Apparently, the sex robots have arrived.

Whisper your futile prayers to God, Azothoth, and Khorne. It will make no difference. The human race is finished. We had our chance, and now it's gone. Hopefully, the cockroaches will be a little more successful.

You know, I always had the big talk when it came to the fall of man, but now that it’s here, I’m at a bit of a loss. Perhaps I should be angry at the society that made this possible. Maybe I should be happy that it’s crashing down, bringing us ever closer to a ruined hellscape reminiscent of Mad Max (or, preferably, Fallout).

In journalistic terms, the article is nothing to write home about. But there is a snippet of infuriating humanity buried in the fourth paragraph worthy of a Pulitzer.
“Douglas Hines says that he developed Roxxxy robot lifesized girlfriend after losing a friend in the 9-11 terrorist attack.”
Look at these words. Roll them around in your mind. Contemplate the layers of meaning. Then, see if you can go through the rest of your week without stabbing someone to death.

While you stare into your starving children’s eyes as the institutions that hold up the modern world fall one by one, I’d like you to remember the names responsible: Douglas Hines and Roxxxy. But you’ll need more than simple text to remember them. You’ll need an image to attach them to.

I DEFY you to look into that thing's blank eyes and maintain an erection.

On an unrelated note, the going rate for MWT brand bomb shelters is two thousand USD a head. Good night, and good luck.

1/15/2010