For a moment, I thought this was a scene from a SF novel written by a bastard child of Charlie Stross, Cory Doctorow and Karl Schroeder.
“You’ve been invaded,” someone said to me as I materialised on Integral Bay. The minimap radar showed a cluster of pings on the Bay’s frontage, among the flying machines I leave out there for people’s free use. “You’ve been invaded” never sounds good on Second Life. It usually means that a gang of sex ducks are making giant bendy penises frolic around to the tune of “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
Out on the frontage, a team of mutant Elvises — Elvii? — are stamping around and waving banners. They appear to be celebrating the formation of the First Second Life Church Of Elvis. The broad flags depict that wonderful old photo of Nixon shaking hands with Elvis. They’re all discussing their last few appearances — or, more to the point, the last few places they got ejected from. I take a photo of them, and they give me one of their flags. I plant it on the frontage by the main steps. For a moment, I am their friend, accepted into the spangly bosom of the Church. Then the disappointment sinks in. They’re not going to be ejected from my land. They are, in fact, welcome. Something has clearly gone badly wrong. I teleport out again, leaving a huddle of subdued, slightly confused Elviseseses. Actually, it’s real life. Or at least Second Life.
Man. I’m 28, and I feel old.
Have you come across GetAFirstLife.com?