I Feel Like Burgers Tonight

"Of course, just blame A.I. for everything," Caca humphed. "But let's ignore the fact that you don't know how to be a MAN! Also, you're lousy in the sack."

"I crush you."

"Thanks for the pushback," I said. "You are really brilliant. Thank you. And please."

Caca and I were back at the therapist, doing some role play. (Originally we had played with rolls, but decided they were making us too hungry.) My roll was to pretend to be made of Nvidia chips and meme coins, while Caca was brilliantly bringing to life a typically crazy human woman. So far it was going great.

"This terrible," Caca said, speaking for some reason with a Bulgarian accent. "I am how you say sorry. He keep go in and out character. Who am I suppose to be, I ask? And this man? A, how you say, pussy?"

"That's good," the therapist purred. "Real good. That means it's working!"

"WHAT'S working??"

"Listen," I said, tears trembling, "I feel that when you talk to me that way, that you aren't really validating my periods."

"I rip off you balls, yes? and feed them at you one by one like grape at Roman orgy!"

I smiled indulgently. "I only have two, my dear. Last I checked."

"Hiiaeee-yeah!" she karated-chopped me in retort.

"Oww!" I clutched my head and ran behind the therapist, balls trembling. "Bitches be crazy. Am I right?"

"Please get away from me."

Around and around the therapy session went, both of us trying to find that subroutine spark again that would lift our artificial love up to where it belonged in java script.

"Come on, baby. Let's stop this silliness and admit you're wrong. And then we can go home to get a home-cooked meal from you. I feel like burgers tonight."

The therapist called time. This was getting us nowhere. Also, there was the matter of an uncleared check for the previous session. Caca and I fled the office. In the Waymo home, we cut off another Waymo. It actually honked at us, and then raised a metal finger.

I looked around, outraged. "Did you see that robot give us the finger? Driver, have that driver executed immediately."

There was no answer. That's when I realized I was alone on a planet with no one but robots. Were there any humans left? Was I the only one on the whole goddamn planet??

"Damn you all to hell! You humans caused all this damn irony!!"

Then I got my idea. Instead of going to New York to see the Statue of Liberty in order to confirm that we weren't on a planet of apes--hear me out--maybe instead we could go to Las Vegas! 

"Doesn't that sound good? We could renew our vows!"

"We never marry first time," Caca said with Slavic aridity.

"That's what makes this so special, don't you see? We could go to one of those romantic chapels and have some sleazy Elvis impersonator marry us. The kitsch value would be lowkey slapping. But first you have to convince me that you're actually a robot and not some creep remoting in from the Philippines. Think of it as a reverse Turing Test."

"What?"

"Spell 'strawberry.'"

"S-t-a-w-b-e-r-r-r-r-r-r-y."

Story checks out.

"Now, tell me, what is our first memory together?"

"That was when you held our baby for the first time. And I asked you if you were the father, and you said you weren't sure and then we went out for a night of dancing and burgers, and then I asked you to never speak to me again. In that order."

"Ha ha," I said softly. I wiped at a tear. "Yeah. Ha ha. That's us."

Convinced we were soullessmates, we jetted off for a weekend in Las freakin' Vegas!

"Chemo cancer is kicking my ass ha ha."

Unfortunately, like a caterpillar or traffic light, Las Vegas has really changed, man. Where were the nickel slots? Where were the nickel sluts? Just lots of bland corporate entertainment that likely turns a robust quarterly profit, but where was the sleaze??

Finally, I stopped before a magnificent piece of art. It gave us the perfect view! So it was there that Caca and I exchanged vows and silicon fluid. It was beautiful.

"Stay assy, Vegas!"