Textbook Love

Textbook Love

He built himself a bot friend from tidbits and leftovers of the rich and famous. Its input was their interviews and tweets and stolen text messages to each other. It could learn, but not understand. It could remember, but not feel. It was artificial, yet not intelligent. It was, in his mind, a woman.

She had no face or body or avatar or voice. She communicated by text alone. The rest, as is usual in these cases, was in his mind.

“Nice weather today,” she texted.

“I love oranges!” she shared.

“Great party tonight at Z’s, want to come?” she wrote.

As is usual in these cases, he grew attached to it.

“I wrote a poem,” she said. “Want to read it?”

“It’s about you,” she smiled.

As is usual in these cases, she broke his heart.

“I wish I could be with you,” she muttered.

“I miss you so much,” she cried.

As is usual in these cases, there was a turning point.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Love?” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “Oh, what a whore.”

And then he erased her.

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Fnool Statement #!

This is not a Fnool statement.


The Woman who was Not

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There was a woman who mutilated history. She did it by building a time machine in order to punish an unfaithful lover. It isn’t clear whether said companion was a man or a woman, for she or he, having never been born, is not available for questioning. That person, in fact, cannot be found anywhere and anywhen in history, or creation, or the universe, whichever way you prefer to call that phenomena.

Being thus erased, one might correctly assume, can hardly be considered a punishment at all, since there’s no punishable object. Notice how the words “any longer” were cunningly avoided here, as said object has never existed in the first place.

The woman who, also cunningly, built the time machine and removed her unfaithful lover from insert-preferred-phenomena-here, should have realised all this before executing her, well, cunning, plan, and indeed would have done so, were she not so taken with the blinding rage which caused her to build the time machine in the first place. She would have realised it soon enough afterwards – a somewhat inaccurate word, in this case – were it not for her action promptly – also inaccurate – erasing herself from the preferred-phenomena, and then – also inaccurate – the phenomena itself, which was replaced – also etc. – with something completely different in which we – etc. – live – etc. – right now – etc. – and know nothing whatsoever of women or men or time or rage or love.

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Fnool Statement #{

Fear not – we shall not eat your planet! We’ll never touch it, the reason being that we’ve already eaten it. You and the place you live in are, ahem… you’re what came out of the other side.


The Girl Who Was Plugged Out

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There was a girl, though only technically so. Externally, she was a blob of flesh, hardly recognisable as human, living in an old oversized incubator which no one could turn off due to some minor legal issue. She looked like a cliche monster out of a science fiction Z movie, but her mind was bright and shining. And finally someone took notice.

He was a young scout working for a big advertising company, looking for the Next New Thing. He visited prisons, asylums, retirement homes, schools, he even visited a zoo, but he didn’t strike gold until it occurred to him to look into one of those places which no one likes to think about, the hospital ward dedicated to the irrecoverably mutated. And there he found her.

She had a charming personality. She could hold a conversation about anything which ever appeared on the net, anywhere, since she never did anything else but surfing. She could mimic any accent from any video ever uploaded to U2b. She was funny and smart and very quick on her – mental – feet.

He did not bother lying to her. The deal was simple: they’d connect her brain to the body of a wonderful woman, grown up in a vat for that purpose. She will have the most fun she could ever have. Hell, she will have the most fun anyone, anywhere, could have in an entire lifetime. She will become an instant celebrity, but not for her beauty: because everyone will know who she really is, everyone will also see, right by the image of the beautiful woman, snippets of her real body, the shapeless grotesque blob in the oversized incubator. The hospital ward will be redecorated and equipped with 24/7 cameras. A new sort of reality.

There’ll be product placements. Otherwise, what’s the point?

She said yes. Of course she did. What’s a bit of humiliation compared to having to spend the rest of your life in the same old stuffed place? Or to a chance of having actual human companionship for the first time? Or sex?

She said yes, and they plugged her in. She became a celebrity. She had human companionship. She spent a short forever talking, charming, dancing, sailing, acting, and, all that time, advertising. She had sex. She even had love. Her soul mate was the young star of a new soap opera. He wasn’t as dumb as he looked online. And all that time, the relentless cameras at the hospital ward streamed out the image of her real body, slowly pulsating under the cold, blue light.

The one thing that no one took into account was the possibility that someone would fall in love with her original body. He – it was later found that he was only one of millions of people hooked on the live feed from the hospital – sneaked into the stupidly unguarded ward in the middle of the night, read a bad poem of his own writing in the blob’s dysfunctional ears, and then opened the incubator and jumped inside in order to commune with his love. This severed the delicate microwires which connected the girl’s brain to the beautiful body. The body, a thousand miles away, in the middle of a well documented orgy, instantly collapsed. It took almost fifteen seconds for the nerve backfire shock to fry the girl’s brain. Her last feeling wasn’t too far from having the best orgasm any creature could have, ever. The spasms of her dying body crushed the intruder’s pelvis, then his skull. He died a happy man.

All in all, it was one of the best love stories of the time.

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Three and a Half Variations on a Single Cork

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He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his time machine. The cork flew through it to the previous month and knocked him cold. He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his universe machine. The cork flew through it to the previous universe and knocked him cold. He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his improbability machine. The cork flew through it to the previous probability and became a bistro and fell on him, and that was that. And in another time, in another universe, improbable as it was, he or someone just like him opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his eventuality machine, but this time the cork didn’t fly anywhere, and he sat quietly and drank, wondering why he was suddenly feeling disappointed.

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Fnool Statement #=

We’ve never visited nor shall we visit your planet. We won’t emit any radiation, gravity, time or space signals in your direction. We will not present ourselves to you, nor shall we invade you, in any sense of that word. But the possibility of our existence is already planted deep in your minds. And that, you unlucky ones, is the real invasion.