” I laid it on the table. I couldn’t wait to find the restroom and wash my hands.



“Beat it, Rube,” Ronnie said.

“Aw shucks, Ronnie, you just want Amelie all to your selves.” He looked at me, “Listen good looking, if I was you I’d watch out for these two. Appearances can be decevin.”


He was right about that. “Thanks Rube, I’ll remember that.”

He smiled at us. “Then I’ll scoot.”

“You do that, Rube,” Ronnie said. “Scoot!”

He bowed slightly to her, “Yes, Ma am!” Then he strode away into the clouds of blue smoke.


“A lot of nerve that Rube has,” Ronnie said. “Thinks he can smooze whomever and wherever.” She took another drag off her cigarette as a rather non-descript woman walked over from the bar and sat down at the table next to us.

“Another Blander,” Godfrey said.



“Blander?” I said. He was right. She was rather bland. Her clothes were straight off the Liberal Librarian rack, Birkenstocks, grey jumper over a matching turtleneck.

“Blanders are either too cheap, too broke, or want to blend in,” Ronnie said.



“Oh yes?” I said. I knew that in order to upgrade your avatar you had to “purchase” such “perks” as my 34DDD boob job.



“They might just be here to observe, Ronnie,” Godfrey said.



“Being purposely bland on purpose,” I said as I wiped some of the sweat off my glass with my finger.



“That’s right,” Godfrey said.



“Or too cheap or not enough money to shop at CyberGalleria for a makeover,” Ronnie said.



“She’s probably writing some sort of thesis on cyber lives,” Godfrey said.



I smiled in my drink. “Or doing the Ugly Duckling, you know, love me for my intelligence, not for my looks?” I said. I laughed. “Why don’t we just ask her instead of sitting here speculating all night?”


“You might be on to something, Amelie,” Godfrey said. He looked over at the Blander woman, “Miss, would you care to join us?”

She looked back at us. “Mind your own business A-Hole.”

“Well!” Ronnie said as we all started to laugh.


NEXT WEEK: Luscious P continues her report from NewLife


Part One










Citations:Tail Rank.com

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Death by 1000 Papercuts

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