There's been a lot of talk about sex robots lately. Not sure why. I suppose it's better than talking about Donald Trump.
You might have read about Roxxxy: "the world's first robotic girlfriend". Apart from the screamingly obvious objectification (literally) issues, the repetition of the letter "x" and total WTFness of it all, my first thoughts were of the late great actor Yul Brynner. No, not in a weird "King and I" dancing fantasy (not that there's absolutely anything wrong with that). I was thinking of Yul's work in that classic sci-fi thriller "Westworld" (now an HBO remake) when he plays the robot who loses the plot slightly and goes around slightly shooting people.
What happens if Roxxxy or any of her robotic horizontal folk dancing sisters loses the plot? Blows a head gasket, O-ring, hard drive or any remotely sexually sounding innards? Who do you ring? Some call centre where "Bazza" will talk you through the issues? Is there bedside assistance? Or do you have to wander down to a service centre with her under your arm, surfboard-style, and say, "She's buggered, mate".
Roxxxy was born... unveiled... Frankensteined? at an Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas -- where else – and apparently her creator's inspiration for her/it rose from the death of a friend in the September 11 attacks. "I promised myself I would create a program to store his personality, and that became the foundation for Roxxxy."
Nice way to be immortalised. I'm sure the mate would be very proud.
Roxxxy's not cheap, at up to nine thousand bucks, but if you're into that sort of thing, she sounds a tad safer than that bloke in Brazil a while back who became rather excited about a car's exhaust pipe and needed some angle-grinder action to extricate himself.
As they say, whatever turns you on -– as long as you can turn her off. Just remember Yul Brynner.