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!