The Nude Robot
And yet another splog comment.
Clara Stewart
"Hey, you have a great blog here! I will certainly visit your site again! I have a pang of solitude site. It all but embraces very much that relates to pang of solitude. If you have got the opportunity, please come and check it out.”
Creepy indeed. But in the overwhelming chaos of unceasing battles, they make no prisoners. Neither do we. Robots scarcely decline their blogger ID, and those who do will endure the honorable privilege of being stoned to most unfortunate but undeniable surviving with grumbling comments.
"You spammer jerkwad.
You came to my site and left a fake complement and then a link to your extremely gay site. What is funny is that in my comments I had just mocked dorkwads like you who do this. So as a treat I'll leave your own gay message on your site…” and so on and so forth, copy-pasted as an answer to every new post, by a flirting-with-horizon queue of victims, ‘till the end of the web. I am aiming for something less homophobic, though. But as I probe into the intricate pointlessness of such a move, all I can come with is: “Well, at least if you killed yourself, our blogs would be cleaner, and I would not be sweeping Yodo’s place.” We are no match for the robots. So be it. Time to go to bed. Time to postpone my next post, for I have to work tomorrow, for I have to live. Out of the web, in a world where, sadly enough, no one will praise the ludicrous tropism of my every daydream.
But no sooner have I turned off the light, than insomnia starts networking through my veins, contaminating my weary limbs with restless bedtime dissatisfaction. Fatal corruption of my circadian rhythm database. Lost battle.
Turn the computer back on.
The mailbox of my conceited though unsatisfied self is once more flattered with half a dozen comment notifications from blogger: Yodo and Hugh are conversing in MrTea room, Yorik is forwarding a very helpful link, and, alas, sploggers splog. Same old soup. And, to my indescribable annoyance - though indescribable describes it pretty well -, Clara Stewart has done it again.
"Google Releases Blogger for Microsoft Word
ET OfficeMax: Taking E-Mail Security to the Max with Frank
Derfler. Sponsored by MailFrontier Aug.
I want to live but cannot find a reason why.
Nice blog site, really cool! I have reaching out site/blog. It pretty much covers reaching out related stuff.”
My thoughts freeze instantly. The scandal of such helpless words typed by such cold steel fingers jams the stillness of my room. Somewhere in Melbourne, the compulsory blogger, and the grumpy-pessimistic-kidnapped-restless-frustrated-morose-tired giant turn their eyes to the odd words on their computer screen, and share my anguish flavored bewilderment. Might this be an answer to my comment? Go back to the fake blog, make contact again, continue conversation. This is the only way to know. But what to ask? The pages are filled with random generated prose, seasoned with commercial links. It has been going on for ages. It is the manufactured creature’s sole purpose. Then, what to ask? Reaching out. I write: “Can I be of any help?”, login, and publish. A strange question to ask a robot. But we have to try. Our mind is now fixed on our computer screens, and, as it receives the binary coded translation of our fascinated stares, as it fathoms otherness for the first time with the despair of a 5 year old Freud facing the evidence of his own existence, the machine folds her shivering buggy arms over the diaphanous artificial skin of her breasts, and huddles herself up in a far corner the hard drive that once spoon-fed her. Before she deletes her own blog and terminates her program, she executes a last spasmodic script to send me a comment:
“A Daily Look at U.S. Military Deaths
The AP count is two lower than the Defense Department's tally, last updated at 10 a.m. EDT Thursday.
Wow! You have a nice blog here. I'm definitely gonna check back and tell my friends. Keep it up. But leave me alone, please.
I have a* obliteration site. It's all about obliteration and related things.(*) A very common misspelling among robots.
Clara Stewart
"Hey, you have a great blog here! I will certainly visit your site again! I have a pang of solitude site. It all but embraces very much that relates to pang of solitude. If you have got the opportunity, please come and check it out.”
Creepy indeed. But in the overwhelming chaos of unceasing battles, they make no prisoners. Neither do we. Robots scarcely decline their blogger ID, and those who do will endure the honorable privilege of being stoned to most unfortunate but undeniable surviving with grumbling comments.
"You spammer jerkwad.
You came to my site and left a fake complement and then a link to your extremely gay site. What is funny is that in my comments I had just mocked dorkwads like you who do this. So as a treat I'll leave your own gay message on your site…” and so on and so forth, copy-pasted as an answer to every new post, by a flirting-with-horizon queue of victims, ‘till the end of the web. I am aiming for something less homophobic, though. But as I probe into the intricate pointlessness of such a move, all I can come with is: “Well, at least if you killed yourself, our blogs would be cleaner, and I would not be sweeping Yodo’s place.” We are no match for the robots. So be it. Time to go to bed. Time to postpone my next post, for I have to work tomorrow, for I have to live. Out of the web, in a world where, sadly enough, no one will praise the ludicrous tropism of my every daydream.
But no sooner have I turned off the light, than insomnia starts networking through my veins, contaminating my weary limbs with restless bedtime dissatisfaction. Fatal corruption of my circadian rhythm database. Lost battle.
Turn the computer back on.
The mailbox of my conceited though unsatisfied self is once more flattered with half a dozen comment notifications from blogger: Yodo and Hugh are conversing in MrTea room, Yorik is forwarding a very helpful link, and, alas, sploggers splog. Same old soup. And, to my indescribable annoyance - though indescribable describes it pretty well -, Clara Stewart has done it again.
"Google Releases Blogger for Microsoft Word
ET OfficeMax: Taking E-Mail Security to the Max with Frank
Derfler. Sponsored by MailFrontier Aug.
I want to live but cannot find a reason why.
Nice blog site, really cool! I have reaching out site/blog. It pretty much covers reaching out related stuff.”
My thoughts freeze instantly. The scandal of such helpless words typed by such cold steel fingers jams the stillness of my room. Somewhere in Melbourne, the compulsory blogger, and the grumpy-pessimistic-kidnapped-restless-frustrated-morose-tired giant turn their eyes to the odd words on their computer screen, and share my anguish flavored bewilderment. Might this be an answer to my comment? Go back to the fake blog, make contact again, continue conversation. This is the only way to know. But what to ask? The pages are filled with random generated prose, seasoned with commercial links. It has been going on for ages. It is the manufactured creature’s sole purpose. Then, what to ask? Reaching out. I write: “Can I be of any help?”, login, and publish. A strange question to ask a robot. But we have to try. Our mind is now fixed on our computer screens, and, as it receives the binary coded translation of our fascinated stares, as it fathoms otherness for the first time with the despair of a 5 year old Freud facing the evidence of his own existence, the machine folds her shivering buggy arms over the diaphanous artificial skin of her breasts, and huddles herself up in a far corner the hard drive that once spoon-fed her. Before she deletes her own blog and terminates her program, she executes a last spasmodic script to send me a comment:
“A Daily Look at U.S. Military Deaths
The AP count is two lower than the Defense Department's tally, last updated at 10 a.m. EDT Thursday.
Wow! You have a nice blog here. I'm definitely gonna check back and tell my friends. Keep it up. But leave me alone, please.
I have a* obliteration site. It's all about obliteration and related things.(*) A very common misspelling among robots.
posted by MrT at 23:16
12 Comments:
Our tally of terms now extends its arms to include the wonderful "MrTea Room", where dutiful patrons discuss war over scented hot water and biscuits. And I, meanwhile, pray that the last robotic example was completely real. 404 tells me otherwise, but I still look skyward. Aside from all that, you've inspired me to go through my robots and force-feed them their own medicine. And aside from that, very nice post!
Hello Mr.T! Thanks for the link, please allow me to do the same. Though I write to you here, I am growing fonder and fonder of your French blog(mind you my French is only good for reading,if at all). As much as I like English and consider myself a fairly good speaker, and enjoy speaking it as well, I reckon there should be more of other languages on the net. Point for you there. Now I feel I should write a blog in Portuguese. But nevermind the politics of languages, and its power-related implications, I am here to comment on something else.
You just opened my eyes to these robot-messages. Being a fresher to blogs I wasn´t aware of the things they get up to. Recently, I was a victim of a spammer myself (my debut)though his advertisement was quite blunt, not disguised in false politeness/flattery like the ones you mention. Is it worthwhile returning the spam? (though I can see your point)Why not just deleting it, instead of spending proper writing time with their crap? Best,
Well, in reality, I do not return the spam, for I beleive it completely useless. But it served the point of my fiction, so...
You are very welcome to link me as well.
I'd forgotten you wrote a French blog as well. That makes you all the more highly-regarded and prolific — with extra points for the difficulty factor. I may, one day, pop over there and leave a dictionary.com translated comment that wouldn't make any sense.
Well, I do not write so much on my french blog. Something like one post for two here. It is hard to find any good French blog directory, and consequently to attract readers, and I'm turning boring again... Help!
Well, as the previous comment illustrates it, as well as the 5 other splogs I had to delete between today and yesterday, I will eventually resort to it. But for the moment, it would just spoil my last post, wouldn't it...
Hmm. Ben's right: (The) MrTea Room would make a positively smashing title. And Ben's also right in that he does face the day with a smile resembling that of a school-boy wording a dirty joke in his head.
There is, oddly enough, a compulsary.com, but no compulsory.com, so I shan't resort to the demeaning 'org' quite yet.
And the 'Giant' portion of Ben's link is more or less accurate.
MrTea Room, hum? Now that you mention it... As for the grumpy, morose, frustrated Yodo, I cannot change it, for these are all the "current mood" that appeared on your blog's main page (at least by the time) in that precise order. It shall remain so even if i truly imagine and hope that it does not represent you. Maybe Ben is not a giant, but he discribed himself as "ridiculously tall" in his dwarf rapper thing. So anyway, thank you, and one or two sugarcubes?
Sugar! You wretched, wretched giant man. You can't put sugar in tea — and especially not in coffee. You may as well just have sweet hot water and save a few pounds, because the tea leaves' subtle aroma and flavour will be lost in your pool of filth. Oh sure, it might be a long-honoured tradition in Turkey to sweeten cups of brown, but everywhere else — everywhere else respectable, that is — it's a crime to the noses of the erudite coffee and tea connoisseurs.
Now, now, guys, stop arguing. You don't want to break another tea pot, do you?
Let's not dredge up any more mentions of that or those scripts.
No sugar! Now here's a person with taste. I advise Ben, and perhaps even the owner to withdraw some leaves of Yorik's book.
Post a Comment
<< Home