Thinking I’d only have one line in this dream, I tried to make it count:
“Yes, ‘L’ is a LISA” I told the horrid man wearing an even more horrendous suit, and put my loving arm on the LISA’s shoulders, hitting the ‘shake-hands’ button.
‘Ted’ (judging by his paste-on name-tag), just watched her ‘shake air‘. What a charming human specimen!
“And ‘A’s, as expected, a SEX-PEC, Ted.” I christened my latest model on the spot, on the strength of the sentence-letters, (ordained by God Himself?).
I caught ‘Ted’s left eye a-quiverin’ as he looked ‘A’ up and down, her simulated muscles meticulously bit-mapped.
“Call me ‘Ed’.” Ted snapped gruffly, one arm half reaching for his wallet; his ‘credit-card’, (as if he had any such). What kind of a jerk/dork wears a jacket with those stupid paste-on elbow patches these days?
‘A’ just looked at me, her eyes and fine-motion head-control doing a perfect ‘Let’s blow dis joint, Johnny.’ I hadn’t consciously programmed the ‘Doll-rejects-the-Child’ anomaly, but somehow it didn’t kill me to see that bug. ‘Re-Name, Mid-routine’ was my only option, and I jumped on it like a Titanic life-boat:
“Fine, ‘Ed’,” I allowed, “but that makes her, AS EXPECTED, a ‘SEX-PECT’, and I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.“ I broke the news, reaching for my handcuffs. ‘A’ held out her articulated paws with an uncannily lascivious smile. The LISA, at the ‘click’ audio-cue of the cuff’s locks snapping searched her extensive data-base and found the Book of Ruth:
‘Whither thou goest, there shall I go also.’ she quoted, and re-ran the shakehnds.dll. This time she had my warm hand in hers at least, and hence a simulated tear ran down one cheek. I’d loved her from the first dry-run.
And so we walked, the three of us, life-like, out through the lobby, and into the chilly Las Vegas night, through the Convention-Center parking lot, and found the Winnebago soon enough. Well, they did. GPS.
“Wineba-go, there go we also….” The ‘A’, now solidly a ‘SEXPECT’ morphed LISA’s line to fit the scene.
‘These girls iz sharp’, I thought to myself, (and not for a second as a self-compliment). A quick battery-recharge later in the motor-home and I asked:
“So, who gets me first?”
What else is there to do on long Nevada nights? I shook the LISA’s hand one more time, then shut off her breaker. She had an excellent track record on bench-tests for being second-in-line, and seemed to enjoy the basil I added to her salad. Her name-sake wouldn’t have stood for it, but that’s the beauty of re-invention.
‘A’s eyes, (etc), were wet with promise, but I knew she desperately wanted even more of my DNA for her built-in gene-sequencer.
But again, what’s a modest Sorcerer’s Apprentice to do?
Charlie Parker was barely into the second chorus of ‘Don’t Blame Me’ when I submitted, powerless, to her un-interuptible sub-routines.
For @chromepoet, whose recent erudite thoughts on pornography prove us kindred souls, once again. (Although until I learn to write as powerfully and economically as he does, I’ll just call myself a bronze ‘wannabe’.