Brow Beat

The Redistribution of Sex

An engineer attaches a rubber face to a not-very-convincing-looking sex robot.
“Just let me put my face on.”
Fred Dufour/AFP/Getty Images

Had we but robot sex and time,
This coyness, ladies, were no crime.
You could sit down, and think which way
To swipe, and cause me no dismay.
Thou in a willing lover’s bed
Wouldst comfort find; I’d buy instead
A robot I could fuck. I would,
Leave you alone once and for good,
I’d recognize you have free will,
To choose to Netflix or to chill.
My electrical love replacement
Would keep me warm in mother’s basement,
And stop me wondering when I’m sleepy
Why living women find me creepy.
I’d fill my nights with robot sex,
Confuse the real with Memorex,
And live my life out all alone,
With something from The Twilight Zone.
Yes, ladies, I deserve this fate,
For whining about who you date.
    But in my heart I always know
Time’s wingèd chariot moves too slow;
And yonder all before us lie,
Valleys of vast uncannity.
Thy beauty cannot yet be bought
In any form of sex robot.
My sorry dreams of love synthetic
Will never not be hypothetic,
And people call me misanthropic,
Whenever I bring up this topic.
Now therefore, let me hide my thoughts,
And hope no one connects the dots.
I won’t pose rape as a solution,
Instead, I’ll talk of distribution.
Now let me call me libertarian,
Before I’m branded a barbarian.
Frame everything through the economy,
Rather than women or autonomy.
Let me roll all my hate and all
Resentment up into one ball,
And “just ask questions” while assuming
Women’s desires don’t count as human.
Thus I’ll conceal my virulence:
Sex robot thought experiments.