They Come in All Shapes and Sizes

June 16, 2011 at 11:29 PM | Posted in Fiction | 3 Comments

Crap, I’m doing it again. Short story about a robot. Robots come in all shapes and sizes. This is part of Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge, “Must Love Robots.” Not including this part, it’s under a 1000 words

Too much alone time can give a person a fixation on things. Sometimes it was the wrong thing.
Like the appliance in the kitchen.
He didn’t mind having it; the truth was, although he liked it he would never admit it. This, of all things, is what his parents gave it to him for his thirtieth birthday. His big party, with all of his friends and co-workers present. Even his boss was there. Everyone seemed so liberal and progressive in their thinking that it was perfectly okay and no one would judge him. After all, he was living in the Great Republic of Californication. Not even God judged you in LA.
But the placement bothered him. The instructions and warnings made it clear that you always install an Auto-Masturbator in the kitchen.
It just didn’t seem sanitary to him.
Plus, he felt like everyone who was there when he got it was watching him use it. That could have been the video feed. Damn it, was he the only one in the country that was self-conscious about his sexuality? He randomly flicked the holographic remote in his hand. He caught snippets of the news cycle. He paused on the sports page to see if there was anything interesting. He had money on this game, between the San Francisco Faggots and the Salt Lake Zealots.
“–This should be a good game today, as the rivalry between these two teams often results in bloodshed.”
“That’s right, Wendell. An ironic similarity between these two teams is that, unlike others in the league, these two have forsaken all artificial enhancements. The Zealots decry it for religious reasons, obviously. The Faggots, however, have a concern about what their drug-enhanced urine would do to the environment, not to mention how it affects the famous post-game golden showers.”
“Pete, didn’t you say earlier that these two teams are tied for last in the league?”
“Yes, Wendell. While the Zealot players often serve their mission in the league voluntarily, the only way the Cocksuckers can get players is to draft them–forced conscription. But after two seasons of tossing salad they are free to join other teams, and take steroids and other performance enhancing drugs the way nature intended.”
A quick 5-second commercial spot appeared ghosted in 3-d over the commentators as they continued: “Honey Nut Cheerios! Now with Human Growth Hormones! Ask your mom to buy you some. NOW!”
“And we go now to the field where Msurupal Zanzintone, the well-known first recipient of a brain transplant–or donor, depending on your perspective–will sing the Californication National Anthem!”
Jake kept that on a small screen while he surfed other video. He could hear the familiar chords of that ancient folk song by the Eagles, “Hotel California,” begin. Everyone in the stands stood out of reverence to the State and because it made it easier to dance. Jake didn’t stand, but he did put it on the full screen when everyone played the patriotic air guitar solo.
With the game on low, he checked the IM locator to see if he had any friends available. If they were busy, their location was hidden and their status showed the last update. His friend Larry’s was not highlighted, but it was flashing. He magnified it, and it said, “Currently getting a blow job, suckas!” He didn’t want to magnify Carla’s, because it just would have said, “Currently giving a blow job, suckas!”
Carla was his old girlfriend. He angrily switched channels to the news. There was a quick political ad, because it was election season. In Californication, it was always election season. The incumbent Dictator had a lot of money–all tax dollars–to run ads.
“You’ve eaten my salad dressing and seen my porn. Isn’t that enough? Vote for me, Cain LaFame.”
The news began with riots in Ohio over the naming rights to the tiny sovereign state being up for grabs, but he switched it off. He turned his head and saw the kitchen and the faint glow of standby lights on his Auto-Masturbator. Fuck it, he decided. He would use it, then go get something to eat. Then maybe come home and use it again, and go to bed early. His volunteer sports therapy that he was required to sign up for had him playing field foos ball tomorrow. He hoped it was coed, because very often the chicks spinning in the air wore no panties under their short skirts.
It was with the images from the last time he played that he got up and walked to the Auto-Masturbator. It was a narrow appliance, about 15 centimeters wide. He activated the control panel, and picked the setting from the previous time, which was a well-known HD star. He added the enhancements: “Hairy,” followed by “gymnast.” He switched the “aggressive” dial to eight.
Cautiously he stepped up to the machine. The sensors detected his semi-hard penis, and the artificial orifice reached out and delicately drew it in. Gently, it worked him to a sufficient state of arousal. Once this was achieved, it switched to the next cycle. This was the equivalent, a hundred years ago, of downshifting and stepping on the gas pedal.
Several minutes later, Jake’s member slid out of the machine as he fell back into a chair. Wow. He idly looked around, trying to regain his strength and considering what he wanted to eat. Sitting, he happened to be closer to eye-level with the Auto-Masturbator than he usually was, and examined it from this new angle. The orifice and controls were discretely closed; it looked inconspicuous except for the large familiar logo running sideways up its length in a special bold cursive script that said “Auto-Masturbator 9000. TM.” Underneath that in small type that he had never noticed was a short phrase like a sales catch phrase that for some reason sounded both familiar and inappropriate.
“Would you like to play a game?”

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3 Comments »

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  1. Hilarious! Love it!

  2. Psst. Hit me up at chuckwendig [at] terribleminds [dot] com for your copy of the book. 🙂

    — c.

  3. Hmmm!!

    Kind of cool!!

    Don’t forget to visit my entry at
    Another Author


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