The E-Goddess Hall of Shame, page 1
the e-goddess hall of shame
Jake Anseld
Copyright © 2023 by Jake Anseld
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.
The E Goddess Hall of Shame / Jake Anseld Date: 2023. By: Anseld, Jake, 1989- author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-473-66795-5 (Kindle)
ISBN 978-0-473-66794-8 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-0-473-66796-2 (PDF)
Publisher: ANSELD STORY WORKS, Auckland, N.Z., 2023. Format: viii; 115 p. ; 20 cm.
contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
chapter one
“Oh Elliot... why must it come to this….”
These were the words that now rolled off my tongue nearly every time I caught the slightest glimpse of the Internet. But all I really needed to do was take a peek in the mirror. One look at my outfit, which included the likes of fairy wings, a tutu and a halo…just one look…and it all reminded me of a time when nothing more than posting a random selfie with a PlayStation controller was enough to woo my admirers. (Well, it still was, actually.)
Yet here I was looking like some sort of magical anime girl on drugs. Then again, this whole job description of mine probably wasn’t exactly considered respectable. Honestly, even the Pet Psychic has got to have a better set of credentials than an “Internet Goddess.” Surely a Supreme Gentleman would find all this to be more than a little questionable in taste?
Now believe it or not, I was kind of supposed to be presenting myself to an audience right about now. My excuse? Well, good question. But there was this detailed letter I had just gotten from a young man named ‘Edvin.’ Apart from being all the way up in No Man’s Landville, Sweden, this guy actually bothered to post a picture of himself, and with an incredible description that was loopy enough to span no less than five pages! Without reading a word of it, I just thought of my one and only interaction with him. You see, this frosty albino had been dedicated to my antics for so long that I really had to give him something. As my eyes felt sleepy, I ended up glancing at a new Reddit post that was none other than Edvin’s glowing five-star review of that surely unforgettable little Skype session I happened to have with him.
“Even though she isn’t familiar with the Furry fandom, my Sparklet was truly brought to life!” he wrote. “The way she danced was out of this world; it was like seeing all my dreams flash right before my eyes! And that majestic music; to say that love was in the air would be an understatement!”
Of course, given that this was Edvin, his description of our rendezvous was more excessive than a university thesis, but even a brief squint showed that what he he saw might as well have been from some parallel twilight zone. For one thing, my interpretation of his fuzzy pal from DeviantArt (or wherever it was) mostly consisted of me grooving around with some flappy dog ears. And as for that music he requested... Ahem! Let’s just say that these ‘seductively entrancing’ songs made Weird Al sound like Johnny Cash. One of them, “Hooked on a Feeling,” was literally that tune with those “Ooga-Booga!” chants that made me think of a Tarzan with Special Needs. Now, if I had to pick one thing I actually liked about all this, it would’ve been how I had his voice muted for almost the entire time. Well, at least he didn’t seem to notice, and this allowed me to imagine just who I’d really like to be dancing for….
“Ah, my Gentleman,” I whispered as I slipped out my phone. Yes, once again, I was flicking through all my favorite clips of jolly old Elliot Rodger as he monologued to himself in his amazingly girly voice. I finally blew him a kiss and thought: “Maybe I am doing this for a reason. You never know, maybe the simple sight of the nerdiest girl on the planet dancing to cave-man music in Blue's Clues cosplay might just’ve saved your sorry virgin ass. Or at least someone out there like you....”
So, they call me, “Princess Misaki.” It is a name I crafted and ‘memed’ out into the great bounds of infinite (cyber)space over the course of three spankin’ years; and (big surprise), it all started when I learned about the internet’s most famous sports-car cruising metrosexual virgin terrorist, or at least, the only one with an OkCupid account. Call me crazy, but it really was Elliot Rodger and his hilarious Gentlemanly self that got me out of my long depression. I could just picture this prissy aristocrat boy stomping around his huge marble home (with his shoes making the same clicks that high heels do) as he cries, “BUT HOW CAN LIFE NOT BE FAIR!” Oh, and he would then spend hours fawning over himself in the mirror while trying to figure out how anything could ever be wrong with him. And even though his face was so immaculately perfect, he would add that dash of mascara which might just finally get him some of the ladies’ attention.
But really, if it wasn’t for this mouthy, 1980s yuppie with thousand-dollar shoes--who somehow still couldn’t get laid--I might’ve never been able to deal with the all-out White House-explosion-in-a-disaster-film that was my virginity loss. For no matter how terrible I was made to feel in high school for doing only the very same thing that gets boys inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, it all really came down to that unquestionable faith I had in that sacred entity, “the in crowd.” You know what I’m talking about, the same pea-brained bullies and frighteningly over-tanned bimbos that so many of us semi-autistics fall prey to. Yeah, even if I felt I was as worthless as a used condom in the locker room halls, I would go on to find my simple appearance to be worth more than all the treasures of the known universe. Never could I have imagined that my nerdy bucktoothed self could be some Jessica Rabbit-level babe that anyone without a dear GF could prostrate before. Yup, it seems that all those poor, slumping, earphone-sporting virgins, finally had themselves a wacky little Magical Goddess of the interwebs who could at least make them smile.
Anyway, having said all that, the little livestream which I was supposed to be embarking on—the one when I started dementedly mumbling Oh Elliot—well, that was going superbly nowhere. Really, I was about to let down hundreds (if not thousands) of those who were thirsty and in need. But I just had to (ugh) cancel…
At least I had a backup plan! Or, um...sort of. Basically, a minute or so later, I messaged one of my top lieutenants, and within the time it took to snap my fingers, a one-on-one chat with this loyal knight popped up like magic. Ah, at least one of my sworn defenders would be able to have a nice night, right?
My cyber-buddy “Retrogamerx9” looked at me earnestly through a grainy screen (sheesh, think the first few years of YouTube). He coughed awkwardly, sputtering “Hey, Laurie…s-so…I’m guessing you’re just having another one of “those days”?
“Oh please, pretty-please, can you find it in your heart to forgive me!” I said, making my most ridiculously bubbly faces at him. “I just…well…I think my channel is going in the wrong direction. And there just doesn’t seem to be any way to stop it! My fans…I try so hard to do exactly what they want most. But well…oh come on Gamer, just look at me….”
Retrogamer sifted his long NEET-hair from off his oily-looking face. “You know... I hope I’m not bugging you when I say this,” he said. “But I really do miss how, um, simple your content was back in the day. Like, when you just played Final Fantasy VIII or Super Mario World. I mean, you still did all that other stuff, but it was separate from the channel. And whatever happened to your music?”
“Ah come on, you know I can’t sing! Seriously, those songs were terrible; just hearing all that freaking Auto-Tune makes me wanna jam tampons in my ears!” The two of us then managed to at least have a passable laugh. “But about this whole ‘the way things used to be,’ are you really saying that you don’t like me doing a striptease in the middle of a stream? Or the votes on which lingerie I have on…? Or all those times I pause the game just so that I can tell stupid sex jokes in my Andrew Dice Clay impression?”
As Retrogamer did this “uh-bu-da-ba-ba” stutter that made me think of some old scat-singer, I added, “Hey, I know what you mean. This just isn’t working. Yeah, I think I need to reinvent myself or something... Maybe this “Princess Misaki” is in real need of an early retirement.”
But Retrogamer’s geeky stutters were soon turning into a serious frantic-nerd meltdown. “No! That would seriously be a m-m-mistake!” he said as his over-sized headphones nearly crashed on his keyboard. “Honestly, Princess Misaki is…well she’s e-e-everything to me…. And I can’t even think how many others would be…j-just devastated and….”
“Um, are you sure about that?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Hey, I don’t mean to sound all high and mighty, but I think people just want to see me. And as for this “Princess Misaki” business, well, who actually even wa
Retrogamer now seemed to be at a loss for words. I could hardly tell what was really on his mind, so I continued, “Listen, I’m not sure about anything yet. But maybe have a think about it. Or better yet, try and remember what Misaki was like in the beginning. She wanted you to do your best! She wanted to help you get out of your basement dwelling ways! Just imagine; you’re in your room devouring that whole bag of cheesy poofs, looking at your huge collection of cute Princess Misaki pics, and then she herself barges right in! She steps around all your trash bags and offers you a fresh batch of sushi. BUT you can’t even turn around, because there’s no way you could ever commit the sin of even LOOKING at a non-2D girl.”
Retrogamer fumbled around like an embarrassed old lady. I blew him a kiss. “Okay, I think I might’ve gotten just a bit carried away there. Yeah, changing long-term habits is an incredible thing, and I can’t really act all surprised about why my channel went down this route in the first place. But I must find a way to not just milk my losers! Princess Misaki stands against such deplorable behavior. We should be looking to the stars! We need to clean up our rooms!”
I had just ended the call with Gamer when I found myself getting led by the nose straight downstairs where a simply immaculate dinner was getting prepared by a certain unmistakable someone. “How nice of you to stop by!” I said as I almost thought my very own mother was there to greet me in the kitchen.
But no, standing before me was a big, muscular man in none other than an apron. And he was only four years older than me. But the fact that he was acting like a maid wasn’t even what was so priceless. It was that despite being built like an all-out pro wrestler, he had the most (I dare say) unintimidating face of all time. This was Stevie Reed. And as I twirled over to him, I said, “Gosh, I swear I’ll never believe that whole “serving in Afghanistan” business! Seriously, you’re just a gymcel with a uniform.”
“Thanks Miss… that sounds a whole lot better,” Stevie said, as he flipped over a nicely spiced burger.
He was right. Being a virgin who works out a lot is not quite as unbelievably, deathly-mortifying as serving in the Marine Corps and STILL somehow remaining kissless. Dear Stevie was actually quite a mystery; no matter how pathetic he supposedly was, he had a distinct charm. For one thing, he could sure make me laugh! Laugh even harder than any cutscene in Devil May Cry ever did.
As soon as the meal was neatly dished up on the dinner table, I gave him a firm salute. “OK virgin. How about a day’s report?”
Stevie eagerly set his apron aside and trudged over to the living room with me. As I got comfy on the sofa, he paced around with his hands behind his back as if he were planning a real military strategy.
“Today’s just been like the last few weeks,” he recounted. “Not a single enemy in sight. I don’t think they’re even hiding anymore. But we should still go ahead with that camera operation just to be sure. It would minimize all the scouting I do in the neighborhood by approximately sixty percent. Then I could have more time to finish building that backdoor projectile that would effectively neutralize any unwanted visitors.”
I was just dying of laughter by this point. “Come here Rambo! I’ve got a little gift for you!” Stevie got his big self down into a kneeling position. Although I changed my mind about what I really should’ve “bestowed” upon him, I ended up sneakily crawling over, and well... I sort of just spat right into his face.
“Whoa! Shit!” he said like someone finding bird droppings in their eyes. But the big guy still smiled as if he was in the glory of battle. “Goddamn...there’s nothing like the sweet warmth of a Princess’s drool in the evening!”
“Well, I’m glad you appreciate it!” I assured. “And my boogers (ugh…) and those bits that fly in your face when you watch me floss!”
While Stevie just gave another ‘chivalrous’ bow, I could only cackle more and more, until it practically hurt. “Please…please…! I’m dying here!” I begged with a wheeze. “Look…enough about trying to keep my cute stalkers away. What about where the ‘real’ scene is? You know, the only world that actually seems to matter anymore (duh)?”
“Of course….” Stevie got up and motioned his arms like there was an invisible gun in his hands. “Fucking hell...I wish I had something I could brief you on. But I just don’t think I’m cut out for this shit.”
“Um, what’s so hard about raising hell with my haters?” I asked.
Stevie seemed to be dodging some kind of invisible mortar. “Well, I’m not some fucking expert troll on 4chan,” he replied. “All I can do is trash talk; but fucking hell are there a lot of bitches trying to screw with you these days! There was even this cunt who just released a video on her YouTube channel about how you’re in ‘love with murderers’ and ‘promote hate’ or some bullshit.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I said, stretching out. “Oh bother, those ‘blue-checkmarks’ sure must be having a little meltdown over that latest Elliot ‘fanfic’ I made...”
Stevie just continued to spill his troubles. “Yeah, it’s really fucking hard for me…. Every time I look at all this stuff, it just reminds me what everything’s like without, well…without you. It’s like for every wonderful Princess Misaki there’s at least ten million of these money grubbing Findom skanks.”
“But am I really that different?” I asked. “Think about it. Where do you think I got the money for this lovely house? And do I go to work? Do I even study? All I really do is play video games and react to the latest Attack on Titan episodes.”
“No. Hell no. There…there is a world of difference. You’re not even in the same fuckin’ dimension as them,” Stevie assured. But just the look in his eyes spoke to me. Soon, he added, “You’re kind...You actually care about others. Most people just pretend that they do.”
“Well…thanks but….” I said, pausing. My heart strings could’ve very well been getting tugged here. “I thank you Stevie, my Veterancel. You really are a trooper for sticking by me like this.”
Stevie went from reminding me of somebody cool enough to be posing with the Blues Brothers, to just looking like a fawning little teacher’s pet. But I slid up and stood by him. “You know what? I think it’s about time I had a look at my hate mail for a change. After dinner, how about a nice…foot massage?”
Predictably, Stevie melted about as subtly as some nose-bleeding nerd in an anime. Eventually, I just stood on my tippy-toes and whispered: “You work for me. You serve me. You listen to my music. (Even though it sucks!) Gosh, your whole life is just me…! Me, me, me, me, me, me ME! But of course you do. After all, I’m…your angel. Never forget that!”
chapter two
With a mighty fine dinner filling me up, I prepared for a nice relaxing evening full of memorable arguments on the Internet. And the mood was perfect: an early episode of Pokemon played on my old TV, it was raining outside, and my feet were in heaven. I also liked how I only needed to use my eyes to get old Stevie doing things exactly how I wanted. The entire time he was in my room, he didn’t make even the slightest cough. And with that ski-mask, it was like the big dummy wasn’t even there.
“Oh Elliot, just what is all this?” I groaned as I looked across all sorts of new messages in my (anti)social media accounts. “Wait…did freaking 4chan pull this off?”
I knew something fishy was up with just the sheer amount of flaming going on in what could only be described as “Gamergate” in style. But after taking a gander at some of these rage-posts, I came across a little more than the usual piles of misspelt curse words. There were in fact repeated references to a certain someone by the handle of “Mistress Nari”. One especially delightful comment read, “U STUPID FUCKING CUNT! NARI IS THE GODDESS OF ALL. GET DOWN ON UR KNEES AND SERVE THE REEEAAL MISTRESS!”
