There's very little worse than being part of a trapped audience. For example, in his book the Girl on the Boat, Wodehouse notes that:

Ships' concerts are given in aid of the Seamen's Orphans and Widows, and, after one has been present at a few of them, one seems to feel that any right-thinking orphan or widow would rather jog along and take a chance of starvation than be the innocent cause of such things. They open with a long speech from the master of the ceremonies - so long, as a rule, that it is only the thought of what is going to happen afterwards that enables the audience to bear it with fortitude. This done, the amateur talent is unleashed, and the grim work begins.

When there's no competition for an audience, things get ugly. No danger of that on the web, a constant seething roiling battle for attention. That's a bit of a shame, because I'm intrigued by a vision of every online session on the internet beginning with a long speech from the Master of Ceremonies. Who could be the web's MC be? Maybe the very reverent Dr. Rev. Google, dressed up in a natty tux:

Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to the internet. We've prepared a wonderful web for you tonight, full of juicy Web 2.0 goodness. But before we get down to your actual search, we'd like to first mention some notices about events and happenings on the Good Ship Google. Ms. Blogger, our esteemed entertainments chair, has kindly condescended to organize...

Etc etc. Ok, it would be excruciating. But think of the poor Seamen...