Warning: several campers were crucified during this post. Not suitable for all audiences.
I’m not going to say where, when, or how. But there is a place, up on a hill, where you can see the likes of this on a regular basis:
There are bunches of them, standing with their arms extended, like a frozen aerobics class perhaps, only in worse attire. You speak to them and nobody answers. You rez weird objects and fly them at their heads, and nobody moves. They are camper zombies, and they must be stopped.
But how? Romana tried to reason with them, but was unsuccessful. Alex drew his gun, fired, but nothing happened. I wanted to hurl insults, but nobody was answering. They weren’t really there. And unlike a long forgotten episode of dragging “away” avatars hovering around camping spots in a casino to a designated mercy killing field, these folks were fixed in their places. Unmovable. Unbreakable. Unstoppable.
So for a brief while, they were sacrificed.
You could almost see their spirits ascending to that digital kingdom in the sky, lifted from the sad and pathetic burden of their hedonistic, materialistic, camperistic lives. The most any of them had made was about $36L. But shortly, the crosses auto-returned, and we were back to our awkward gawking and head shaking.
Campers. Will they ever learn?3 comments