What's up, robot?
I'm in Sydney and somewhat snowed under with meetings as I am quite important, so today will be brief but fulfilling.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Andrew Thompson's 'We're In Business'.
I mostly like the part where he's pointing at himself in the mirror as if to remind himself not to 'go there' again. Please note: this is a sweet You Tube link to send someone if you're trying to get their attention.
134 days til the next election.
Comments
there's even pirate overtones. this has to be the best thing ever.
I’ve just remembered something I heard on the Jon Faine programme on 774 ABC Melbourne the other week.
At the time, it did not register as being of any significance, but upon reflection, the potential for a practical joke of enormous comedic value has occurred to me.
Jon was interviewing a fellow 774 employee, a man who happened to be gay and was living happily with his partner.
They had decided they wanted to have a child and recruited a lesbian couple of similar mind. Our man was to supply the semen and one of the women would carry the child and, as far as I could tell, the two couples would jointly raise the wee thing.
Apart from the possibility that the folk who run the psychiatric hospital may have to add an entire new wing to the joint to cope with the consequences of this sociological experiment, I didn’t really give the project too much thought until, out of the blue, the practical joke popped into my head.
I think the fact that the fellow mentioned he had purchased a turkey baster (truly) to transfer the requisite fluids set my subconscious in motion, and the following scenario unfolded.
Ms Fits, through diligent research, could obtain a drug that allows every aspect of the male sexual process to function as normal while preventing the attainment of orgasm. Fits, who has the run of the ABC compound, could then surreptitiously introduce this drug into our hero’s coffee.
Some time later, the parties to the deal would assemble at his apartment. Wine would be drunk; a festive atmosphere in the air. The donor would take his laptop and the turkey baster into the bedroom, call up some suitable pornography, and baster at the ready, begin to work on the donation.
After a few minutes, he’d notice that nothing was happening, and unconsciously increase the rate of stimulation until his arm was a blur of motion, like the piston on a steam engine.
Soon, he’d be leaning stiff-armed against the wall, head down, shoulders hunched, heaving on his organ. Then he’d be cross-legged on the floor, yanking with both hands, turkey baster lying forgotten on the bed, his face a crazed rictus, sweat dripping, jaw clenched, veins like drinking straws under his beet-red skin.
And finally, he’d admit defeat and shuffle brokenly into the living room, the empty turkey baster stating with far greater eloquence than mere words could impart, that his manhood had failed.
And so it would continue day in, day out, week after week. His partner and friends would try everything they could think of to stimulate him. Night after night they’d gather around his bed like firemen over a charred corpse, every surface in the room covered in open sex manuals and medical texts; littered with packets and bottles of licit and illicit substances. Nothing.
As the weeks go by, his work colleagues begin to notice the changes in their friend; the weight loss, shakiness, panda-eyes, loss of appetite and ninety minute toilet breaks. His supervisor draws him aside and suggests medical attention.
Then, traumatised, the lesbian couple decide to go to Tassie for a couple of weeks. Immediately, Ms Fits stops spiking his coffee. As if by a miracle, his sexual function returns.
After waiting a few days to ensure that recovery has in fact occurred, he excitedly phones the lesbians with the good news, and bounces around the office gushing with relief.
The day before the lesbians arrive, at morning tea time, Ms Fits goes to her locker and slips the pill bottle into her pocket, her face alive with gleeful malice.
Wouldn’t it be a hoot?
Um. 134 days to the next election?
Counting on my fingers gets me to Nov. 14 - a Wednesday. I suppose we could have an election on a Wednesday, but IT'S NOT USUAL!
Or have I got it all wrong?
Only one problem with your practical joke, mike. An ejaculation is not the same thing as an orgasm.
Also, is that song going to be looked back on in the future, when we all have robot companions, as akin to the racism of the days of yore?
Poor robots.
i thought that very thing, tls!
i think i watch too much battlestar galactica.
poor robots [cylons] indeed.
@Fridge Magnet: I remarked on the same thing 754 days ago. I guess that, the initial discrepancy aside, Fits has proved she sure can count backwards.
Anyway, back to mikeed1313's psychosis.
Jaysus, mikeed, what kind of diseased rat crawled into your psyche and died?
Actually, scratch that. I’d rather not know.
Just feeding the troll once, to register my disapproval of your prescence here. Get some fkn dignity.
How to steal some middle ground votes.
1. Leak a plan for a withdrawal of some troops.
2. Deny plan.
3. Do it early so the opposition attack on indecision is forgotten when it counts.
4. You have created a concept that you are open to / have withdrawal plans.
5. Yet you have firmly denied them formally, satisfying, infact greatly pleasing, allies and the right wing with your strong denials.
Admirable in a sick way. Money is on the seasoned veteran I am afraid.
Flash Player not installed and is bug riddled. Could someone please provide a naration of the You Tube clip that includes funny comments that other people who can watch it will get but I will not.
Trust our good friend mikeed1313 to bring the creepy to this little soiree.
Anon @ 7.07, here you go (with thanks to a site I forget):
Read it here:
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I"M GOING TO KILL YOU!
Andrew: OH MY GOD!
Never trust a robot
Never trust a robot
You might think that they are your friend
They'll only kill you in the end
Never trust a robot
Never trust a robot
Don't leave them with your kids
Don't invite them to play bridge
Chorus:
Andrew: If you're a human being, we're in business
Andrew: If you are not a machine, we're in business
Robot: If you are not me?
Andrew: We're in business. We're in business
Don't take them along for trips
They might posion your bag of chips
Never trust a robot
Never trust a robot
Don't take them with you to work
They just might go berserk
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What is it Robot?
Robot: YOUR ASS IS MINE!
Andrew: OH MY GOD!
Chorus:
Andrew: If you're a human being, we're in business
Andrew: If you are not a machine, we're in business
Robot: If you are not me?
Andrew: We're in business. We're in business
Robot: Come on outside! I brought you a lollipop. Oh, what? This? It only looks a laser gun that kills people! Hahahaaaaa!
... all of which, presumably, has put you out of your misery.
Thankyou. It is dark. I am scared.
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