I am not a web-game player, or a blogger—two Internet pastimes that just never hooked me (and I know I’ll pay for the blogger thing, but I just get so bored reading everyone else’s opinions—put it in a diary already). But I did stumble across a game site some years back that seemed like a kitschy throwback to days gone by, and it didn’t include toting any AK- 47s or tricking on superior skateboards.
Sissyfight is exactly that—a bunch of girls tattling, scratching, grabbing and teasing one another on a junior high school playground. First you create your little brat—pick her hair and color, her expression and skin tone, and her name. My minx is named Nellie. You gotta pick those kinds of names, I think, just to get into the spirit of the thing, though one girl was named Sexy Tits, which made me want to tattle on her potty mouth right away.
Then you choose the school you’d like to be taunted and traumatized at (I wonder if the girls and boys who play this game really were the ones who got trashcanned in their youth and now seek cyber revenge, because these kids can be mean)—and the game begins, all set to a constant soundtrack of girls talking over one another, as if there were any other way for them to talk.
When I dropped by Sweet Sunny Angel Valley Middle School today, I immediately threw down with Jordanuh—who hated me calling her Jordan (“It’s with an ‘a’ at the end!” she whined), which, of course, made me call her Jordan repeatedly. I scratched and tattled my ass off—and licked my lolly to stay out of a scrap—effectively kicking their little training bra asses. Then they booted me—sore losers—and I had to switch playgrounds and lost my own prissy pants when everyone ganged up on me, I think, merely because of my unfortunate name (and isn’t that just like a bunch of junior highers?). But maybe I’m just retarded—even for a game like this—because our production designer Steven tried it for the first time as a little skank named BitchMaster, and won two games in a row without a mark on him. I’ll be waiting for him at the bike rack the next time he logs on.
It’s not as simple as it sounds, of course—there is strategy to sissyfighting. Deciding whom to align with (you need one or more girls on your side to effectively tease) is tricky, and then turning on them at just the right moment so that you emerge victorious is the Napoleonic stuff requiring risk and perfect timing. Yes, it’s like all of those reality show competitions you claim not to watch, and Sissyfight debuted the same year as its sort-of TV counterpart, Survivor—alliances and overflowing nastiness abound. Just make sure you read the Honor Code, or you will most definitely get wedgied by the whole school, adding one more snapshot of humiliation to your wretched prepubescent memory bank. (Stacy Davies)