"You can't."
"You can't just recycle the same story and pretend it's your own."
"You can't rename characters and expect us to pretend they're different."
"You can't make an original story."
"No...you're right."
"So why do you bother?"
"Why do you insist on trying to rewrite a preexisting tale?"
"Because..."
"Because I have an idea. I have a theory, a plan, and a set of people who believe in me. I am better than what you think I can be."
"You won't move me."
"I know."
"So why are you still persisting?"
"Because I can move others that are in my field of storytelling."
"Your story has been told already by many others. You can't pretend they haven't and you can't convince others of that, either."
"No. You are right."
"So why are you doing this?"
"Because they asked for it."
"When are you two gonna stop playing with your stupid dolls and come to dinner already!?"
. . . . . .
Friday took a sip of her water as she browsed her options for jobs in the area. She had her resumé all written out and everything, all she had to do was find a simple job and apply for it.
She was particularly interested in something called "The FredBare Strip Club", where they were hiring people who were willing to take the night shift. Simple job; all you had to do was watch cameras and ensure safety of "equipment". It paid minimum wage, at least. $100.50? That sounded just about right.
Friday smiled as she realized she had found a job she might actually be able to hold down. She rolled up the paper, putting it under her arm. She walked to her bathroom to freshen up for the day. She'd have to apply later that day.
After a nice, long shower and breakfast, Friday decided to call up the establishment and ask for an interview. She picked up and dialed the number as per written in the article. The other line began ringing, and a groggy voice picked up the other line. "Hello?"
"Um...h-hello!" was Friday's somewhat less-than-confident response. She had crippling phone anxiety. "I'm h-here to apply for the job...uh, I saw your ad, and…"
No response on the other line. "Um, anyway! Wh-where can I, uh…"
"Are you scared of robots?" came the groggy voice.
What a weird question! "Um...no?"
Silence on the other line. "Meet me here at two o'clock today," said the groggy voice, "And you're hired."
"Really!?" Friday asked excitedly, "Wow! I'm actually about to get a job! I can't believe it!"
"Just one thing," said the voice, "You'll refer to me only by my real name. None of that purple girl shit."
"Yes, ma'am!" Friday said, gripping the newspaper article tightly, "What's your name?"
. . . . . .
Henrietta wiped her sweaty forehead as she unveiled her latest creations. She stepped back, admiring her frameworks and intricate devices clung so neatly and perfectly to the metal skeletons. The massive device stood at about her height, looking like something straight out of any laboratory you could find down the street, but it was so much more than just an average robot.
Henrietta's robot was meant to work as a human, anthropomorphized to the point where the skeleton was complicated enough to not even be of this Earth. Each part was assembled perfectly, wired carefully and put together through painstakingly long periods of time.
But they were finally done.
The engineer ran inside her home and dialed up her friend. She bounced in place, eager to show off her newest projects. A quiet ringing sounded from the telephone while Henrietta moved her fingers and feet energetically. She nearly popped when her friend picked up her phone, and her casual "Hello?" piped through the reciever.
"WILLOW!" Henrietta shouted, "I'm done! I'm done, they're finally finished! I did it!"
"No fucking way!" the groggy voice cried out, "You're DONE already!? Can I come over and see them!?"
"Hell, yeah!" Henrietta excitedly replied, "Get over here! Now, now, NOW!"
"Okay, I'm coming! Hold on!" Willow yelled, hanging up.
. . . . . .
"What do you think?" Henrietta asked, eagerly awaiting her friend's response.
Willow laughed. "These are amazing!" she said, "Holy shit! Do they work?"
"I don't know!" Henrietta admitted, "But I'm certainly willing to try them out!"
"I'm astounded," Willow gushed, "I can't believe my best friend built these!"
"WE built them," Henrietta corrected.
"Yeah," Willow acknowledged, "But I still can't believe it! We built sentient sex robots!"
Henrietta couldn't stop smiling. All the progress the two girls had made for almost five years now came down to these two robots, standing unused within Henrietta's garage.
"What are we gonna do with them?" Willow asked, "Are we just gonna sell these to whatever horny rich guys are willing to pay for them?"
Henrietta put a gloved finger to her lip. "I had a better idea," she said, "What if we used them to attract people? Like, a bar or something? Where they stripped and danced, and we could run the restaurant together?"
Willow grinned. "That's a great idea!" she said, "I'd be honored to work a bar with you!"
Henrietta and Willow stood back, admiring the endoskeletons of the robots. Their wiry forms looked unappealing at best, but with a few layers of artificial flesh and makeup, they were guaranteed to look beautiful and horny.
Henrietta frowned. "Well," she said, "We oughtta have a backup plan just in case that one fails."
Willow pursed her lips for a moment, deep in thought.
"Do you have the building instructions for these robots?"
"No," Henrietta admitted, "But I can do my best to rebuild them. Why?"
ExtoPlasm has initiated a prequel to the misadventures of a lucky security guard! What mishaps will befall the poor fellow? Find out next Saturday! Just a precaution, I am still a virgin as of now, so any details concerning sexual intercourse I may have gotten incorrect is completely accidental and should be brought to my attention if necessary! Thanks for reading, and thank you so much for your support!
