Column: Chatroulette

For somebody like myself, it goes without saying that I’ve been obsessed with Chatroulette ever since I heard about it on the blogo-wiki-interweb-twatter-sphere. I spent the better part of Sunday splayed across my bed – in my underwear, with a full neck beard and my nuked leftover enchiladas from On the Border™ – chatting it up with freshmen across the U.S. who are pent up in bomb shelter rooms they call dorms.

If you haven’t heard by now, Chatroulette is essentially a website wherein you video chat with random people from around the world. And by “random people” I mean “strangers stroking their penises from all corners of the globe.” This may seem crazy – holding the sausage hostage, that is – but it’s the damned truth. I think I spent more time talking with penises than I did speaking with faces.

(For the record, speaking with penises loses its novelty after the 400th time. Except when there’s a particularly small one … in which case I’ll poke fun until they press F9. Or sometimes, I’ll get on a righteous “report” spree, but then realize that for every penis-stroker I squash, 10 more will pop up in its place.)

If only I were an attractive, female, college-aged student. I would have no trouble talking with people if that were the case. (I have done some extensive sociological research on this subject. Let me tell you there are like five women out of an average 30,000 users on Chatroulette at any given hour, and they’re all not interested in talking with ugly people.)

But simply being an attractive woman doesn’t mean the average male Chatrouletter doesn’t want you to yank out your titties. And they’re not shy about it either: one Chatrouletter emphatically pleaded “Tits for Haiti” (this is a true story, as tasteless as it may be) despite the fact that I couldn’t offer him – or Haiti – any tits without hair. You see, 99 percent of Chatrouletters are looking for love over the Internet. And by “love,” I don’t mean “Fiona rescues Shrek” love – I mean, “Love in this Club” kind of love.

It can get ugly, too. At approximately 6 a.m. yesterday morning, I was emotionally molested by a procession of Italians in the (what I now like to call) “roulette of pain.” The first guy asked me “did you know you are fat?” I decided to play along and feign excitement. I turned to my roommate and said, “Oh my god … Matthew, did you hear about this? I’m fat! How long has it been?” All I got was a blank stare, and then a well placed, “Fuck You! Stupid American! You elect George Bush … twice!”

Damn it, Emilio. You got me. But I didn’t vote for George Bush, not even once. Why do we have to be lumped together all the time? “Because he represents you people,” the Italian guy says. Fine. But seriously, George Bush has single-handedly fucked up my Chatroulette experience. Americans have zero credibility abroad. Not that having credibility in a chat room filled with penises matters or anything.

You’ll meet your fair share of imposters as well – remember, you are surfing the web and can be whoever you want. I met this one girl from New York City who told me she was fluent in sign language and had been speaking (?) it for 16 years. I asked for a quick run-through of the alphabet, and lo and behold, she forgot how to sign the letter “Q.” Fucking LIES. If you can’t spell out a specific letter in an alphabet, you are not fluent in that language. I don’t care how many deaf people you know, Ashley. If you’re reading this … you’re an asshole.

DAVE KARIMI needs a study-buddy for this Friday’s midterm in 118B O-chem with Sarah Lievens. (Questions, questions, questions?) He’s made note cards for all the reactions for this midterm, but they might as well be written in Chinese they’re so obscure. You can e-mail him at dkarimi@ucdavis.edu if you want to meet up.