How Bored Are We?

Ran into an article about virtual rape through a serious combination of click, clik, clicks on various websites. Hyperlinks are surely of the dark one, but they are fun. More random knowledge from there than from anywhere.
I guess these things could be happening on more visually impressive multi-player games, but I am still not sure how. The players on World of Warcraft (WoW) occaasionally copulate, but it is something that is akin to dancing together or a woman squatting on a man. Does not seem that real or that fun to me, but ok, the virtual world is something to wonder about.
Here is an article that boggles the mind, and it seems that it is way overdone. These are some seriously deluded people. I love games, but the blur between reality and fiction has come to a head with these folks.
Can a 'rape' online be a rape in real life? Well, there are certainly parties out there searching for more serious cyber crime. Most of us would agree that approaching young children online would definitely require law enforcement intervention. As for a virtual rape in one of these virtual worlds, it seems that the psychological part of the entanglement is what is getting these folks. They are so involved that they feel the same trauma that they would if they were raped (or so they claim). I have never had this happen to me online (not a player), so I cannot claim to know how they felt, but it seems that the excessive dependence on the online world leads to their mental anguish. Cut the one, cut the other.
Still, as games become more realistic, this will be more and more of an issue. So, it is worth taking a blast to the past and revisiting the black and white world of MOOs and MOGs and MUDs and...I forget the acronyms. This is the revised version of an online rape and its consequences, from the early 90s.
Abridged Version Please try to remember this was all virtual, no graphics:


The time was a Monday night in March, and the place, as I've said, was the living room -- which, due largely to the centrality of its location and to a certain warmth of decor, is so invariably packed with chitchatters as to be roughly synonymous among LambdaMOOers with a party. So strong, indeed, is the sense of convivial common ground invested in the living room that a cruel mind could hardly imagine a better place in which to stage a violation of LambdaMOO's communal spirit. And there was cruelty enough lurking in the appearance Mr. Bungle presented to the virtual world -- he was at the time a fat, oleaginous, Bisquick-faced clown dressed in cum-stained harlequin garb and girdled with a mistletoe-and-hemlock belt whose buckle bore the quaint inscription KISS ME UNDER THIS, BITCH! But whether cruelty motivated his choice of crime scene is not among the established facts of the case. It is a fact only that he did choose the living room.
He commenced his assault entirely unprovoked, at or about 10 p.m. Pacific Standard Time. That he began by using his voodoo doll to force one of the room's occupants to sexually service him in a variety of more or less conventional ways. That this victim was exu, a Haitian trickster spirit of indeterminate gender, brown-skinned and wearing an expensive pearl gray suit, top hat, and dark glasses. That exu heaped vicious imprecations on him all the while and that he was soon ejected bodily from the room. That he hid himself away then in his private chambers somewhere on the mansion grounds and continued the attacks without interruption, since the voodoo doll worked just as well at a distance as in proximity. That he turned his attentions now to Moondreamer, a rather pointedly nondescript female character, tall, stout, and brown-haired, forcing her into unwanted liaisons with other individuals present in the room, among them exu, Kropotkin (the well-known radical), and Snugberry (the squirrel). That his actions grew progressively violent. That he made exu eat his/her own pubic hair. That he caused Moondreamer to violate herself with a piece of kitchen cutlery. That his distant laughter echoed evilly in the living room with every successive outrage. That he could not be stopped until at last someone summoned Iggy, a wise and trusted old-timer who brought with him a gun of near wizardly powers, a gun that didn't kill but enveloped its targets in a cage impermeable even to a voodoo doll's powers. That Iggy fired this gun at Mr. Bungle, thwarting the doll at last and silencing the evil, distant laughter.
He (Mr. B) entered sadistic fantasies into the "voodoo doll," a subprogram that served the not-exactly kosher purpose of attributing actions to other characters that their users did not actually write. And thus a woman in Haverford, Pennsylvania, whose account on the MOO attached her to a character she called Moondreamer, was given the unasked-for opportunity to read the words As if against her will, Moondreamer jabs a steak knife up her ass, causing immense joy. You hear Mr._Bungle laughing evilly in the distance. And thus the woman in Seattle who had written herself the character called exu, with a view perhaps to tasting in imagination a deity's freedom from the burdens of the gendered flesh, got to read similarly constructed sentences in which exu, messenger of the gods, lord of crossroads and communications, suffered a brand of degradation all-too-customarily reserved for the embodied female.
Months later, the woman in Seattle would confide to me that as she wrote those words posttraumatic tears were streaming down her face -- a real-life fact that should suffice to prove that the words' emotional content was no mere fiction. The precise tenor of that content, however, its mingling of murderous rage and eyeball-rolling annoyance, was a curious amalgam that neither the RL nor the VR facts alone can quite account for. Where virtual reality and its conventions would have us believe that exu and Moondreamer were brutally raped in their own living room, here was the victim exu scolding Mr. Bungle for a breach of "civility." Where real life, on the other hand, insists the incident was only an episode in a free-form version of Dungeons and Dragons, confined to the realm of the symbolic and at no point threatening any player's life, limb, or material well-being, here now was the player exu issuing aggrieved and heartfelt calls for Mr. Bungle's dismemberment. Ludicrously excessive by RL's lights, woefully understated by VR's, the tone of exu's response made sense only in the buzzing, dissonant gap between them.
But it wasn't until the evening of the second day after the incident that exu (the virtual rapee), finally and rather solemnly, gave it voice:
"I am requesting that Mr. Bungle be toaded for raping Moondreamer and I. I have never done this before, and have thought about it for days. He hurt us both."

***Long and drawn out debate about governance and its difficulties in the virtual world. Mr. B makes an appearance and pisses everyone off for not talking, except to make sarcastic remarks, etc. Then, sort of collectively, though in the end, through the unilateral action of a wizard, they wack him (don't stress, just his character....the spiritof Mr. B lives on in all of us.....er.... I mean, it wasn't a real guy***

Yet the continued dependence on extermination as the ultimate keeper of the peace suggested that this new MOO order was perhaps not built on the most solid of foundations. For if life on LambdaMOO began to acquire more coherence in the wake of the toading (killing), death retained all the fuzziness of pre-Bungle days. This truth was rather dramatically borne out, not too many days after Bungle departed, by the arrival of a strange new character named Dr. Jest. There was a forceful eccentricity to the newcomer's manner, but the oddest thing about his style was its striking yet unnameable familiarity. And when he developed the annoying habit of stuffing fellow players into a jar containing a tiny simulacrum of a certain deceased rapist, the source of this familiarity became obvious:

Mr. Bungle had risen from the grave.

In itself, Bungle's reincarnation as Dr. Jest was a remarkable turn of events, but perhaps even more remarkable was the utter lack of amazement with which the LambdaMOO public took note of it. To be sure, many residents were appalled by the brazenness of Bungle's return. In fact, one of the first petitions circulated under the new voting system was a request for Dr. Jest's toading that almost immediately gathered several dozen signatures (but failed in the end to reach ballot status). Yet few were unaware of the ease with which the toad proscription could be circumvented -- all the toadee had to do (all the ur- Bungle at NYU presumably had done) was to go to the minor hassle of acquiring a new Internet account, and LambdaMOO's character registration program would then simply treat the known felon as an entirely new and innocent person.

(Personal note: give them a break. It was the early 90s, and they didn't really get the internet, so this freaked them out.)

***Writer tries to talk to the newly renamed Dr. Jest, but fails and ponders the significance of said failure***

For reasons known only to himself, Dr. Jest had stopped logging in. Maybe he'd grown bored with the MOO. Maybe the loneliness of ostracism had gotten to him. Maybe a psycho whim had carried him far away or maybe he'd quietly acquired a third character and started life over with a cleaner slate.

Wherever he'd gone, though, he left behind the room he'd created for himself -- a treehouse tastefully decorated with rare-book shelves, an operating table, and a life-size William S. Burroughs doll -- and he left it unlocked. So I took to checking in there occasionally, heading out of my own cozy nook (inside a TV set inside the little red hotel inside the Monopoly board inside the dining room of LambdaMOO) and teleporting on over to the treehouse, where the room description always told me Dr. Jest was present but asleep, in the conventional depiction for disconnected characters. The not-quite-emptiness of the abandoned room invariably instilled in me an uncomfortable mix of melancholy and the creeps, and I would stick around only on the off chance that Dr. Jest might wake up, say hello, and share his understanding of the future with me.

***The Best Part***

That is all quite another story, of course. Yet as I said before, it begins where Mr. Bungle's ends, and there remains now only a very little of his to tell. Dr. Jest did finally reawaken, it's true, one late-December day -- but he didn't even make it to January before he decided, for no apparent reason but old times' sake, to go on a late-night Bungle-grade rampage through the living room, thus all but formally requesting to be hauled before an official mediator and toaded with a vengeance. The new MOO polity promptly obliged, and I, still busily contriving to loosen those RL ties in preparation for my full-time residency, missed by days my last chance to hear the doctor's story from his own virtual mouth.

Me again....Not the moo-crazed grad student. Anyway, while this thing gets more insane the more you read (if the ins and outs fascinate you, give it a read), Basically, at this point she realizes that hse has to get out and continue life (I think??!!%#Q$@$*???) She goes on to say that she thinks it was a group of NYU students, apparently acting separately in their computer lounge, cheering each other on. Whil this seems to be a decent way to redeem your sense of the goodness of humanity, it is doubtful that this is the case.
She actually hit on the possible cause for the whole thing. "Dr. Jest did finally reawaken, it's true, one late-December day -- but he didn't even make it to January before he decided, for no apparent reason but old times' sake, to go on a late-night Bungle-grade rampage through the living room..."
Yes, sometimes life is that simple. It is funny, and so you do it again. It pisses people off in a land of no consequences. Seriously, that someone might cry about their virtual identity is not something one takes into consideration when slaying the character, defaming it, stealing from it or any number of acts that would be despicable in the real world. But, in a world that does not have contraints, and where no real physical harm is done PEOPLE DO THINGS LIKE THIS FOR FUN. Why? BECAUSE IT DOES NOT DO PHYSICAL HARM AND IS THEREFORE FUNNY. Seeing people angry about it only makes it more hilarious. The guy (the same one, not some dorm mates) probably attended the meeting about the incident over a beer, cracking up during the proceedings. And for old times' sake, you do it again.