Deep in his subterranean lair, James Smith dims the lights, puts on some soft music (think “The Girl from Ipanema”), and treats himself to another evening of his favorite pastime.
An outside observer might classify the activity as having a sexual component, given that James maintains an erection throughout the proceedings, but if you have any grasp of the number of living, breathing women that he has gone to bed with, it might make you think twice.
However, the fact that this undertaking takes place in an online chat room may give more credence to the theory that it’s carnal in nature, but try to withhold judgment until you’ve heard exactly what’s going on in the aforementioned lair. A lair I will not describe due to the fact that it will not help you keep an open mind regarding the events unfolding on and around his computer. I’m just going to mention mahogany paneling and leave it at that.
What is it that has a Senior Social Affairs Officer at the United Nations sporting a boner for hours on end?
The simple answer: he’s talking with women in an adult chat room.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on... There are some additional details you’ll need before jumping to any conclusions.
First of all, it can’t be just any online chat room. It has to be a room that has an international clientele and, most importantly, it needs users to identify their country of origin by a little flag next to their names.
Why is that important?
Because it allows him to introduce himself and misidentify the country they live in. For example: “Hello, Christa. I love Swiss girls,” when the little flag sitting next to her name is clearly from Norway. Most of the time, they will simply ignore him, but every so often, one will reply expressing outrage that he doesn’t know which country she lives in.
And that’s what gets him hard. Indignation.
That’s what starts the dance.
“What does it matter?” he will ask. “There are like ten countries in the world that matter; the rest are just tourist destinations. If they’re lucky.”
If she engages, he will happily spend the next hour feeding into her perception that he is a “typical” American.
“What are you known for? Your chocolate? Your scenic fjords? Are you where the walking sleeping bag was invented?” he will inquire, feigning interest in the most condescending way he can.
The angrier she gets, the more he enjoys it.
Occasionally, he will stumble onto a girl who agrees with his assessment of her country and will plead with him to bring her to America.
“What a turnoff,” he usually replies and then spends a few minutes making fun of her country’s flag. “It looks like it was made from the discarded pieces of real flags.” Though the website’s chat box does not allow words to be italicized, which is probably for the best. If he had italics in his arsenal, they would have lifted some of his replies to such dizzying heights, he would have exploded in his boxer shorts on a number of occasions.
At his fingertips lies information regarding GNP and economic forecasts for every country on the globe. Rarely does it come to that, but he finds comfort in having the data.
There are certain conversations so satisfying that the next day when he reports to work, there is a rustling in his pants as he passes underneath a particular flag.
So, yeah, in retrospect, it’s probably some sort of sexual thing.
And, for the record, James knows that Ipanema is a neighborhood located in the South Zone of the city of Rio de Janeiro, between Leblon and Arpoador.