Chapter 1
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We had 4 goals. Immortality. Robots do all work. Answers to everything. Internet you can fuck through. We called this "The Future". We almost killed everybody.
- Candy
I met my stalker online. Probably. We definitely met online, but he may not be a stalker. Could be a penpal. Or, the Internet's most positive troll. But, I'm horny and lonely, so I prefer to think of him as my stalker. I already like him more than my husband.
I had gushed my heart out on a Deadbedrooms reddit. Pages of anger and rejection and hopelessness, that boiled down to "My husband won't fuck me. I am very sad."
The response from Reddit was wack. I should leave him, get counselling, pray, cheat, lose weight, accept him, because he is a normal, cheating, overworked, porn addicted, unhealthy, God fearing, loser. Also, pray. And it could be worse. Was I praying yet?
I'm as low as a celibate atheist praying for hard dick when I get a personal message from Doc-Danger.
D - I find it's not the lack of sex that's killing me, but having no one who wants to fuck me. What's your plan?
Huh.
I put my phone away and go to the living room. I shoo my sleeping husband off to bed, then slip out to the backyard and smoke a little pot. With my daughter away at college, and my husband passed out, I have the house to my stoned-ass self. Munchies take me to the kitchen, where, after serious deliberation, I crack a beer.
Ahh, munchy beer. Fucking snacktacular.
Thumbing through my phone, reading a few late comments on my Deadbedrooms post, I think about Doc-Danger's message. Does no one want to fuck me? Is that why I am miserable? What is my plan?
I already knew it wasn't lack of sex, but lack of interest, that was hurting my marriage. My husband would lay me if I made a big enough stink about it. But, it was clear that he did it just to shut me up. I would be happier if he couldn't fuck me, but wanted to. I'd often thought it would be less humiliating if I propositioned strangers, but maybe that wasn't true. How long had it been since someone hit on me?
When I was younger (and drunker) I was propositioned all the time. Well, often anyway. In retrospect, I had an approachable cuteness that I did not appreciate. I believe I still have it, adjusted for age and gravity. I mean, I should be able to rock the 40 year old scene. If such a scene exists. If it does, I don't know where it is. Maybe it's on the internet?
Was Doc-Danger hitting on me? Hmm…
Okay, if my angst is caused by society's general disinterest in fucking me, rather than my husband's specific disinterest in fucking me, maybe I'm being too hard on the guy. Maybe it's society's fault! Or, mine. It's not like I've been showing much interest in society.
Is that my plan? Make up with society, hoping that socializing will lead to flirtation, which will help my self esteem, which will shift some of my ego burden off my husband, which will make him happier, and me happier, and we'll be happy together?
Sounds complicated. Too many moving parts. Maybe I should just fuck a stranger.
So… Was Doc-Danger hitting on me?
Determining his intentions would require some delicate social interactions. Or, I could creep his Reddit account.
Looking through his account activity didn't take long - there wasn't much there. A couple of posts about comics and movies, and a series of arguments about superintelligence.
On a movie forum decrying Fantastic Four as the worst movie ever, he argued that its terribleness was Hollywood's fault. The comic book - with its high incidence of time travel, alternate realities, evil opposites, giant robots, and space monsters - was superlative. Also, why was the Thing a naked eunuch in the movie? Creepy.
I strongly agree with his opinions. Especially, the missing dick angle. The Thing's girlfriend was a blind sculptress, for god's sake! Why date a girl who handles rocky protrusions all day, if she can't handle yours? To be clear, I'm talking about a chisel job, not something weird.
His next debate was about artificial intelligence. Can a machine think? Or, can it only follow instructions? Doc-Danger believed the question to be moot. Because, humans don't think, they just follow the instructions of their reward system - the part of your brain that makes sex and junk food awesome. Sentience was just a useful delusion for getting laid.
He proposed that, if an A.I. used trial and error to get blowjobs, you would eventually get a robot that was fun at parties. It's civilization in a nutshell.
Hmm… would I date a robot that was fun at parties? Sounds better than some of the guys I've dated. We'll call that plan B.
Most people doubt if a superintelligence is even possible. Doc-Danger believes a human with the internet was already superintelligent, we just don't know what to do with it. We seek food, sex, comfort, and safety. Beyond that, we're out of ideas.
I guess we also seek money and social status, but just because they can be traded for ass or calories. The kicker was, social status and money may not get you laid or fed. Being rich and powerful doesn't matter if you're married and on a diet.
Well, if he's right, I guess I should burn my life down. Get a divorce, quit my job, and sell the house. Rent a bachelor pad with a mattress, fridge, and internet. I'll eat junk food for breakfast, have filthy strangers violate me for lunch, and research cancer cures for dinner.
Actually, that sounds pretty good. We'll call that plan B. Err… the new plan B. Wait! Does that make blowing a robot plan A? I need more brain coolant.
I think as I grab another beer. Am I a superintelligence with no goals? What would I do, if I could do anything?
I dunno. I'd like to be more honest. What the hell, it's a start.
I'm ready to answer Doc-Danger's question.
M - My plan is to get a divorce, quit my job, and sell my house, so I can devote my life to junk food, fucking strangers, and curing cancer. Maybe. Also, I want to try sexting. Do you want to sext with me?
D - Yes!
D - I've never sexted either. I'm not sure how to start.
M - Me neither.
D - Should we google it?
M - No, I want my first time to be awkward.
D - Perfect! I'm taking off my pants.
M - Great! Nice hustle. I'm taking off everything.
D - Wonderful! Me too. Fuck you clothes! Is it too soon to touch myself?
M - I don't think so. I will too.
M - Well, I'm done.
D - Me too. I feel like we should have interacted more.
M - We nailed the awkward part, though.
D - Go team!
M - I creeped your reddit account. I think you are funny and smart. And horny. And geeky.
D - Thanks. I creeped your account too. You're pretty funny and smart yourself. Want to talk more tomorrow?
M - Okay!
I tidy up and crash.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
We had 4 goals. Immortality. Robots do all work. Answers to everything. Internet you can fuck through. We called this "The Future". We almost killed everybody.
- Candy
I met my stalker online. Probably. We definitely met online, but he may not be a stalker. Could be a penpal. Or, the Internet's most positive troll. But, I'm horny and lonely, so I prefer to think of him as my stalker. I already like him more than my husband.
I had gushed my heart out on a Deadbedrooms reddit. Pages of anger and rejection and hopelessness, that boiled down to "My husband won't fuck me. I am very sad."
The response from Reddit was wack. I should leave him, get counselling, pray, cheat, lose weight, accept him, because he is a normal, cheating, overworked, porn addicted, unhealthy, God fearing, loser. Also, pray. And it could be worse. Was I praying yet?
I'm as low as a celibate atheist praying for hard dick when I get a personal message from Doc-Danger.
D - I find it's not the lack of sex that's killing me, but having no one who wants to fuck me. What's your plan?
Huh.
I put my phone away and go to the living room. I shoo my sleeping husband off to bed, then slip out to the backyard and smoke a little pot. With my daughter away at college, and my husband passed out, I have the house to my stoned-ass self. Munchies take me to the kitchen, where, after serious deliberation, I crack a beer.
Ahh, munchy beer. Fucking snacktacular.
Thumbing through my phone, reading a few late comments on my Deadbedrooms post, I think about Doc-Danger's message. Does no one want to fuck me? Is that why I am miserable? What is my plan?
I already knew it wasn't lack of sex, but lack of interest, that was hurting my marriage. My husband would lay me if I made a big enough stink about it. But, it was clear that he did it just to shut me up. I would be happier if he couldn't fuck me, but wanted to. I'd often thought it would be less humiliating if I propositioned strangers, but maybe that wasn't true. How long had it been since someone hit on me?
When I was younger (and drunker) I was propositioned all the time. Well, often anyway. In retrospect, I had an approachable cuteness that I did not appreciate. I believe I still have it, adjusted for age and gravity. I mean, I should be able to rock the 40 year old scene. If such a scene exists. If it does, I don't know where it is. Maybe it's on the internet?
Was Doc-Danger hitting on me? Hmm…
Okay, if my angst is caused by society's general disinterest in fucking me, rather than my husband's specific disinterest in fucking me, maybe I'm being too hard on the guy. Maybe it's society's fault! Or, mine. It's not like I've been showing much interest in society.
Is that my plan? Make up with society, hoping that socializing will lead to flirtation, which will help my self esteem, which will shift some of my ego burden off my husband, which will make him happier, and me happier, and we'll be happy together?
Sounds complicated. Too many moving parts. Maybe I should just fuck a stranger.
So… Was Doc-Danger hitting on me?
Determining his intentions would require some delicate social interactions. Or, I could creep his Reddit account.
Looking through his account activity didn't take long - there wasn't much there. A couple of posts about comics and movies, and a series of arguments about superintelligence.
On a movie forum decrying Fantastic Four as the worst movie ever, he argued that its terribleness was Hollywood's fault. The comic book - with its high incidence of time travel, alternate realities, evil opposites, giant robots, and space monsters - was superlative. Also, why was the Thing a naked eunuch in the movie? Creepy.
I strongly agree with his opinions. Especially, the missing dick angle. The Thing's girlfriend was a blind sculptress, for god's sake! Why date a girl who handles rocky protrusions all day, if she can't handle yours? To be clear, I'm talking about a chisel job, not something weird.
His next debate was about artificial intelligence. Can a machine think? Or, can it only follow instructions? Doc-Danger believed the question to be moot. Because, humans don't think, they just follow the instructions of their reward system - the part of your brain that makes sex and junk food awesome. Sentience was just a useful delusion for getting laid.
He proposed that, if an A.I. used trial and error to get blowjobs, you would eventually get a robot that was fun at parties. It's civilization in a nutshell.
Hmm… would I date a robot that was fun at parties? Sounds better than some of the guys I've dated. We'll call that plan B.
Most people doubt if a superintelligence is even possible. Doc-Danger believes a human with the internet was already superintelligent, we just don't know what to do with it. We seek food, sex, comfort, and safety. Beyond that, we're out of ideas.
I guess we also seek money and social status, but just because they can be traded for ass or calories. The kicker was, social status and money may not get you laid or fed. Being rich and powerful doesn't matter if you're married and on a diet.
Well, if he's right, I guess I should burn my life down. Get a divorce, quit my job, and sell the house. Rent a bachelor pad with a mattress, fridge, and internet. I'll eat junk food for breakfast, have filthy strangers violate me for lunch, and research cancer cures for dinner.
Actually, that sounds pretty good. We'll call that plan B. Err… the new plan B. Wait! Does that make blowing a robot plan A? I need more brain coolant.
I think as I grab another beer. Am I a superintelligence with no goals? What would I do, if I could do anything?
I dunno. I'd like to be more honest. What the hell, it's a start.
I'm ready to answer Doc-Danger's question.
M - My plan is to get a divorce, quit my job, and sell my house, so I can devote my life to junk food, fucking strangers, and curing cancer. Maybe. Also, I want to try sexting. Do you want to sext with me?
D - Yes!
D - I've never sexted either. I'm not sure how to start.
M - Me neither.
D - Should we google it?
M - No, I want my first time to be awkward.
D - Perfect! I'm taking off my pants.
M - Great! Nice hustle. I'm taking off everything.
D - Wonderful! Me too. Fuck you clothes! Is it too soon to touch myself?
M - I don't think so. I will too.
M - Well, I'm done.
D - Me too. I feel like we should have interacted more.
M - We nailed the awkward part, though.
D - Go team!
M - I creeped your reddit account. I think you are funny and smart. And horny. And geeky.
D - Thanks. I creeped your account too. You're pretty funny and smart yourself. Want to talk more tomorrow?
M - Okay!
I tidy up and crash.
We had 4 goals. Immortality. Robots do all work. Answers to everything. Internet you can fuck through. We called this "The Future". We almost killed everybody.- CandyI met my stalker online. Probably. We definitely met online, but he may not be a stalker. Could be a penpal. Or, the Internet's most positive troll. But, I'm horny and lonely, so I prefer to think of him as my stalker. I already like him more than my husband.I had gushed my heart out on a Deadbedrooms reddit. Pages of anger and rejection and hopelessness, that boiled down to "My husband won't fuck me. I am very sad."The response from Reddit was wack. I should leave him, get counselling, pray, cheat, lose weight, accept him, because he is a normal, cheating, overworked, porn addicted, unhealthy, God fearing, loser. Also, pray. And it could be worse. Was I praying yet?I'm as low as a celibate atheist praying for hard dick when I get a personal message from Doc-Danger.D - I find it's not the lack of sex that's killing me, but having no one who wants to fuck me. What's your plan?Huh.I put my phone away and go to the living room. I shoo my sleeping husband off to bed, then slip out to the backyard and smoke a little pot. With my daughter away at college, and my husband passed out, I have the house to my stoned-ass self. Munchies take me to the kitchen, where, after serious deliberation, I crack a beer.Ahh, munchy beer. Fucking snacktacular.Thumbing through my phone, reading a few late comments on my Deadbedrooms post, I think about Doc-Danger's message. Does no one want to fuck me? Is that why I am miserable? What is my plan?I already knew it wasn't lack of sex, but lack of interest, that was hurting my marriage. My husband would lay me if I made a big enough stink about it. But, it was clear that he did it just to shut me up. I would be happier if he couldn't fuck me, but wanted to. I'd often thought it would be less humiliating if I propositioned strangers, but maybe that wasn't true. How long had it been since someone hit on me?When I was younger and drunker I was propositioned all the time. Well, often anyway. In retrospect, I had an approachable cuteness that I did not appreciate. I believe I still have it, adjusted for age and gravity. I mean, I should be able to rock the 40 year old scene. If such a scene exists. If it does, I don't know where it is. Maybe it's on the internet?Was Doc-Danger hitting on me? HmmOkay, if my angst is caused by society's general disinterest in fucking me, rather than my husband's specific disinterest in fucking me, maybe I'm being too hard on the guy. Maybe it's society's fault! Or, mine. It's not like I've been showing much interest in society.Is that my plan? Make up with society, hoping that socializing will lead to flirtation, which will help my self esteem, which will shift some of my ego burden off my husband, which will make him happier, and me happier, and we'll be happy together?Sounds complicated. Too many moving parts. Maybe I should just fuck a stranger.So Was Doc-Danger hitting on me?Determining his intentions would require some delicate social interactions. Or, I could creep his Reddit account.Looking through his account activity didn't take long - there wasn't much there. A couple of posts about comics and movies, and a series of arguments about superintelligence.On a movie forum decrying Fantastic Four as the worst movie ever, he argued that its terribleness was Hollywood's fault. The comic book - with its high incidence of time travel, alternate realities, evil opposites, giant robots, and space monsters - was superlative. Also, why was the Thing a naked eunuch in the movie? Creepy.I strongly agree with his opinions. Especially, the missing dick angle. The Thing's girlfriend was a blind sculptress, for god's sake! Why date a girl who handles rocky protrusions all day, if she can't handle yours? To be clear, I'm talking about a chisel job, not something weird.His next debate was about artificial intelligence. Can a machine think? Or, can it only follow instructions? Doc-Danger believed the question to be moot. Because, humans don't think, they just follow the instructions of their reward system - the part of your brain that makes sex and junk food awesome. Sentience was just a useful delusion for getting laid.He proposed that, if an A.I. used trial and error to get blowjobs, you would eventually get a robot that was fun at parties. It's civilization in a nutshell.Hmm would I date a robot that was fun at parties? Sounds better than some of the guys I've dated. We'll call that plan B.Most people doubt if a superintelligence is even possible. Doc-Danger believes a human with the internet was already superintelligent, we just don't know what to do with it. We seek food, sex, comfort, and safety. Beyond that, we're out of ideas.I guess we also seek money and social status, but just because they can be traded for ass or calories. The kicker was, social status and money may not get you laid or fed. Being rich and powerful doesn't matter if you're married and on a diet.Well, if he's right, I guess I should burn my life down. Get a divorce, quit my job, and sell the house. Rent a bachelor pad with a mattress, fridge, and internet. I'll eat junk food for breakfast, have filthy strangers violate me for lunch, and research cancer cures for dinner.Actually, that sounds pretty good. We'll call that plan B. Err the new plan B. Wait! Does that make blowing a robot plan A? I need more brain coolant.I think as I grab another beer. Am I a superintelligence with no goals? What would I do, if I could do anything?I dunno. I'd like to be more honest. What the hell, it's a start.I'm ready to answer Doc-Danger's question.M - My plan is to get a divorce, quit my job, and sell my house, so I can devote my life to junk food, fucking strangers, and curing cancer. Maybe. Also, I want to try sexting. Do you want to sext with me?D - Yes!D - I've never sexted either. I'm not sure how to start.M - Me neither.D - Should we google it?M - No, I want my first time to be awkward.D - Perfect! I'm taking off my pants.M - Great! Nice hustle. I'm taking off everything.D - Wonderful! Me too. Fuck you clothes! Is it too soon to touch myself?M - I don't think so. I will too.M - Well, I'm done.D - Me too. I feel like we should have interacted more.M - We nailed the awkward part, though.D - Go team!M - I creeped your reddit account. I think you are funny and smart. And horny. And geeky.D - Thanks. I creeped your account too. You're pretty funny and smart yourself. Want to talk more tomorrow?M - Okay!I tidy up and crash.
