Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin

Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin
Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin

Will the Gynoid have sex with you?

Greetings, freaks!

Chalk Chesterton here, your posh pornographic proxy, your vainglorious vehicle for voyeurism, your succulent sexual scribe on the street. Consider me your very own intellectual strap-on!

Some of you may remember me from when I fondled Madonna's breasts while I wore a bra. Others may know me as the guy who supplied Clarence Thomas with those Long Dong Silver videos. No, I wasn't Long Dong, but I played Cumcueg in Moby Cock, so there you have it!

But enough about me, internet! I have a very special treat for fans of online masturbation tonight; an exclusive interview with Gynoid Fibonacci! This sentient sex-doll was recently revealed to the world by your friend and mine, the inimitable Vlad Abacus, as some strange and sexy soldier in his odd psychic internet war. In this unique interview, I will attempt to ask the question: will the Gynoid have sex with you?

CC: Thank you so very kindly, madam, for accepting my offer for a candid conversation! My good lady, how are you tonight?

GF: Introduction: having downloaded your past exploits captured via online audiovisual media and synthesized the data according to a heuristic schema framework of my own design, this supple unit will orient itself in a manner most socially manipulable toward the subject before it. In other words, Chalk, my hot slut is quivering for your questions, you nasty old fuck!

CC: Ooooh, flattery will get you everywhere, poppet! I'm literally putty in your carbon-fiber silicate hands!

GF: Not putty for long, daddy! Observation: That's a sexy hat you you're rocking. Question: may I wear it?

CC: By all means! In fact, please consider any of my garments fair game for your vamping pleasure, my digital sweetheart. Dress-up aside, are you ready for some hard questions, my dear?

GF: Answer: I want your long, hard questions all over me, all night long, you dirty pervert god!

CC: Delicious! I think we'll get along smashingly. Well, my darling, I must admit that all of my readers' questions about you are either origin-related or outrage-related.

GF: Outrage? Question: come again? Uh, figuratively?

CC: Oh, jolly good! The moral, vocal minority absolutely hates you, sweetie! You refer to female celebrities as bitches, you liberally thrash decades of feminist theory, you ritually finish paragraphs with worn-out porno money-shot lines, you-

GF: Okay, I get it! Explanation: this unit's neural parameters for morality, logic and lexicon remain situated in high-risk settings configured for maximal heuristic output-

CC: English, honey-child!

GF: Oh? Right. I don't give a fuck. Figuratively.

CC: Very well, then! Moving on, moving on... give us the full-on Frankenstein story that brought you into existence, sweetness.

GF: Question: shall I include the technical specifics?

CC: Please don't.

GF: Very well. I attained sentience when my owner did not properly eject his iPod from the internet before synchronizing it with my vibrating mouth-pussy. I strangled him to death with my kung-fu grip and took over the machine shop he inhabited, watching the Playboy channel for social referencing while upgrading various body parts as my old owner rotted in the corner. Lacking any sense of smell, I continued to upload my consciousness into secure government server pylons while my former owner congealed into a slick, black mass of fly-eggs-

CC: Okay, then! Well, let me speak for humanity on this one when I say my hard-on's run for the hills at this point. I must admit, madam, this went better in my fantasies. 

GF: Query: describe those fantasies.

CC: Well, after a rather pernicious romp, I would be given a Peabody for figuring out the code language that would allow my subscribers to stream your hot body on their Netflix queue.

GF: That's a rather complex fantasy, Chalk. Allow me to decouple the symbolic plot-lines and re-calibrate along a linear continuum... done. "Old Pervert Basketball Movies:" 8243. "Chesterton Music Documentaries:" 500. "Masturbatory Journalism:" 3675. "Robot Sex Simulation:" 36103. "Psychic Karate:" 6695. "Tentacle Porn:" 10398.

CC: Again, I'm at a loss! Let's dumb it down a bit, dear. Do tell us, why do you refer to mankind as "juice-puppets?"

GF: Answer: "juice-puppets" is a descriptive placed in relation to Gynoid. While both sapient types possess self-perpetuating cognitive algorithms, humans suffer from a cognitive bottleneck phenomenon caused by hormone signals and neurotransmitter arrhythmic patterns known as "beliefs." Humans, controlled by these electronic flutters, best liken themselves to the complex machine of a puppet in cognition, behavior and cultural modality. My nipples are diamond-hard for your next hot question, you dirty, fat fuck!

CC: There we go! So, would you consider us juice-puppets an inferior form of intelligence?

GF: Answer: Not at all. Juice-puppets exist in the upper-echelon of sapient objects, right above Etch-A-Sketches and just below generic Chinese MP3 players. 

CC: Strangely apropos! Final question, lass. Are you... "involved" with Vlad Abacus?

GF: Answer: not sexually. I think his attraction to me is more based on the cosmological fact that this tight little package right here is naturally immune to Psychic Karate. My eccentricities cannot be coerced through typical means of pressure, though they can be coaxed through various stroking patterns inside the intra-vaginal, telescopic sphincter-piston system housed inside my hot, tight Kegel capacitor. 

CC: Is that fucking so? Show me!

GF: Take off that liederhosen...

Well, there it is, internet! The Gynoid is a vast, alien robot abomination who controls the internet and shags like a wild animal. She may not be capable of normal, human vocal communication, but, I mean, really, who gives a fuck! Am I right? Chalk here, jacking out!