Droids Invade Love

No one is safe from marketing’s entrancing tentacle reach.

PART I

I was there when the electricity first coursed through her veins. It sprung and bounded around the room, and between and around all of us. Oh, her eyes! I watched as they scanned the room diligently, and I heard the faint buzzes from unseen mechanics. Her skin was pulled tight over her perfectly cut legs and arms and body, and the finishing touches were being made. This was before the corporations and the ad agencies and the mother and the father, and the scholastics and the professors at the University of Massachusetts and the investors and everyone else got involved. Years of technical research, development, life, death, naysayers, black rock thumpers and devourers of all, all doubted us. They rest assured in the notion that the project has been completed, but the implications remain to be seen.

For naked she sat stark on the plasticine table while men in white masks and white hats made the finishing touches and finalizing drill marks and cuts as Sigmund and I calibrated speech patterns and the emergency override switches for the final time from an opening in the back of her cranium. When we had finished the task, I turned to him.

“Sigmund,” I said, “Please give me one last moment of time with her.”

He placed his hand firmly on my shoulder before making his way towards the door and taking the white-hatted white-masked technician with him, leaving me in a sweet solitude with no one but her. My head hung low before her beauty. She was of nothing and of no one. She was the first of her kind on the table as unaware as a newborn. And existing for only a single purpose. My hand met with her cheek, and I stared into her lifeless eyes.

“You will soon exist. You will soon be thrust into this unforgiving world. A nauseating world, full of criminals and hell and work and time. Oh by god… time. You are lucky. It never ceases, you are lucky… And you will never know.”

A tear sprung from the well behind his cheek.

He said to his creation, “I hope your ducts will work as well as mine…”

Overcome with ardor, he lunged at her hairless head, a garden for her dead eyes and her cold vinyl skin. Their lips met, and his tongue wriggled deep into her mouth, which hung slightly ajar. His tongue slid in and out with an intense fervor, squirming and convulsing and crawling like a maggot in the glory of a portion of rancid meat.

The door creaked, opening, and a single hanging bulb in the hallway cast Sigmund’s shadow down over him and her, and he watched for just a brief moment and ecstasy filled his entire being as he did. Feeling the presence in the doorway, he collected himself, pulling the collar of the lab coat straight, running fingers through his auburn hair, straightening his glasses.

“She is ready.”

Sigmund’s lips curled and withdrew and his huge teeth were visible from the smile which stretched his face in a cartoonish fashion.

“We will be rich”

His eyes shone bright like rays from an everlasting refraction.

PART II

A sullen veil hung over the house, shrouded almost as if it was the only dwelling in the entire world, the entire universe. The sounds of stringed instruments twanged and drums beat and synthesizers rolled and rumbled. The air inside was thick, thick with the breath of dozens, hundreds, holding draughts and knocking their heads back as the drink slid down their throats, opening inhibitions and lessening expectations. The interaction was immense; couples pulled each other into dark corners, into the folds of the shroud and beyond, never to be seen again. It was the perfect setting for the first field test. We arrived in a rolling box of shocks and rattling metal.

“Please be safe my dear.”

“Dad, I am an adult and I can handle myself! Don’t worry.”

And just like that, she was engulfed by the clutches of the undulating den. I watched her enter, then I swung around the corner and parked in low light. I was determined to see her safe and to see the mission through. She is my everything. Pulling a false mustache from my coat pocket, I entered. The interior of the house felt like the inside of a hot metal can cooking on a flaming stove: packed, hot and wet. Then I saw her, working her magic. The fruits of my labor of love, sitting there on the divan with her hand resting playfully on a boy’s thigh, touching, inching, insinuating. Then he leaned in for his chance and their lips met. The blood in my temples pounded, my face grew flesh white. Untenable ideas rushed forth and racked my brain, and then it happened. She got it. His phone number. A vision of vast wealth flooded my thoughts. How easily fooled an uninhibited boy at a party can be by the prospect of a late-night slog in the folds of the shroud. Before long she would use her undeniable sexual prowess to keep this boy on a hook for months, gently insinuating products he should buy and use, for this run we sold to the highest bidder: Nestle. The test was an undoubted success. Stocks for Nestle grew by a margin of 12% for that quarter. Imagine the possibilities.


For more articles by Dr. Harold S. Pirog, click here. To establish contact, email pirog.harod@surrealtimes.net.

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