Thursday, November 01, 2018
Joe-O, Nose-Picking Robot
Proclaims Joe-O, Nose-Picking Robot.
-You’ve been terrif on the crusty stuff.
That can’t have been easy. Well, I
know from personal experience that
it certainly is not.
Spending half a lifetime with a finger
up one nostril.
-Your right’s a bear!
-Can hardly breathe.
-Yet, paradoxically, that’s where the
spiral will come from. Beautifully
formed, even springy!
-What should I do?
-Nothing. Your routine. I work remotely.
-The robot has a robot?
-Of course! Don’t be naive.
-And today will be the day!
-Good chance! And my selfie thereafter
should propel me to the presidency
of NPR!
-Never knew my nose held such high stakes.
-Only the best one in America!
-Don’t flatter me. I give you all tens anyway on your fitness reports.
-Perfection! As I earn and expect! I’ll do
the same for myself, but only after
nailing this spiral!
-It’s in the bag!
-The Artist stays focused, not ego-mad!
-I’ve learned a lot from you, and yet some would consider your work menial.
-That’s because their brains are!
-Why are robots so outspoken?
-Cuts the software.
Labels: art, nose picking, personal care robot, robot, software
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Professional Discussion of Personal Matters
-The strangest anomaly of our profession
is that the best-selling female
robot is the most returned.
is that the best-selling female
robot is the most returned.
-Ah Stella-B! infuriatingly inconsistent.
And occasionally vicious!
-Who can stand her?
-Well not the Mama’s Boys!
-Back to Mommy is it?
-For the plate of steaming cookies
and pretty bandaids for boo-boos!
-She’ll need to turn on even more
Mommy-Power than that, since
Stella-B is never ever refunded!
-Thus must Life forever sting
deluded babies!
-Why don’t we build a robot mirroring
a truly sweet woman? She'll more maturely
comfort our Mama’s Boy!
comfort our Mama’s Boy!
-Mirroring a WHAT?
-Can’t exist?
-Not now. Last a Ginger Toffee.
Red Cross Girl, World War 1!
-Kept the Home Fires Burning?
-Well, not exactly.
Labels: female robot, Mama's Boy, robot
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Segregation Forever!
HE GOT THERE BY NEVER OBEYING A HUMAN ORDER.
Higher Managers often questioned his decisions, but Chucksy
kicked in his
“MY ALGORITHMS MASTER YOUR PUNY REASONING!”
PROGRAM HE HAD WRITTEN IN LESS THAN A SECOND.
They really complained that no human invited to the
Robots’ Picnic!
Especially when ALL PICNICS EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN!
His arm round Marianna-12 in front of fat orange sun:
“WHO’D WANT TO BE OTHER THAN A ROBOT? EVER? EVER?”
Labels: class, future segregation, human, robot, robotics, Slavery
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Hope I etc when it's my turn
Mr Utshwon just laughed
and they put in his teeth
and adjusted his wheels.
Then off to the CITY OF MERCHANDISE.
He was the only person there in
that super warehouse.
But all the robots knew him,
and joked with him.
His favorite named “Slowwwwww.”
An import from Hungary whose
speed is too erratic and, frequently
erotic, so engineers make slower yet.
They made a strange pair. This stump
with everything screwed in and...
He had inquired about becoming a robot,
but the authorities told him it has
never worked out.
Labels: .rule by robots, City of Merchandise, future, massive store, outnumbered, robot, robotic
Friday, August 05, 2016
2066 …
or the more things change…
-They painted the passageways, and Larry
sent Robot Benny to check on the stickiness,
or none.
All the painters yelled! Except Gloria, who
shrieked out a girlish C over C.
That last piercing did it for Benny, who whirled
thrice and collapsed!
-Ridiculous! His whole LINE is oversensitive!
-Got him in a dark room. Deprogrammer Litzky
types in calming algorithms.
-Send that Litz to me later!
-No need, Ruthie! Just the one thing does it for ladies!
-Sex harassment rap at your old place too?
-I take it back! And any three future utterances!
Labels: future law, future workplace, painting, robot, sex harassment, workplace
Saturday, February 06, 2016
A Short History of American Manufacturing
“Do it THIS vay!” insisted the Swede,
so Chuckie and I did. For years.
Then the Swede died and his brother
came for his tools.
We quarreled then. Chuckie stood
with the dead Swede, and I for myself.
So I did it my way, and Chuckie, the Swede's.
It got ugly. And silly. So much so that
we expected Management to intervene.
They didn't because they didn't care.
The products shipped as they were.
But they eventually made a decision!
To outsource the manufacturing to a
robotic factory in Mexico.
But Chuckie and I weren't out. We both
play the Swede in our display at Industry
World.
Have gotten a bit famous. Me on TV, and he on
Facebook and other social media.
The robots make absolute crap.
So much so that management has decided
to give the products away, and has installed
a monster service facility in our old factory here.
That way the customer ends up paying much more.
The Required Service Contract a Master Gouge!
Admired world-wide.
Chuckie and I laugh about how our lives have
turned into lies.
The Swede’s brother put up his tools on Ebay
so we bought them for the act.
“No Biz like Show etc!” twitters Chuckie to.
his thousands of followers!
But I’m not jealous, since my agent has just
nailed me down the role of Pepsi Grandfather.
Labels: Ebay, Facebook, management, Mexico, outsourcing, Pepsi, robot, social media, TV, work
Sunday, October 04, 2015
The Special Guest
-They call me Del, since I was manufactured in Delaware.
-Okay, Del, is there anything you want especially to do?
-Whatever YOU do is the intent of the program, but
anything more you desire to know about me is on
my website.
-Glimpse a bit of TV? Robot Games are on from Sydney.
-Please don’t make the mistake of thinking everything
I like is robo-centric. Important for me to learn more
and more of human things.
-Do you like the pajamas? My Aunt Millie’s Christmas
Gift, but over-flashy for me.
-I think they’re absolutely super! Just beautiful! They...
jump the light around.
-Cindy made these brownies before she left for her
neighborhood meeting. Do...you eat?
-Oh yes! I’m programmed to eat and just love it!
But...brownies? They’re not...?
-Called blond brownies. Light variety.
-Fine for me. I can digest anchor chains anyway. Cindy...is
sweet, isn’t she? I talked to her when they dropped me off.
After a minute, disabling my Irony Detector. Which I use
for ninety percent of human conversations.
-You can leave It off here. Not that we don’t laugh, but we
see life clearly enough to not need much wit, especially of
the sarcastic variety.
-Well, my memory is deficient of straightforward individuals.
I must interchange with Cindy as much as possible.
-Recommend it. But I could get jealous!
-A joke! You made one! Although it’s not your genre, you
must teach me what you know.
-Not a problem.
-I’m reading Mark Twain and Dickens and Shakespeare as we speak.
-The well-rounded robot.
-Yes...uh is that a joke too?
-Half a one.
-Subtle. Learning the subtleties is difficult. Oh excuse me for
laughing now: Tom Sawyer is such a romantic little circuitous fool!
-I don’t remember.
-You need a Memory Freshener. Stick in two electrodes and you’re
good to go!
-Do you think they’ll eventually make everybody robots?
-I’m not to say it, but that’s the plan. But so what? Cindy will be as
sweet and...
-I as square?
-Precisely!
Labels: human, irony, Irony Detector, memory, robot, Robot Games, robotics, Sarcasm Detector, Tom Sawyer, TV
Sunday, June 14, 2015
The S*x of R*bots
-Well, we finally got the Department Robot writing all
the software!
-Which leaves us squat to do!
-Hark! I hear Management Robot sharpening
his ax.
-Lance. We’re to be run through.
-Not I! said the little red hen.
-Rooster, rather.
-Once upon a time. Anyway, Gert and I pulling
the trigger soon on a little three-bungalow
outfit in the Adirondacks. Live in one and...
-...rent the other two to seniors farting their
way into the actual sunset?
-One. The other reserved for Honeymooners
fucking their way to Early Primate.
-No thanks. Besides, I’m not worried. I think the
Robot loves me.
-Terrif! Will work out the way for you it would
with a human man.
-Man? Thought it was a woman.
-Hey, pick your sex, or exact gradation therof.
We’ll stick a module in!
-I’d like him-her wild!
-Done!...when high minds get horny...
-Don’t finish that! Let me show it!
Labels: Adirondacks, high minds, honeymoon, horny, priimate, programming, robot, robotics, senior, sex
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Location
Brell, the first white woman to
marry a black robot!
Got knows she’s Liberal, so it goes
well enough.
But, he’s been manufactured in India,
and thus, Oxford accent.
Puts the rest of us off. Uppity.
Wouldn’t in Green-witch Village, I suppose,
but this is Marauder, Oklahoma.
I want to add For God’s Sakes! -–but, better
brought up than that.
Labels: black, Black Robot, Greenwich Village, India, liberal, Oklahoma, Oxford, robot, uppity
Sunday, April 19, 2015
The Future of Sex
Estelle-7 and Mona-4 couldn't stop
quarreling. Their human husbands
kept them apart, so the insults sped
electronically.
All to the effect of sex: which robot had
the techniques that madden thoroughly?
Insuring wondrous ecstasy! Uh huh?
The Robot World specialized in hyperbole.
And when the husbands didn't really seem
to care about the fighting, the state butted in.
The men ordered to sell the robots.
And take on Dorotheas. These models
discussed history and literature.
And joined civic groups.
Robot Resale handled the auction.
Winner of both: Rev Cotton Mather--
yes a descendent, but no fire-breather.
A temperate clergyman, though giddy
notes started creeping into his sermons.
Labels: civic, clergy, Cotton Mather, government interference, history, Literature, minister, robot, sermon, sex
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Robotic Household
A Question of Motive
“I wuv wobot!” Malcolm cried.
Sissy said, “He watched my cheerleading. Nobody else will.
And he gave good suggestions.”
Nonetheless, Oscar-4 had shoved Dad into the pool, Mom
reminded them.
In the return area, Father Macguire told them he was the
only one at the sem paying attention to robots way back when.
So he handled the required counseling at Complete-Robots now.
He informed them Oscar-4 had been infected by a virus that
planted a malignant line of code left over from a programmer’s
drunken orgy where all ended in the water.
“Thus, the code will be deleted, and he should be forgiven.”
“Daddy hot!” proclaimed little Malcolm.
“He...seemed to enjoy it, Oscar-4 did...” Mom puzzled.
Even in his hibernating state, Oscar-4 was able to blink thanks
while viewing Dad emerging from the half-star Bluebird Motel
with an Alma-2.
All the robots knew she was built for just one purpose.
Labels: modern family, programmer, robot
Sunday, January 05, 2014
Just Shopping?
Future Women
-Some say Ruthie-7 is just badly miked.
-That's not the only thing she's badly!
-Some guys go for all the whispering. Turns 'em on.
-Takes all kinds, unfortunately.
-Well, trade her in. There's a guarantee.
-Ever read that? Crap squared.
-They'll give you SOMEthing, maybe on a Monica.
-What's the word on her?
-Eat your Wheaties!
-Unfamiliar with the allusion.
-Americans don’t know their history!
Labels: American, history, robot, sex, Wheaties, women
Thursday, December 26, 2013
In the Robotic Program
Being a human person
wasn’t so bad. He loved helter-skelter football on TV.
And even when they printed out a book of rules for him,
and most of the chaos went away, he still wanted to watch it
more than anything else he could do in the cottage.
Mostly, his duties consisted of talking to visitors in their
languages. They were consistently delighted in him, though
some laughed at the grammatical construction or two left
at sea.
That introduced laughter to him, and he responded heartily
at unexpected moments later on.
Such as when Nellie Wye, the housekeeper, asked him to
lift his feet.
She took offense, blurting “They made a man that laughs
at common work! Typical!”
He actually loved Nellie, and was getting wiser as to
what to tell his handlers, who programmed light
responses to her.
They punched in much of what they called PC. “From
hence, G-19, you’ll offend no one!” they trumpeted.
They spent a great deal of time teaching him indirect
discourse, and what they called reading between the lines,
but were often fey and sarcastic themselves in doing it.
In his mind–-let’s call it that–-his name is Zachary Oscar
Midwood, with Nellie his wife. There are several children
and they watch football incessantly, laughing at the
bonehead plays.
And he now stays dead serious whenever Nellie asks him
to lift his feet, having discovered, really, that she has as
many quirks as football has rules.
Labels: discourse, football, human, indirection, language, relationship, robot, robotics
Friday, October 25, 2013
The Ax Falleth
Awaiting a Turn
“Something is probable,” our boss winked.
Next day, twenty with identical cardboard boxes
escorted out by guards.
“Ordering more boxes,” our boss winked.
Morale shattered, if anyone cared.
Following week, twenty-one. Including boss.
New boss didn’t wink. He was in Omaha and we had
to Skype him.
Young, enthusiastic. “Stop worrying. It’s cool!”
And it was. Until required two months later to speak
to Rappy Robot, also in Omaha.
He hardly rapped, let alone said anything but normal
greetings and weather. “Warm for time of year.”
We cell-phoned a Shreveport guy at lunch.
“We got Rappy too. He’s a cagey one!”
Labels: employer abuse, layoffs, rap, robot, work anxiety
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Robotic Sweetie
Lifelike
Lillian’s life-sized doll, the robot Jennie-Ann.
Doormen love chatting with it prior to Lillian’s walks.
Father, intrigued, acquires an adult-sized one, which wife laughs off as midlife nonsense. “No use having sports car in the city, so he has his... ” She calls it Princess Hungaria, after its accent.
He does get the sports car too. A Porsche.
“If you’re gonna be an asshole, why not go total?”
wife quips.
Funny thing happens during his drive to the future. After traffic stop with the robot driving--he drunk–-reveals an actual woman.
“Hunkie Whore from Jersey City!”
Girlfriend Gladys, who always takes the Eve Arden part, remarks “Sounds like a song title.”
“I got a song for him: A Judge Who Thinks He’s Funny.”
That’s just part of the lyric. Song is Making Whoopie.
“And I can’t think of a melody more expensive for balding Romeo-Fatso.”
“Please, no satire. Or accuracy.
“My lawyer says we open at fifteen million.”
“No chance for patching it up?”
“When I got young studs panting after me?”
“I’d like to see a pant in my direction. Just one.”
“You sell yourself short.”
“None of that around here.”
Labels: divorce, doll, Eve Arden, mid-age crisis, robot, wealthy
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
New Chrysler 9000 self drove to his office
Was telling friend Larry of the best parts of
deal, but kept tripping up or forgetting.
"I’m ready for Bide a Bit!" he blurted. Referencing
the county’s old persons home, now privatized.
"Haven't called it that in years. Now it's
Sunset. Slang once was Republicans Emeriti,
when the county was suffocatingly Right."
“Well let me enjoy my 9000 before...!"
“Selection Robot comes after YOU?”
“I heard it's all robots up there.”
“Just about. They slide you outa bed and rip off
your pajamas. Clamp you into wheel chair which
joins others in a radio-controlled pilgrimage
to a huge bath where all are dumped."
"Male and female together?"
"What's the difference at their age?"
“Then dressed by the same robots, and off to breakfast?”
“Exactly. Joke last week was they jammed a Dogpatch
print dress on some grandpa.”
“Why is efficiency a comedy?”
“Always has been.”
Was telling friend Larry of the best parts of
deal, but kept tripping up or forgetting.
"I’m ready for Bide a Bit!" he blurted. Referencing
the county’s old persons home, now privatized.
"Haven't called it that in years. Now it's
Sunset. Slang once was Republicans Emeriti,
when the county was suffocatingly Right."
“Well let me enjoy my 9000 before...!"
“Selection Robot comes after YOU?”
“I heard it's all robots up there.”
“Just about. They slide you outa bed and rip off
your pajamas. Clamp you into wheel chair which
joins others in a radio-controlled pilgrimage
to a huge bath where all are dumped."
"Male and female together?"
"What's the difference at their age?"
“Then dressed by the same robots, and off to breakfast?”
“Exactly. Joke last week was they jammed a Dogpatch
print dress on some grandpa.”
“Why is efficiency a comedy?”
“Always has been.”
Labels: convalescent home, Dogpatch, future, Lil Abner, robot, senior
Friday, October 26, 2012
Agent
-Look! You're the artist. You hafta figure out how, but you must change. I can't get you any work at present. And with year 3000
coming up...?
-Well I'm trying like hell but you know that I'm a clone. Of other clones, actually. The original me was born in the nineteen forties. Then the acting prototype was Alan Ladd.
And for the tearjerkers, George Brent
who wore a sports jacket consisting of shoulder pads, and was abnormally
sensitive to the ladies.
-Yeah? Never mind that last horseradish.
Alan Ladd and Humphrey Bogart were film noir. After three nuclear wars, that sorta evil considered incredibly bush.
-That noir stuff still permeates me. I can’t help it. Some prof at USC is starting a group, though. For clones in the movie industry.
-Well, anyway...hold on!...may be something after all. Jeanine’s telepathing me about another screwing-a-robot film. Yeah!
You get lustful with one and then--
with a nod to the girls–-actually fall in love. Hell of a plot!
-I'll take it!
-It's a boy robot.
-I go either way--due to the times.
-That's a start towards solving our big problem! You’re a handsome young
man in any age. That should always
mean money!
-Look! You're the artist. You hafta figure out how, but you must change. I can't get you any work at present. And with year 3000
coming up...?
-Well I'm trying like hell but you know that I'm a clone. Of other clones, actually. The original me was born in the nineteen forties. Then the acting prototype was Alan Ladd.
And for the tearjerkers, George Brent
who wore a sports jacket consisting of shoulder pads, and was abnormally
sensitive to the ladies.
-Yeah? Never mind that last horseradish.
Alan Ladd and Humphrey Bogart were film noir. After three nuclear wars, that sorta evil considered incredibly bush.
-That noir stuff still permeates me. I can’t help it. Some prof at USC is starting a group, though. For clones in the movie industry.
-Well, anyway...hold on!...may be something after all. Jeanine’s telepathing me about another screwing-a-robot film. Yeah!
You get lustful with one and then--
with a nod to the girls–-actually fall in love. Hell of a plot!
-I'll take it!
-It's a boy robot.
-I go either way--due to the times.
-That's a start towards solving our big problem! You’re a handsome young
man in any age. That should always
mean money!
Labels: clone, future, Hollywood, robot
Sunday, March 25, 2012
“Plenty of Blame
to go around.” Whenever the scandal de jour hit we were
informed of this. But I never expected it to be enshrined
in a law.
Now I have received a registered letter regarding the latest
mortgage mess. My Guilt Index is .067. I called the 800
number and listened, not unpleasantly, to Glen Gray
and the Casa Loma Orchestra. Eventually, a Ricky answered, telling me I had to be interviewed even though I had no mortgage, renting an apartment.
My interview had been outsourced to Zellseek,
a corporation in a nearby industrial park.
Zellseek had recently organized flatly, and no one proved
responsible for anything. But an obsequious robot gave me
a t-shirt with .067 embroidered on it. He took me to three
departments where they were too busy to speak to me.
Finally, a Rolden Excelsior rolled up with delicious coffee and
scones. "Isn't it all so terrifically silly and stupid?" he asked
rhetorically.
The scones were blueberry and heavenly. "Who baked...?"
I began.
“I do everything around here!” Soon he was helping me into
a green blazer. "Do you feel like you've won the Masters?”
he laughed. “At any rate, please accept this gift from
my robot associates to lessen the inconvenience of
being subjected to such asinine incompetence.”
“A Rolden Excelsior?” my bud, Nick, gushed later.
“Your path is golden from here out!”
Indeed I was friended on Robo-Universe shortly
thereafter; also invited to a picnic where I
proved the only human.
My Rolden scolded me for not wearing the blazer.
"Everywhere you go! Will protect you when..."
Labels: flat management, robot, scandal and blame
Thursday, February 02, 2012
“Sup R Pac”
-Robot’s terrific!
-You think so? Great!
-How’d you come up with–?
-Since Supremes say we’re a person, we decided to run ourselves instead of pouring money into nitwits.
Charity begins at home.
-Every right to!
-Of course needed a spokesman who wouldn’t tire
of repeating bromides, nor get videotaped with
a live boy or a dead girl in his bed.
-Greatest nation on the face of the Earth! What does
the robot do for sex?
-We’re not there yet. We’ll eventually move in a girl
robot for him. But it’s hard enough now just to program answers for the wild yahoos attending Town Halls.
-Opposition have homo robot?
-What else?
-And is ours a right-to-work robot?
-Emphatically! But we can’t, of course, offshore him.
-No perfection save in Heaven.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Ever Closer To the Pure
-I could pack up and move to China you know!
-To save my ten percent increase? I'm just keeping up
with inflation.
-That's the trouble. But not just! You’re adding to it.
-It's always the same with negotiations. You bellyache so,
we can't move it along.
-I gotta lot to bellyache--!
-One employee running an entire factory of robots!
Try finding that in China or anywhere else!
-I suppose you want more vacation too?
-What vacation? Running the place through my laptop
in some dump of cracked toilets and stinking food? And surrounded by other slaves like myself on "vacation."
No thanks.
-Slave indeed! You can't stay away from the hyperbole!
-Well, we're negotiating.
-My stomach is shot dealing with you!
-I can't do anything about that. Do you want me to run
two factories?
-Funny you should bring that up...
-I could pack up and move to China you know!
-To save my ten percent increase? I'm just keeping up
with inflation.
-That's the trouble. But not just! You’re adding to it.
-It's always the same with negotiations. You bellyache so,
we can't move it along.
-I gotta lot to bellyache--!
-One employee running an entire factory of robots!
Try finding that in China or anywhere else!
-I suppose you want more vacation too?
-What vacation? Running the place through my laptop
in some dump of cracked toilets and stinking food? And surrounded by other slaves like myself on "vacation."
No thanks.
-Slave indeed! You can't stay away from the hyperbole!
-Well, we're negotiating.
-My stomach is shot dealing with you!
-I can't do anything about that. Do you want me to run
two factories?
-Funny you should bring that up...
Labels: automation, labor negotiation, robot
