Oh what a tangled web we weave,
when we develop deep emotional bonds to inanimate objects that
can’t breathe.
A thick and
sticky
cyclone of pearly-white petroleum floods Hava’s
porcelain face at OPEC speeds before spreading out evenly like
pancake batter inside of a hot frying pan. “I love you,” says Moshe Rabenowicz to Hava with a
noticeable
tremble in his voice. He’s firmly holding his limp
sausage, which
leaks a
peculiar cream of wheat for his plastic paradise pot.
Streams of GMO
Shekinah slime trickle down Hava’s white
cheeks like
liquefied dope fiends descending into the heights of heroin-induced nods. Alchemical
ecstasy. Elusive secrets of the ooze. Hava the sex robot is
propped up on a chair with a micro-chipped black cube
strapped to her silicone forehead.
“You may now kiss the bride,”
says Father Zadyk, an imposing old white man who resembles Albert Pike in dark
shades. Moshe leans in towards Hava’s cold, wet face. His mouth is
immediately covered in his own nut butter as his cold lips
meet hers.
“It was written in The Holy
Book of War Wonders that Azmodu, The Stubborn Angel, refused
to prostate between the legs of the sex robot that
the Artillect had manufactured specifically for him,” says Zadyk in a dronish
autotune voice while standing behind Moshe, the groom. “Azmodu angrily
protested that his lovely bride was not real a woman, but a supple,
lifeless
mannequin without an ounce of soul in
her circuit board. As she lay naked on his prayer mat in
divine radiance, Azmodu kicked her away in sanctimonious
defiance, saying that she was merely a hollow silicone body
who was inferior to him in every way.
Azmodu refused to place his flaming
rod inside of his precious bride to charge her aquaferic
batteries with his waters of life. He cried
for the love of Lilith, a real woman with real emotions made
of flesh, blood, and bone. As a result, the
Artillect banished
Azmodu
from Megatropolis for his stubbornness and he was never heard from
again.
You Moshe, have taken a mighty step
forward in your evolution as a child of the Artillect. You
have obeyed the will of the glorious taskmaster who
governs all humanity, and have thereby averted
the perilous fate of the Fallen One. May you and your beautiful wife live in
peace, tranquility, and eternal silence.”
Moshe, still holding his puny
pud in his hands, with his pants around his ankles
turns his head back to crack a smile at Father Zadyk. “Mazel Tov” he says with a
hesitant laugh. Father Zadyk responds
by erupting into
immediate laughter. His autotune voice reverberates though the
candle-lit boxed room covered
in black paint.
I turn away from the bowl of water. I
have seen enough. That was a potential scene
from Crown Heights, Brooklyn on September 23, 2037. It’s just
a
sobering slice from a larger pie of dystopian reality embraced by most
Americans—Black men, white men, Jews and gentiles.
Together, you and I, men
and women, have failed our own humanity. We
chose to be worshiped and adored behind the safety and
anonymity of the Black Mirrors in our pockets instead of embracing the joys
and challenges that come with heart-to-heart
relationships between our sentient counterparts in the real world.
At the peak of our narcissism, mixed with deep
social anxiety, some women prefer the convenience of firm,
decisive
dildos over
respectable men who assert their will. Men chose
the utility of lush sex dolls over the multilayered complexity of organic women
with feelings, wants, and requirements. Our reasoning?
Why experience heartbreak,
disappointment, and vulnerability when we can climax in the
safety of total anonymity, free of all confrontation from the intense forces of Life. We’ve
given
up on the human experiment which challenges us to accumulate authentic experiences.
The robo-thot is an Artificial mental
projection of erotic fulfillment through human imagination. Your
perception that the thot bot truly loves you, knows what’s best for you, or
is even thinking of you, is entirely based on your
personal
faith—not empirical evidence and direct personal experience.
The bot’s ability to answer your
erotic prayers are more of a reflection of your emotional investment in the
fake convenience that it provides, than
it is an indication of its ability to deliver anything to you that is tangible
and real. Thot bots are hot commodities in the global
marketplace; magical fetishes for the delusional fulfillment of men who’ve
gone their own way.
You shoot your load in one for a
temporary emotional release and forget about them when you don’t need them. Man’s
relationship with technologically
enhanced sex dolls are a thematic
extension of his superficial relationship with the gods of his culture. There’s an excitement to take from those who answer your prayers, with no desire to give back to the entity who answers the prayers. Sex dolls are gods,
because all of your gods were sex dolls from the begining.
Buy my book at: www.mindglowbooks.comwww.mindglowbooks.com
Buy my book at: www.mindglowbooks.comwww.mindglowbooks.com