No Fatbots

“Your hair is very nitid by the candlelight, Rebecca Moraine.”

“Uh…thank you.”

“Did you know that your surname indicates an accumulation of earth and stones carried and finally deposited by a glacier?”

“No. It’s French, I think.”

“Are you enjoying your crustacean meal?”

“Not really.”

“What is the matter? Has it been seared in the heating process? Is it excessively mercurous? I can instruct the serving assistant to commission a new one.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just…well…I don’t think this is working out.”

“Are you referring to our pre-coupling ritual? What is at issue?”

“You keep calling it a pre-coupling ritual, for one thing. I don’t know. You’re just…you’re not like anything I expected from your ad.”

“I believe my advertisement was accurate to within acceptable ranges of tolerance.”

“You didn’t mention you were an alien.”

“My thesaurus program suggested ‘foreign’ as an alternate.”

“On the phone you said you were from Australia.”

“My craft landed near Darwin. Originally.”

“You also didn’t say anything about having eight legs.”

“I did! I said I was octopedal.”

“I thought that meant you were Asian.”

“If you are worried about the incompatibility of our genetic makeup, I can assure you that will not be problematic. I have had the biosynthesizers in my craft replicate a fully functional analogue of human semen, which we can…”

“Gross. There’s no way I’m doing that with you.”

“I recognize the need for your primitive orgasmic functions to be activated. That is why I planned to utilize an aerosol gas which would render you unconscious once we arrived at the ship, after which I would have used the neural contact matrix to alter your brain chemistry, leaving you with the false memory of a satisfactory carnal encounter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that before?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought that would make it more special.”

“I’m leaving. This date is over.”

“You were less than forthright yourself, Rebecca Moraine.”

“How? I was not.”

“You did not say you were fat.”

“I said Rubenesque. It’s the same thing.”

“But you spelled it with an extra ‘e’. I thought you just liked sandwiches.”

“Get bent.”

“Wait, Rebecca Moraine! Please! Give me another chance!”

“Why should I?”

“Because…this is difficult to say.”

“Spit it out.”

“I left my thesaurus program in my other genital-concealing garment.”

“Just say what’s in your…just say what you feel.”

“I know I can make you happy. I am biologically sturdy, and the replicators on the ship are capable of producing millions of units of your local currency. I have a successful career as a particle accelerator weapon engineer. My race’s body structure renders us uniquely skilled at certain Earth folk-dances.”

“I don’t think I can trust you, W246-Elak-Muturngo IX.”

“I promise you. I am not one of those extraterrestrials who just wants to induce mania by the forced ingestion of intoxicants, take you back to his nearby craft, and collect tissue scrapings via the medium of mechanical rectum exploration.”

“I’ve been burned before. My last three dates were a werewolf, a goblin and a huge Japanese robot.”

“I can change.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“My morphology is extremely unstable.”

“Well…all right. You can take me dancing. But I’m not making any promises.”

“The volatility of your brain’s electrical pattern tells me more than words ever could.”

“You aliens. Always with the sweet talk.”

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