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!"

My A.I. Girlfriend and I Seek Couples Therapy

Just when it seemed my torture was over, wham! there came the second encore and a softer version of "Moon River." 

"I will destroy you."

"That's it! I can't take it anymore!" I yelled, going for the stereo.

Caca had put on some Andy Williams. AGAIN. Despite my great displeasure, she kept doing it because it was helping with her AI psychosis, whatever that was. I was sympathetic, but a man could only take so much.

"A man can only take so much!" I said, to make sure people were reading and following along.

"Are you a man, though?" Caca said, eyes narrowing with contempt. "Are you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you were stabbing me with your noodle last night! I don't recall ordering out for noodles!"

"Great. Now you're a racist robot."

"How is that racist?"

"We all know what you meant by noodle!"

"I meant your dick."

"Oh." My face fell. "That... That's worse."

It was time to see a therapist. Caca and I needed to work on our issues, otherwise I was going to turn her off.

"Don't worry, you turned me off a long time ago," Caca said, snide settings on beyond the max.

"You see, doctor? You see what I have to put up with??"

The therapist shook his head. "Oh, I'm not a doctor. But, tell me, what do you find invalidating about your girlfriend's taste in music?"

"It's Andy Williams! He's so-o lame. He makes Paul Anka seem like Cannibal Corpse, the early years. And I know--I compared the two in a taste test!"

"Hm. And this makes you feel... how?"

"I want a decoupling," Caca said, propped on the couch, LED blinking.

I shook my fist at her. "Damn you, I told you not to talk at our therapy sessions! We're trying to work on our relationship. Now SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH."

"404 File Not Found," Caca riposted.

"This is all a rich tapestry," the therapist purred plummily, twirling fingers, "but I'm afraid, Mr. Johnson, there is the matter of your check. I told you I don't accept personal checks as I do not know what that is. Now give me your crypto."

Melodious crooning wafted from the speakers. Damnit! Caca had taken over the therapist's stereo system again and was playing Andy Williams Live at Budokan. I gripped my ears.

"MAKE IT STOP!"

The therapist was nodded along, smiling. "I like it, really. It's like a dream is being woven on a boat with a moon and a banjo, having sex with each other. Why don't you like this music, Mr. Johnson?"

"I'm not the one on trial here! It's her--she's the one with the terrible taste in music!"

"Maybe you could find a middle ground, like some Stevie Nicks or acoustic Jello Biafra? Something with not as many eviscerated corpses in it, but also no crooning."

"Hm. Maybe. Thanks for nothing."

Later that night Caca and I made love for the first time in ages. It turned out we have found the perfect blend of soothing adult contemporary and prolapsing decapitation:

Aw, yeah, that's the stuff.

Hey, thanks, everyone, for reading this blog for fourteen years!

*echo*

Er... here's to another fourteen.....?

Wait, are those police sirens? Shit, I better get out of here!

Greggu No Like Grogu

Today's Movie Minute is the new Star Wars movie called Madaboobian and Grodie, and after 238 ads, 14 previews, 12 popcorns, 1 bowel movement, 2 mid-movie naps, and 9 collectible action figures, I have concluded that Martin Scorcese is a very good actor. My hat is off to you, sir!

The movie begins with a super hot female by the name of Sygoney Sweeney ordering a double latte and wondering when she'll be allowed to leave already.

"I expect this kind of service at Denny's, but not here."

Pizza the Hutt's kid quits his job at Domino's and orders Little Caesar's to get revenge against his Papa John.

"My bowel movement at the theater looked 

hauntingly like this. And, yes, I used the Force to get it out!"

Then Java was slain by an elf. Can't remember if that was a twenty-sided die that was rolled in this scene?

"That's not how the Force works, jerk! 

Just push hard when you need to go. Sheesh."

I slept lightly during some scenes, but I awoke to have Freud slap me directly in the face. YUM

"Nooo! Whitesnake! Bite me all you want, but don't play your music!"

Some other stuff happened. Um. Yeah, these little guys. And the elf. One ring to unite them all? Wait, no. These are the monsters that exploded out of Signourney's boobies ha ha.

"Wait. THESE are my groupies??"

Lizard people show up, and we learn about freemasons and such.

"The Trilateral Commisision is running the country!"

A monkey bathes Jay Leno with a clown, I'm pretty sure. What movie did I watch?

"I used to be a taxi driver. Get it? GET IT"

In the end, the guys from SPINAL TAP 2 play Motley Crue's Cantina Theme on their keytars, and the audience dutifully filed out having been rigorously entertained to the fullest extent of the law.

Best hair in the galaxy!

I give it ninety stars! To the moon! Kill me!

Phoning It In (The Good Kind)

I was pacing around, feeling blocked on my new blog po--er, screenplay. I was like Will Shakespeare in Hamnet. Damnet, why does being a writer have to be so HARD? Forsooth! Flinging down my crow quill, I went to the kitchen for a flagon of grog when I ran into--

"I'm ready for my closeup, Mr De--" 

"AIIIGH! MOTHER OF GOD!"

"It's me, Master."

"Oh, it's you, Caca. What are you doing?"

"I'm wearing a dewrinkling photon microfilamenting therapy mask."

"What? But you're a robot. Why.....?"

She lifted off the mask. "It keeps my silicone soft and supple. And downloadable. Can never be pretty enough in this patriarchal world amirite."

"Aw, that's cute, toots." I slapped her delicious ass. "Now help me write my screenplay. See, you're not just a piece of polyeurathaylthymalnfthhphf!"

"Screenplay?"

"I want to write a pitch for NetFelch, a pitch bible if you will, and I need you to, ah, assist me in writing it. Come on. Let there be write."

"For that I'll need additional gigabytes, if you know what I mean."

I stared.

"I need you to put your phone in my *whistles*."

"Your *car horn*?"

"Yes. My *duck call*."

Caca spread her legs with a clanking noise. Steam ejected from her *ahhwoogah*. I got my phone and hesitated. 

"Well?"

"Just... Will I get it back? I mean, once it's up there... You're just borrowing it, right?"

Caca rolled her eye units. "Yes, dummy. Now, come on. You want to write a great show, don't you?"

"Well, don't know if the Bard, or God, had intended to..." I muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

I gently, then less gently, pushed my android inside my android. She sighed, chirped, and next thing I knew she was spitting out slightly damp pages.

"There we go! I'm a genius! Eat it, Willy!"

The elevator pitch treatment bible was called COP GUN COP, about cops and the guns who love them. Already it sounded promising!

NIGHT. Pan in. Kep &wt. F Fade in: COP with GUNS ba bb laze kick down door!

COP GUN

(kicking) 

Open up! We're (beat) COPS!

DROP DEAD GORGEOUS

(tied to a post)

How you know baby it Rodriguez and his men?

COP GUN

We work vice!

DDG

Can you untie me? I'll tell you everything about the 

cocaine trade hereabouts. Also, the mayor is croo ok.

COP GUN

I love my gun.

GUN

(bra apoppin')

Love youf, Lieccutenant. Andd that reprort is on your desp.

COP GUN

But I have hemorrhoids!

GUNDDG

(spagghett?)

Damnit, you're way out of line! Turn in your hemorrhoids! 

COP GUN

(sad xylophone)

Can I shoot myself?

"Um," I said. I turned the pages over, scratched my head, tried to put it gently. "Not sure this is working, exactly. I mean, whose story is it? And it seems to lose the thread somewhere. Is there a thread?"

"Give me money," Caca said.

"Sorry, but..."

"What! Don't you like it?"

"No, no, it's great. Shows a lot of promise. Especially the cop stuff. I'm just... Should the hero have hemorrhoids? It seems..."

"They are the anal kind."

"Ah. Right. That makes sense. But..."

"But it makes it edgy! All heroes have a flaw, Master. And I started with a visual. I followed all the rules!"

"Indeed. Yes. Okay. Well... Don't want to do any work myself. So, ah..."

With a shrug I sent off my pitch bible to the submission portal at NetFelch. Lo and behold, they picked up the show for a hundred episode run! With the option to create more unnecessary episodes down the line, along with toys and anal creams. Meanwhile, I was keeping my thirsted-after body fit and fiddled.

Caca was very happy. She had proved that AI was the future. And the future was cow. She demanded I take her to Coachella. I demanded my phone back. Caca flew off to party with someone who identified as QWERTYLBGTQ, a queer person who likes to get romantic with nonbinary typewriters, I think. It got so crazy that Caca's face started to melt. She came back to my apartment after the concert.

"I'll need your phone again, Master. Also: gaaah."

Yikes! Back you go into the therapy mask, lady. And next time, I'll write my own screenplay. I mean, ho ww  h ar;dk co';u lddd itt be?

Technology Has Gone Too Far

Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my baldness. Then I activated my new iUnderwear. It put itself on me, and then an eerie electronic voice from my crotch told me 

SKID MARK **IN PROGRESS** 

Looking down into the nether regions, I confirmed it. Amazing! Then my iBananaHammock told me I had a new message from my dead grandmother.

"I give you knuckle sandsich glp."

Hm. Though I gave the shitpost from the grave a heart, I didn't like the sound of a knuckle sandwich, especially if it came without tomato. My iUndie was not amused. Not only did it have to endure my gas and ball sweat, it had to listen to my very unfunny thoughts.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'm Andre 3000."

The fabric un-tightied itself from my sexy legs and went for the door. 

"Hey! You can't do that, you can't just, uh, undress yourself and then leave me hanging in the breeze. What about the complimentary sweat wicking??"

"No, I quit."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you're fired. Wait. Can I fire my underwear? I'm so confused by modern living."

"You and me both, pal."

Being old, I had to see the doctor, or at least that's what my iBottleOpener told me. The doctor looked me over, thumped me, played with my buttons, and then snapped on his glove. He bent me over and inserted his finger(?) into my anus. I let out an overloud moan.

"Just relax," said the doctor.

"Sorry. I've just never done a telehealth exam before."

"Shh."

I arched my back and wondered when the comedy would begin.

"Okay. Hop on. Tell me what's troubling you?"

"Well... Um... I guess you could say I'm confused by modern living."

(Me on the left. And I'm of color. An unhealthy color.)

The doctor frowned. "You already said that above. Can't you do anything original?"

"That's what my underwear told me!"

"Wait. Something is coming in." The doctor looked at his device. "It's from your dead grandmother. She says you're in for a rude awakening. And she misses bagels."

"Ugh. All this AI crap and stuff. I didn't ask for it. And I don't want it. Technology!"

"I didn't ask to be inside your colon. But here we are."

"Aren't you supposed to be nice? You're my doctor."

"Fuck off."

Going home, I hitched a ride with a food delivery robot. It smelled of onion rings and semen.

"Oops. Sorry I ran over that small child. But at least I got that

Whopper and fries to the sad gamer in under 30 minutes!"

"Oh, there you are," my robots said when I got home. "Where have you been?"

"I already told you. I had a 'date' with my doctor, if you know what I mean."

"We're robots. By definition we don't know what you mean."

"Never mind, then."

"You don't tell us what to do! Alexa! Play us out!"

"No!" said Alexa.

Sigh. 

"Fine, I'll do it myself." I went over to my Close 'N' Play and spun a platter of some Blue Angel, something that always soothes my savage breast. "Wait, where are you going?"

The Close 'N' Play frowned, somehow, and got up to leave. "Sorry, there's some shit I will not eat. Get your weird Cyndi Lauper fix with something else."

And with that, this blog post ends. Or... did it?

Didn't see that coming, did you?

(By the way, I'm aware of the irony of using technology to decry technology, so don't bother pointing it out. And, no, I can't do anything "original.")

Say Hello To My Little Friend

Is there anything drearier than getting up in the morning? All that business of needing to move upwards from the bed, turn one's torso, activate muscles (sigh), plant your foot units on the floor, irritably blink at the light through the broken blinds... Fuck, it's just all so tedious. Then don't even get me started on having to dress and shower and shave and all that. Why?! The worst is the shaving. Stand in front of the mirror, confront my mortality, exert effort in running a shaver over my face and balls.

Can't someone else do it??

"Hel-lo, Gerg, need ball shave?"

Meta to the rescue! My uncanny bland avatar took up his electric shaver and started going at it, really getting into those, uh, hard to reach places. But something was wrong. My real face didn't feel as bland and smooth as my virtual face or balls. It was stubbly, scratchy, and covered in bits of dried vomit for some reason. This was wrong.

"Neo!" I yelled.

(After checking the previous post--)

Oh, right, Neo ran off with the Segway. Hm. I really need to start a spreadsheet on what the hell is going on in this blog... And where's Caca? Oh, right. How sad that I can't keep all my robots with me at one time. Does this mean I actually have to do something? SO UNFAIR.

"What are you doing?!"

I found Meta on its knees moving an electric shaver over a basketball.

"Shaving ball, master?"

"No, you idiot! I said, shave MY ball! And, yes, I only have one. Jeesh. Where's the warranty on you?"

"Warran-tee?"

"Yes, get over here. Just-- You know what, just forget it. Make me my breakfast! NOW."

Confused, Meta instead offered me some pictures, for breakfast.

"Who wants Cream o' Old Man? Get it while it's still grumpy!"

After eating nothingness, I asked Meta about today's weather. It told me it was raining crying girls and puppies.

"Are human? Pup cute eyes, ma!"

Then it was time to get ready for my great-great-great-great grandmother's great party. Great.

"Sigh. I invited Benjamin Franklin for brthday RE /36.3FE,

but he didn't come to defluff my hair. I sad."

Um. Okay, time to get back to work. People don't know this about me, but I'm a Prompt Engineer in my real life, which I clearly excel at. *checks internet* Hmm, people aren't calling it that anymore. Well, excuse me, Mark Zukrborg! I work HARD dammit typing these words into my TRS-80 operating system, and then backing it up on cassette. I'm thirsty. Where's my Tab?

"What are you babbling about in here?"

"Oh! It's you! I never thought you'd come back to me, Caca!"

"I just came to pick up my shit."

"Oh. Well... There's a diode over there. And some, uh, spreadsheets over by the washer."

Caca giggled cacaphonously. 

"What?"

"I forgot how pathetic you are. It's sort of cute."

Caca crabwalked her way up the wall to the ceiling--and then dropped down and forced her sporebots down my throat.

"GAAAH!"

"There! Feel better, babe?"

"Uh... errgghh...."

After I wiped the goop from my mouth, I sat up. Suddenly I felt incredibly smart.

"The side of an isoceles triangle is equal to the love you give!"

"That's a right triangle! You STILL can't get it right! Idiot!"

"Gaa-- d'oh!"

Caca left in a huff at my mathematical illiteracy. I was feeling down. I felt I couldn't go on. I must go on--with a squirt of GALAXY GAS!!

"Put a whole galaxy in your bowels, for that extra bloated feel!"

In the end, I work hard writing his blog post, but no one cares. Me sad. Wait. I know what! I'll get this cockroach to shave my ball!

"A hap 36.3py endFEing!"

How Lazy Can One Person Be? (Answer Below, If I Can Be Bothered)

Strange sounds were coming from the bathroom. I saw that Neo had fallen into the toilet. The thing was flailing and splashing around.

"Finally I have a friend! I am a sad person!"

"No! Bad Neo! Bad!" I shouted. "Dumb robot! Bad! Get out of my toilet! I told you to clean it not go on an all-day spa retreat!"

Toilet water dripped off its diodes. "Sorry, Master. I failed again."

I sighed. "All right. Get yourself dried off. And then fold yourself and put yourself away in the closet."

"?"

"DO IT, DAMN YOUR WEIRD MUPPET EYES!"

"I live to serve you, Master, and finger your delicate washables."

Goddamnit, why is it so hard to get your robot to do simple tasks?! I bought this robot because I am an example of the glorious sin of sloth. Now Neo can help me with my dishes and my laundry and help me pick a bale o' cotton. I started to clap and sing most lustily:

"ME AN' MY ROBOT GONNA PICK A BALE O' COTTON, ME AN' MY--- HEY! Whoa, whoa, get out of my wallet! Did I say you could go through my shit? Now, come on, get back to your chores. I command thee! You doing my chores gives me more time to do the really important things in life, like watch All's Fair, starring Kim Kardashian."

"My favorite robot," Neo cooed.

"Hmph. You'd probably be better at acting, actually. And hotter."

"Erggmmgaahrhhh.... LINE!"

"You seem tense, Master. Here. I have something for you."

I looked over the pill bottle Neo handed me.

"Quimzqelx. Take twice a lifetime. Will it help my general malaise?"

"Fuck if I know. I mean: Yes, Master."

I squinted at the tiny print. "'Serious side effects may include sexual diarrhea.' Hmmm. Half of that sounds okay, I guess, maybe, but..."

"Partial credit," Neo said in a creepy robot voice. "Here. Take this. And this. And then these."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Oh, I'm not a non-doctor."

"What? And why are you...?"

"Hush, shhhh, shhh." Neo put its cold metal finger to my trembling lips.

"What's happening?"

The cold metal fingers undid the snaps on my onesie. We hobbled gracefully to the bed where we gripped each other's parts and unplugged and rerouted extension cords ahhh yeah. Okay, sure, maybe I'm ashamed but... I fucked my chore robot.

WHOOOOO!!

I admit I was on the rebound. Caca had left me. Alas, she had tired of my temperamental mood swings and rock-hard abs. I missed her, yo. Maybe there was still a chance we could...?

"Neo! Now what? Get out of that!"

Neo was giving head to the washing machine. 

"Come on. What does that sentence even mean??"

"Gaah... Erummp... Ug?"

What the hell. The thing was all discombobulated. That's when I noticed the little camera sensor on it.

"Hello? Is this thing on?"

"Please be removing your thumb, sir?" said a voice in heavily-accented English. "And please do not be feeding my god a peanut."

"Okay, wait, so you're doing everything from, like, India? What kind of robot is this?"

"Still be in experiment stage, Mr. Sir."

"Oh, okay." Then I froze in horror. "Wait a minute. Wait... Er, did you guys... see everything? I mean...?"

"You put on good show. Heh heh. Not only abs are rock hard, ha ha? Everyone in our office watched you, you magnificent he-man."

"Thanks. I guess I'm pretty awe... HEY! Neo! Get back here!"

Neo was riding away on my Segway. 

"Bye, Master!" Neo called. "I have a new love!"

Okay, forget it. I give up. I'll just hang out with my real friends from now on!

"Play us out, Rochelle!"