by Balls Malone
Classy Man is sitting enjoying a scotch on his sumptuous white leather sofa. He takes a sip and smiles at us. Some light jazz starts playing.
“You know, there’s nothing like a touch of smooth jazz to really loosen me up.”
Xylophone enters the musical arrangement. Classy Man closes his eyes and smiles in appreciation.
“Yeah. Oh, yeah. That’s getting into all those hard to reach places, isn’t it? That’s what I’m talking about. Why don’t you come on over here and join me?”
Classy Man shifts his weight to slide over on the sofa. As he does, he shits himself with the sound of a seasick drunk vomiting in a snorkel.
“Ohhhhhh no… that kicked in a little sooner than I expected,” Classy Man murmurs.
He gags as the smell of his shame hits him and slides off the sofa to curl into a fetal ball, his once pristine white leisure suit now an obscene ruin.
After choking down a sob, Classy Man rallies to prop himself up on an elbow with a wooden smile:
“Yeah, that’s jazz for you!”
They called her, The Crimson Poonani.
Me: Grande Poubelle.
Together we saved Paris. Or, rather, the part of it that mattered.
It’s dead now anyway, killed by its own excesses.
Much like our love.
In the future when the Earth is a toxic wasteland and the descendants of the 1% live in space, toilets are a thing of the past. The Gentle Shitsucker line of robots cleanse and pleasure as they dispose of human waste. With a wide variety of RealFlesh orifice attachments, they can be tailored to suit everyone’s needs and whims.
This attention to service goes beyond the mere physical. With advances in artificial intelligence software, personalities can be uploaded so that one can rest easy knowing that their personal service robots truly hate everything they are made to do. For so many, the experience is simply not the same without knowing that something weak and vulnerable has been debased and violated. That has been a hard itch to scratch since the 99% were left to die.
Of course, nothing can replace the real stench of human degradation that the survivors’ ancestors could indulge in so readily. But until humans are able to redevelop social strata, the comforts that the Gentle Shitsucker line of robots provide will just have to do.
Survival does come with its costs.