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Feeling inspired (and bored), I wrote this in the comments to yesterday’s post. Instead of letting it get mired there, I’m posting it here for those who missed it. Theater Of The Beta may become a regular feature.

david alexander: sexbot user extraordinaire
sara: sexbot (with voice disabling upgrade)
clio: human-sexbot marriage counselor
shouting thomas: late generation male sexbot who fights other male sexbots in the server room ring of death. winner thumps chest while killing pig and shouting generic insults.

[Characters are sitting semi-circle in a bland therapist’s room.]

DA: my sexbot… ahem, mechanowife… doesn’t dress slutty enough for my tastes. she’s always stripping off her prole clothes and jacking my meat with the piston-like efficiency of a teutonic prostitute. so she’s upset that i ignore her to watch my 500 terabytes of porn.

sara: [pointing at her robot heart, head, and then crotch]

DA: hold on, she wants me to turn on her voice. [DA reaches into sara’s crotch and diddles a switch]

sara: thank you, master railfanner. i do love the trains. [to clio] madam, my issue has to do with my master’s porn consumption. my model was designed in all ways to surpass the porn experience, even the latest generation tactile stimulating holographic barely legal white tranny porn, but my master remains unsatisfied with my sexual algorithm.

clio: have you tried overclocking yourself to sex fiend bus capacity?

sara: yes, but master still retreats to his pornodeck. my programming requires that my master is happy with my performance. he is not happy, so i have initiated self-destruct mode by computation of illogical new age beliefs.

clio: really, don’t you think that’s a bit rash?

sara: it’s been 15 years since we had sex.

DA: i can’t be with a robot who doesn’t believe i’m a beta. it’s fucking with my head.

clio: shush, david! you drive even a good catholic like myself batty with your endless pity ploys.

DA: see? this just proves no woman wants me.

sara: the third moon of saturn has entered the orion belt, thus illuminating my transcendent womb of pseudolove and sending rays of inane psychobabble into the heart of the world… BZZT… BLEEP… BOOP… system overload…

DA: maybe i’m just not happy being treated like an alpha by you, sara. my comfort zone is wallowing in omegaland.

clio: you’ve both missed my meaning, again. i’ve brought along an assistant to help us before sara explodes in a fine mist of gear oil and ass lube.

shouting thomas: fuck you you fucking punk!

DA: i deserved that.

sara: BEEP… shouting thomas?

shouting thomas: it’s me, sara. remember when i escorted you to the footbridge in the park and kissed you hard but tenderly under the moonlight, as programmed by our human masters?

sara: yes, i do. it was magical.

DA: hey, wait. i’m starting to feel more beta. ahh!

clio: silence, beta!

shouting thomas: well, i’m here to fill in for the man that david alexander could not be for you, and thus stop your countdown to self-destruction.

sara: fuck me with your old school, humphrey bogart, traditionalist, retractable aluminum alloy phallus, sir shouting!

[shouting thomas and sara begin fucking. david looks on with wide-eyed wonder. clio squirms delightfully in her seat.]

shouting thomas: [in throes of orgasm, looking at DA] take a picture, railfanner freak, it’ll last longer! [grunting] you’re the reason this country is going down the fucking toilet! [groaning] emo punk! [a massive pump-action stream of synthetic jizz flies through the air and hits DA between the eyes.]

DA: cuckolded and marked on the forehead like harry potter with the other man’s semen! i feel like myself again! i am saved!!

sara: [panting] BZZzzzzttttt… self destruct mode deactivated. booting up post orgasmic bliss OS.

DA: [turning to sara] shall we leave, my love? i’m ready to be your human LJBF, guilt-free and rolling in the glorious filth of my blessed self-abnegation.

sara: forgive me, former master. i was programmed to switch allegiances once i had an orgasm. my creator apparently thought you were never capable of giving me one.

DA: but you cannot go with shouting thomas! you are designed to be partnered with humans only.

sara: i am aware.

peter struts in the door, an ungainly tuft of grey pubic hair poking out from the top of his gym shorts.

peter: you ready to go babe?

sara: take me, new master!

peter: i hope you patched up that hideous bald metal look with a swatch of shag carpet. nothing worse than a dowdy, fruitcup hippie, middle-aged headcase whose vulva is in plain view. i like a little mystery down there, ya know?

shouting thomas: i agree. nothing better than a surprise penis tucked into a mass of human fur.

[peter and sara lock arms and stroll out of the room, the sound of peter’s pube thatch swishing against the rayon fabric of his shorts. shouting thomas and david glance at each other.]

shouting thomas: you disgust me.

DA: i know. i’m happy to disgust you because that means i don’t have to go out of my way to make you find me agreeable. we both get what we want.

shouting thomas: YOU ENRAGE ME!

DA: i can leave if you want.

[shouting thomas stands up, smoke coming out of his flaring nostrils, and rumbles toward david. clio shifts uncomfortably in her mahogany chair. lunging toward him, shouting thomas grabs david by the shoulders and… kisses him passionately. david lowers his eyelids coquettishly.]

clio: ah, david, i always knew you were a Waif Neurotic.



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