The Alphaville Herald

Pappy Enoch — Post 6 Valentine Hillbilly

by Alphaville Herald on 13/02/11 at 11:00 pm

[As he promised, so Pappy delivers. I believe that he's one of the most brilliant minds of our time, and certainly one with the most sense, so I'll get out of the way right after I say that it was an honor and a privilege and a lot of fun to shoot this week's Post 6 model for our special Valentine's Day edition, Pappy Enoch. ~Timothy Morpork]

I are so dang pleased to be a Post 6 hunka burnin’ love that I don’t know where in the Sam Hill to begin. So let’s start with God’s honest truth.

In RL I are a supermodel who am galfriend to Omar Sharif, my tall, dark, and handsome sugar-daddy on his big ol’ yacht in Monaco. I feels better’n a fly in a pile o’ poop just for layin’ them-there cards on the table.

But sum time back, I were rite bored from all them-there fancy parties with them Saudi Princes an’ Tom Cruise an’ Vlad Putin an’ Keith Richards and whatnot. It were pure hell gambling’ away millions at the casino and then goin’ diamond-shoppin’ day after dang day in my Ferrari. So Omar got me a cornputer and WHAM! I done come to the fake world o’ Second Life, where I are eventually bekum a hillbilly.

Now I didn’t go no direct route to what I is. I were first a slave-gal o’ Gor, then a Babyfur wif a awful diaper fetish. That were fun for a spell, but the fake diaper rash did me in. Then I turned full-size Furry and become part o’ the Fuzzy-Wuzz BDSM Gang. We had us a kinky club I ran name of Fur on Fire. That got old fast, so I switched over to bein’ a little kid and were adopted a few times.

Then ol’ King Philip Linden stepped down. Linden Lab asked me to bekum CEO but I done turned ‘em down.

I ain’t that dumb.

Finally, after so much drama that I were cryin’ myself to sleep every nite on Omar’s yacht, I realized what a bored supermodel needed in SL: gitten’ laid regular, preferably involving playin’ "motorboat" with a gal’s huge cha-cha bingos.

Well, I didn’t want to be no SL fake gal, cause I couldn’t git anywhere close to how perfect I are IRL. So I figured I’d be a natural-born fake man and then them gals would want me. If’n Omar catched me shaggin’ some gal on the screen, I reckon he mite even like that and do him some fappin’ too.

So I become what I are: 100% loving’ man. Fappin’ never been so good.

Now I knows all of SL wants to know about my fashion sense. Well, when you am perfect, why in the blue blazes change a thing? Gals who wants some action am rite worn out wif them bulky biker-boys who ain’t got a shirt in the closet, less’n you calls all them tattoos a shirt.

Wimmin luvs my style. I uses me the same Union Suit day in, day out, and with them overalls I projects a sort o’ come-hither-to-the-barnyard-and-put-yo-legs-up-fast charm that gals cain’t resist. Heck, Tim and me was shootin’ these here photygrafs and a lovey-dove gal just starts IM’ing me sum’fin fierce, sayin’ sweet nuffins like "Oh Pappy Poo, I got me a hot apple pie layin’ on the counter so git over here fast if’n you wants a bite cause the fillin’ am just dripping’ on the floor it are so hot," and so on.

Hoo whee, this am a ruff fake life.

When I ain’t fappin’ IRL or shaggin’ in SL, I does what a good hillbilly should do: git drunk, shoot stuff, or catch it on fire.

My plans for the future involves watching’ SL circle the drain and go down. Then me and Omar will buy us up what am left for the price o’ haulin’ it away, put that-there code on a bunch o’ server machines, sell Jumpman Lane and Proktology Never and Miss Petunia to A-rab slavers, an’ we’ll run Third Life out o’ international waters from the yacht.

Gamblin’ an’ grabbin’ cha-cha bingos will be what Second Life are all about and am the only reason it still am around. They am plenty o’ pervs in this-here world, so we’ll just git rid of the rest the SL crap and git straight down to first-rate fap material.

So y’all come!

We knows all about servers. We got 6 cabin boys and one o’ them am about to rub some suntan oil on me rite now.

Gots to run!