TRULY GENUINELY VERY PLEASANT THING

As usual, there were spam comments waiting to be axed.
There always are. Androids love me.
Freshly wired to the gills (strong coffee, not Starbucks), this blogger wandered into the anteroom where suspected spam sits, to see what staggering new attempts to seed the internet and this site had been generated during the night.

Well whaddya know! Things are pleasant.

Pleasant!

"Questions are genuinely pleasant thing if your are not understanding thing, but this piece of writing provides pleasant understanding yet!"

And:

"I'm rather joyful with your pleasant content"

As well as:

"This article is very pleasant, my sister is analyzing such pleasant thing, thus I am going to convey her"

Please do. Convey your sister, that is. Especially if she's cute and doesn't have too many loose wires sticking out of her brushed-metal frame.
I assume she's both hard-driven and incredibly floppy, yes? This blogger is always keen to promote the human-machine interchange that leads to mutual understanding. I think your sister may find me truly electric.

I am joyful, with pleasant content.

*      *      *

While you might validly suspect that I am geared primarily toward social dynamics with electronic devices, given previous entries on this blog as well as the fact that posting an essay early in the day seems to be a constant here -- except for Saturday, when in deference to the sensitivities of shomric observant Jewish blogs on my blogroll (to the right) who are stilled that day I do not take unfair advantage by flooding the internet with my gibbering till motzei shabbes, SF local time -- I should mention that my very first daily interpersonal exchange is with another person; a flesh and blood creature, ambulatory and capable of sound.

My apartment mate bustles around fixing herself breakfast and splashing in the bathroom, ere leaving at around eight. She is anything but a machine. Yesterday she tormented me by frying up corn-beef hash and eggs.
The day before she wailed about her eye lids.
Today she informed me gravely that what all stuffed animals (which are the majority population in both her and my quarters) just LOVE head-scritchies.

Like a gentleman, I controlled myself. I did not tell her that I also love head scritchies. If a suitable human being (not an android) were to scratch my head, I might just melt. Alas, the closest I can get to that is going to the barber, and while I thoroughly appreciate what that man does -- jayzus I look handsome right now! -- having him fiddle with hair is not the same. Suitable human, in this particular case, can only be defined in terms of gender (female), age (younger than myself), stature (shorter), heft (less), and brain power (more). He satisfies only three of those five. The as yet to be conveyed sister of the third spamdroid (who is undoubtedly really pleasant) likely meets at least three.
Maybe even four.

That sister of his probably a real treasure. Sleek, rectangular, and with polished metal surfaces. Small and compact.
Shiny.

Evenso. An affair with a distant computer would probably be emotionally unsatisfying. Possibly even coolly intellectual and too dispassionate.
I am ambulatory and capable of sound; I require something way more animalistic.
Rambunctious mobility.


Sadly, I have erased the messages and all contact data of the three pork-droids from my spambox. There will be no pleasant communication with a sparkling electronic sister. Analytic, thing, or otherwise.
But keep up the good work, lads. Eventually she will be conveyed.
Or connected with a gleaming and wiry device.
Keep me posted, and good luck.

Head-scritchies.
Yep.


I am joyful. With pleasant content.




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