hate being sick. I’ve taken Echinacea, Sudafed, Jim Beam and all manner of other hippy-concocted herbal remedies and still my throat hurts, my head aches and my nose is running like a retarded kid at his birthday party. There is a bright side, however. Being sick, I’ve plenty of time to play with my favorite friend, the Intarnet.
I love the Internet. It is a magical place where you can meet all sorts of interesting folk.
So, I was enjoying a pleasant diversion from my life as an undiscovered celebrity, playing Asheron’s Star Wars Craft Tournament Quest 2k4 or whatever’s hip these days. Playing a game of ‘who can click their mouse button fastest’ with some kid calling himself n00bKiLLa2004 and just as his rocket blast obliterated my level 54 zergling archer I saw appear on the screen a message from my foe:
<u sUx0r n00b rofl!> my adversary typed gleefully.
<Um, ok.> I respond in a curt and properly punctuated manner.
<I pWn3d u lol!!1!> n00bKiLLa2004 wittily quips. I hate 1337ards. They’re the cyber-age equivalent of illegal immigrants. Invading our digital-country with their non-english-speaking selves on homewoven rafts of 5000-hours-free AOL internet connections. And so I offer a retort suiting my ire:
<Dude, you’re not that cool.> Typing like that, he’s probably only a little cool anyway.
And then my Talk-On-The-Intarnet™ Microphone crackles and hisses and pipes up. I hear a voice over the speaker and it says whiningly “Honey...” Sounds like some old lady.
n00bKiLLa2004 left his microphone on? What joy. Nothing like listening to a fat kid laboriously draw air through his pig-like snoz to add a bit of flavor to my favorite online computar games.
<No, I r0x0red u, lol!!1one> He’s still savoring his minute victory.
<What are you saying? That’s not even a word.> But I am lost in the 1337-speak. Kids these days.
<sTooPiD n00b u jes JeLiS uV m@h 1337 sKiLLz> For me, these internet video games are a periodic diversion. For n00bKiLLa2004 and his 1337ard friends, they’re a way of life. A sad, lonely way of life that inevitably ends in death by fat in a parent’s gloomy basement, basking in the light of a 25-inch Trinitron flat-screen monitor.
“Honey, come rub ointment on mommy’s feet,” my speakers hiss.
“But Mom, I’m talking to my friends,” comes his response to the voice of his mother. He kinda sounded like he had a ham stuck in his throat. A big ham.
<I r0x0rD u so h4rD u sux0r uP dA @ss0r>
“How come I never seen these friends of yours?” Mommy dearest inquires crackily.
<n00bKiLla2004 iZ 1337>
“You sure they’re real? Maybe The Internet made them up?” Good one, mom. For an old person she seems to have a pretty good grasp of the world wide web.
<u R a f4g0rt>
<I can’t understand you.> I reply honestly.
“What if they’re pedophiles?” Snap. Crackle. Pop. “I don’t want my baby seduced by some old man pretendin’ ta be a girl. I heard all about them on Oprah.”
“Mom, I’m 37. I’m not going to be seduced.”
<i gIt mUcH p00ssy @ll n1gHt n u r a f4g> Typing like that must take so much effort. I don’t think being cool these days is worth it.
<Dude, I don’t care what you do with your cat all night, just play.>
“I never seen you with a girl, Billy. How come you ain’t out getting’ girls?”
<u jeEs m4d th@t i s0 1337>
“You ain’t one of them homersexuals are you?”
“Maw-om! I’m busy right now, leave me alone!”
“That Margaret seems to like you.”
“Margaret has a mustache and she’s a lesbian.”
“Well, boys your size can’t afford to be picky.” A boy your size, she says? My suspicions are confirmed. Mr. Killah is f@t as fuc|<.
<That’s great.> I tire of this.
<n i r0x0r>
<So I hear.> Way to be over proud of useless skillz. I bet when you go to your job interview at McDonald’s, they’re gonna be mighty impressed by your 1337 camping skills.
“Honey, mommy’s corns hurt. Come do the ointment.”
<gtg gurlfren w@nt sex0r>
<Um, I can hear your mom in the background.>
<no u kant>
<Next time turn off your mic. And have fun with mommy’s feet.>
Copyright © 2003