So this weekend I took some time out of my beer drinking (I switched to gin) to do one last Caught on Chatroulette. At the time, I held out hope that I could save this sinking ship, but alas, I was incorrect as usual. I spent a full hour on Chatroulette, and it was more of a self-flagellation than research on a story. To spout the details of the experiences my tenacity forced me to toil with would only further my embarrassment and present a total for which to assign the amount of penises I have seen online since March. So for my own sanity, I give to you: Chatroulette Is Dead: A Celebrity Obituary.
In March, when I started Caught on Chatroulette, I thought I hit a virtual oil well of posts that would last for generations of Sugar Shack Southie instances. However, somewhere shortly thereafter, that oil well sprung a leak deep within the ones and zeros of the Internet’s vast ocean. Until this point, the barrier of courtesy between mainstream social networking and burgeoning Internet porn technology remained relatively unmolested. However, Chatroulette has now become the abandoned bath house of Web 2.0. A place where people could once share their ideas on a sunny day has now turned into a shady hangout for anonymous men and their penises. Every time you see a kid around, you shout out, “Hey! Get away from there! It’s not safe anymore! You need an adult!”