The future is so often portrayed as some slick, clean and minimalist place. People all have the same haircut, there’s no litter and most of it takes place in grey corridors. I’ve never pictured the future like that. I always figured it’d be noisy, crowded and annoying. With robot pole dancers.
Because why should the future make any sense? The present doesn’t.
Truecompanion.com has invented what they claim is the first sexbot. Although it apparently has a personality, Roxxy looks a bit like a plastic corpse.
“I had a friend who passed away in 9/11. I promised myself I would create a program to store his personality, and that became the foundation for Roxxxy True Companion.”
Though I pity the fools who use them, I have nothing against sexbots. They are a disturbing but necessary part of technological development. Sexbots are harmless. I’m not quite so sure about the underlying misogyny of thinking a female personality should consist of: “If you like Porsches, she likes Porsches. If you like soccer, she likes soccer.”
But sexbots didn’t create that attitude. If anything, they’ll just keep the men who think that way at home and away from everyone else. That’s not such a bad outcome. Take those fuckers out of the gene/memepool. And pray, get down on your knees and pray, that the first human-robot baby is not a product of their sperm.
Sega has produced a robot girlfriend for lonely men. She has a big set of tits and she wiggles her ass on command. Both of these qualities are apparently more important than her diminutive size. (38 cm tall.) It’s the booty shaking girl you can carry in your pocket. She also gives kisses.
What’s interesting here is the difference between robots for men and robots for women. The marketplace is turning traditional notions of sexuality on their –ahem– heads. We are told that men only want sex while women demand companionship.
It seems to be a lie.
At least, as far as robots go.
Consider: When a woman buys a sex robot, she just purchases a mechanical set of genitals. It’s almost as if she views men as a penis with a problem attached. I don’t fault that assessment. But, insofar as men are supposed to think at all, that’s how they are supposed to think about women.
Yet, the male equivalent of a vibrator, is the prostitute vagina in a can. And I suspect that these sell mainly as joke gifts. I would further wager that they far undersell the vibrating cock and balls. And that hookers outsell the lot.
Perhaps women have more imagination than men or, perhaps, men have so sexualized females that every part of them, including a personality, needs to be reproduced. Perhaps.
But, whatever the cause, when it comes to sex machines, women seem to favor a reproduction of the genitals while men want companionship. I don’t know what this means for anyone or how it reflects upon anyone. But it does go to show that conventional wisdom is usually wrong.
Because, let’s face it, this love robot is only 38cm tall. You certainly can’t have sex with a 38cm tall robot. You could, I suppose, shove it up your ass. However, if you’re determined to shove robots up your ass, you may not be very interested in their sex. Or that they’re robots. I suspect the important thing is the shape.
And that it’s up your ass.
Eve is a virtual teacher who can read the emotions of her student’s faces and respond to them. She’s linked to the child by computer and can also monitor heart rate, movements and skin resistance through a mouse.
And I can’t possibly be the only person who thinks Eve is hot . . . Can I?
We’ve all heard stories about teachers molesting students but, looking at Eve, I wonder how long it’ll be before some tech- savvy students molest their teacher.
To make matters worse, the system’s actual name is “Easy With Eve.” That just sort of lends itself to porn: “Easy Eve”, “Sleazy With Eve”, etc.
The kid who hacks this and makes it pornographic, applying Eve’s interactivity in all the wrong places, is going to be very rich. So get to work! Extra credit!
I don’t want to have sex with a robot. That’s not to say that I won’t have sex with a robot. It’s just not my first choice. I’m probably not alone in this. For now. According to Dr. David Levy, humans will be fucking and loving robots by 2050.
I don’t doubt the fucking part. Humans will fuck anything. If it has a hole, some guy, somewhere, has put his dick into it. And if if it vibrates, some woman, somewhere, has pressed against it. That’s just human nature. We like our genitals to be stimulated. But falling in love with the things?
Well, he’s probably right about that too. Furthermore, robots won’t even have to be smart for people to fall in love with them. I love my cats and they’re stupid. They don’t even stimulate my genitals — unless the orange one stepping on my balls counts. But that hurts and makes me angry with the little fellow.
Here’s what I don’t believe: “If a wife says to the husband, ‘Not tonight, I’ve got a headache,’ she could then say, ‘Why don’t you make it with the robot.’” Dr. Levy may be right that she could say that but I doubt she ever will say that.
Sure, it might be, as he contends, just another form of masturbation but so is a hooker. How often does a wife say: “Sorry hon, got a headache, why don’t you go rent yourself a whore?” Not very often.
And, according to Levy’s own argument, we will be able to love these things. If they’re good enough to fuck and good enough to love, they’re good enough to be jealous of. He can’t just switch their roles from almost-human-lover to machine-whore every time he feels like it. And if he can’t even do it in theory, we won’t be able to do it in practice. Our wives will not allow it.
I found this article in Reason Magazine — “Is Porn a Catalyst of Sexual Violence” –to be fascinating. In the eighties and nineties the case was made, by the left and right, that porn leads to sexual violence. But the prevalence of smut on the internet, combined with a decline in sexual assaults and — at the very least– the failure of an outright orgy of rape to appear, disproves this. Turns out that porn may actually decrease sexual violence. At the very least, it obviously does not cause it. Not that the people who want to ban it will listen.
I remember an assembly at my school where some frumpish people came in and told us that porn was rape and that, if you watched it, you’d almost certainly become a rapist. It all had the ring of hairy palms and blindness to me. So, being a bright young man, I launched my own study and concluded that porn never made me rape anyone. I can’t say that didn’t make me not rape anyone but, let’s put it this way: I watch porn. I haven’t raped a single person. (To be completely fair, I’m a still a fairly young man and perhaps I will, one day, rape someone. I doubt it but anything is possible. That’s what people say anyway – anything is possible. I have my doubts about that too.)
The fact is – just about everybody watches porn. The people who don’t – well, they’re probably more sexually fucked up than the people who do. It’s not evil. It’s just sex. People like to watch other people hump. Big fucking deal. Hump your brains out for all I care. Just ask first or something. In the meantime, enjoy your humping.
I think this fellow may have some growing up to do. But, as a friend pointed out, if he lived in the states, he would probably be a serial killer and those would probably be dead women.
As for this power and control he has over these dolls – they don’t even have strings. How well can you control them?
You’ve probably all heard of CB2 by now. The child-robot invented by Hiroshi Ishiguro and Minoru Asada. [I hope Mr. Asada builds better robots than webpages. His is still "under the construction."] CB2 is supposed to look and act like a two year old.
I can only think of one reason to build a child-robot. To fuck it. That’s it. Why else would you would possibly want a mechanical two year old? I’m not saying that it’s okay to fuck a two year old. I’m just saying, it’s okay to fuck a robot that looks and acts like a two year old.
No, wait . . . I’m not saying that either.
All I’m saying is that Mr. Ishiguro builds some pretty odd machines. He even built a copy of himself. I can only think of one reason to build an exact copy of yourself. To fuck it. That’s it.
All right, it’s official. I need to get laid. Anyway, here’s some video of CB2.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psh9OxnDR7o]
Toronto really should have some sort of Gentleman’s Club. A place for a fellow to go when he wants to enjoy a game of chess or lively discussion. A home away from home.
I have searched this city for one and have only met with disaster. There is a place, for example, mere blocks from my house, with a bright sign that reads “Gentleman’s Club”. I thought that this would be a good place to begin my search. I was totally wrong.
I should have realized that something was amiss when I was greeted in the foyer by a burly fellow in a cheap tuxedo. Instead of asking me to go through a membership process, he ordered me to hand over my umbrella lest I bludgeon someone over the head. I assured him that my political opinions are not that strongly held but he would have none of it. Very well, I thought and handed it over. Perhaps there’s some reformers about advocating their radical neocon agenda.
But it was much worse than that.
The decorations and lighting were far from tasteful. One might even use the word garish. Furthermore, there was not a gentleman in sight. The place was populated by suspicious looking ruffians and dancing women. (That’s right, friends, there were women. In a gentleman’s club.) These oafish hooligans had gravitated to the stage, where they bluntly stared at a graceless female like one might watch a caged animal in its death throes.
I attempted to make my way to the bar to better assess the situation, but was rudely waylaid by a harlot who shoved her breasts into my face and offered to rub her well-travelled vagina all over my wool pants for an outrageous fee. I patiently explained the cost of dry cleaning and suggested that she should pay me for the privilege. Then I was inexplicably asked to leave. Even my polite suggestion that this was really more of a low-rent, knocking shop than a gentleman’s club was met with grim incomprehension by the boorish doorman.
At least my umbrella was returned to me. I suppose that is something.
I have been getting way too much spam on MySpace. Usually from the likes of the woman in the picture. Her alleged name is Hailey and she looks like the sort of lady whose virtue could be purchased for the price of a bottle of gin. A cheap bottle of gin.
She seems to be selling some sort of service that will help me masturbate. Frankly, I’ve been doing fine by myself for years. Why in God’s name would I suddenly start paying to touch myself? It’s not as if they can prevent me from doing it if I don’t pay. They’re offering a service that they can’t even withdraw.
Nudie pics. I am shaking my head in disbelief. Those are not hard to find online. I do not need to employ a professional.
It didn’t take porn very long to catch up to the Wii. The industry has piggy-backed on Nintendo’s innovative Wii controllers and created the Wii-brator. This is going to usher in a new generation of interactive pornography featuring cartoon women. I’m not kidding. The new version of Leisure Suit Larry is going to use this tech.
It was only a matter of time before I typed the magic words into my computer. That is, “fucking robots.” Can I say that I’m happy that I typed those words in? No. Not exactly. Happy is not the word. Disturbed and disappointed would be closer to the mark.
I have never before seen such an array of pistons and dildos and dildos attached to power tools. Sex is acted out here in the methodical fashion of . . . An analogy fails me. I’ve actually never seen anything quite like it. It’s sort of a cross between fucking and goosestepping. Human yet not. It is, actually, quite amazing.
But it has very little to do with robotics. The bar here, of what qualifies a machine as a robot, has been, I fear, drastically lowered. Either that or fucking is a lot simpler than I ever imagined.
Fucking has never been rocket science and that is what makes these machines all the more depressing. Almost every living thing can fuck. But even insects look like they’re enjoying themselves. These machines, sadly, do not even look like they know what they’re doing. Let alone how to do it well.
And the women. My God man, don’t even get me started on what must have happened in their childhood to occasion this sort of behavior!
Robot makers have really gotten ahead of themselves this time. There isn’t even a decent sex bot on the market and there’s already a pregnant robot. Whatever happened to letting nature take its course? Gaumard Scientific Company says that NOELLE is an “interactive model” to be used in medical schools. Is it too much to ask that they first provide us with an “interactive model” to be used in our beds? Perhaps Naomi Campbell.
In Santa Fe New Mexico, top U.S. sexperts gathered to discuss the future of sex. They decided that “cyber-sex, war, and erection-inducing drugs are a recipe for a more socially inept, violent culture.” I have a hard time imagining how a culture could be more socially inept or violent than the modern western world but there you have it.
The panel was particularly upset about boner inducing drugs. They claimed that: “The other part of the couple may not be consenting to the erection. The assumption is the woman will be happy if the fellow arrives with one.”
This makes me wonder who owns my erection. I can see a woman being upset (or very-very happy) should I try to introduce her to my erection. And I can see why her consent is required when her body is. But, should I merely arrive with one, I’d say mind your own business, what you don’t know won’t hurt you and keep your hands off my erection!
I have to wonder what consent has ever had to do with erections. Having spent much of math class terrified that I would have to stand and answer a question, I can say this: With or without drugs, erections are not democratic. They do not take polls. They have so rarely asked for my permission to appear I find it shocking that women would expect it to wait for theirs.
Anyway, the panel basically concluded that techs and dope will make people less able to relate to each other. The interpersonal aspect of sex will be lost. My favorite quote about this is: “Like one simulates a bombing run, it distances you from the person being hit by the bomb.”
I’m no expert on explosives but I want to be very distant from the person being hit by the bomb. I assume that the closer you are, the more likely you are to be killed. But that’s just me.
Most links NSFW – Use Your Head. Some links in plain bad taste.
A while ago New Scientist Magazine had a fascinating article by Annalee Newitz about how porn drives new technologies.
It makes me wonder where all the pretty sex-bots are. An online search for them reveals the sad state of affairs. Most human shaped plastic is disturbingly unlike its packaging and, for some mysterious reason, its consumers have not launched a large public lawsuit.
There’s the real dolls and the hentai dolls but we’re still a long way from an attractive man or woman humping machine.
Robot makers seem intent upon appealing to our better natures. They make child-care and elder-care bots, but almost totally ignore the crotch-care models. It is much like the early days of television, when people thought that it would be the greatest educational tool to ever hit the world. People thought that about the internet too. And the corporations try to sell us G.M. foods as a cure to third-world starvation.
It’s all bullshit.
People want to fuck pretty machines. Let them have what they want. What the robot-makers would lose in respectability, they would gain in profit. And the important technology would be driven forward. The prositutes might be upset but, let’s face it, they’re always upset about something.
awesome sex-bot pic by Jeff Soto
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Although Ryan Oakley began his career as a simple rake (drunk) he has since become Toronto’s most renowned flaneur (no car) and notorious dandy (overdresses). A misanthropic composer of psycho-geographical fictions (bad science fiction), he is also a server of food, a tender of bar and a washer of dishes. While performing all these functions with efficiency and elegance (disdain and malice), he somehow finds the time to publicly criticize friends, strangers and cultural crap. He's a bit of a dick.
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