The Robot-Rapes of The Future

“No, Please!”

Robot rapes of the future:

they’re every unborn mother’s

worst nightmare.

What are they?

Simply put: robots without human masters roaming the scorched barren wastelands of tomorrow for fresh, displaced human pussy. They rape in numbers and they rape without mercy. I reckon a batch of SL-7.9’s could rape their way through a small town of giant women and children in a couple of hours. There’s no point running or hiding; they will find you, and when they find you; they will rape you. Robot rapes of the future, asides from being the indiscriminate, multiple raping of human beings by computers with bodies, are also a metaphor of the changing relationship between man and machine.

Last week, someone I used to look up to as a best friend said, ‘Hey, do you know what would be awesome? If there was a radio contest to win U2 tickets and we won, and we got to meet the band, and Bono said we were nice kids. Wouldn’t that be awesome?’

Jesus Christ.

You won’t catch the Robot Rapers of the future pulling that kind of shit. For one; U2 will be dead, as dead as the Gods they emulated, and two; Robots hate U2. Everyone hates U2. Anyone who doesn’t fit into the category of ‘Everyone’ and persists in liking them, despite all evidence pointing to them being terrible, terrible people, are either camatose burn vicitims or people suffering from hideous skin problems that have forced a hasty retreat out of society.

The Robots rapists of the future will likely create a new society; one built on the virtues of being a robot and being a rapist. There will be no God’s, no TV Commercials, no tabloid journalism or, indeed, any journalism of any kind, no love, no regret, no empathy, no talking about feelings at 2am when you just want to fucking sleep.

There will be none of that.

The skies will look like skies, the moon will look like a moon, the sound of crickets in a bush will (still) be annoying and distracting, no now and then, no ‘chin up’, no ‘plenty more fish in the sea’, just the steady hum of robots, new and old, targeting, cornering, entering and leaving our descendants without the permit of consent.

“Do we deserve this future, Mummy?”

Well, who says it’s a future we can’t enjoy?

Remember when Pong, the videogame, came out, and everyone was whacking off to its majesty? And then came Pacman, and some years later, Street Fighter II Turbo in which everything peaked.

You can’t rush progress, and I won’t lie to you - the first couple thousand years of man-machine reversal will be hell. The streets will literally run red with the fallout of forced entry but who’s to say that in time, as videogames have shown, we won’t one day all become the best of friends? Look at African-Americans; before guilty white liberal middle class awkward-racism comedy took over everything, they were slaves and now look - some of them have even have jobs and permits for their guns.

“Maybe The Future isn’t so bleak!”

Calm the fuck down, Bono,

your diet of human misery injections

need not dry up.

If anything, the Robot rapes of the future will refine to the point of full-stop efficiency. As they upgrade, so too will their idea of rape. Eventually, the definition will extend to everyone and everything, the entire world submitting at the altar of their cold, indifferent touch.

As the author of this piece, I should offer solutions to the future but, in all honesty, I don’t have any.

The phrase ‘the future is ours’, isn’t technically true. We live in the present; it’s humanity at large that lives in the future. I live today, I die later today; much like you.

In the event of caring about tomorrow, your best bet is to horde over an empire of baby oil, with instructions of use for your idiot children to follow. Don’t make it any harder on them that is has to be, there’s no telling how many millennia the robots will be inside humanity.

Oh, and boycott Windows Vista, it’s raping us all ahead of schedule.