Look, I didn’t want to write about this. I’ve got a hangover that feels like someone replaced my brain with wet cement, and the last thing I need is to think about another silicon-based “companion” that’s definitely, absolutely, positively not for fucking. But here we are, and my bourbon won’t pay for itself.
So there’s this new robot called Aria. Price tag: $175,000. That’s roughly 8,750 bottles of Wild Turkey, but who’s counting? The company behind it, Realbotix, swears up and down it’s meant to “tackle the staggering loneliness epidemic.” Right. And I go to strip clubs for the buffet.
The funny part? They’re saying this thing is destined for hospitals and theme parks. Because nothing says “family fun” or “get well soon” like a dead-eyed android with what Reddit accurately describes as “giant honkers and absolutely juicy ass.” Christ, I need another drink.
Let’s break this down while I look for my lighter. Aria can’t walk, but boy does she have expressive facial features. According to CNET, she looks “mildly inebriated” - finally, a robot I can relate to. The company’s CEO, Andrew Kiguel, says she can have “conversations of a more intimate nature.” Buddy, I’ve heard better euphemisms in truck stop bathrooms.
The kicker? They claim this is the “most realistic robot in the world.” I’ve seen more convincing performances from my local karaoke regulars at 2 AM. The videos show her moving like she’s doing an impression of me trying to find my keys after last call, and her response time makes my ancient dial-up connection look speedy.
Here’s what gets me: they’re trying to dress this up as some kind of solution to loneliness. Like somehow, dropping 175 grand on a jerky-moving mannequin that runs on ChatGPT is going to fill the void in your soul. You know what used to work for loneliness? Bars. Coffee shops. That weird book club your neighbor keeps inviting you to. But no, we’ve got to reinvent human connection with silicon and servos.
They say she can be configured as male or female and can even replicate historical figures. Because nothing says “tackling loneliness” like a robot Abe Lincoln with “conversations of a more intimate nature.” Jesus, pour me another one.
The whole thing reminds me of when my ex said she was leaving me for “more emotional availability.” At least I can walk and don’t need to be plugged in every night (though the bourbon might argue otherwise).
But the real punchline here isn’t the robot - it’s us. We’re so far down this rabbit hole that we’re building $175,000 “companions” while pretending they’re not for what they’re obviously for. It’s like ordering a salad at a steakhouse - nobody’s buying it, pal.
Look, I’m not judging. God knows I’ve made enough questionable decisions in my life to fill a memoir nobody would publish. But can we at least be honest about what we’re doing here? This isn’t about loneliness or hospital reception desks or whatever other corporate BS they’re spinning. This is about humans being humans, just with more expensive toys.
And you know what? Maybe that’s fine. Maybe we deserve these plastic partners in our plastic world. But for fuck’s sake, let’s not pretend it’s something it’s not. We’re not that drunk yet.
Time for me to wrap this up. My bottle’s running low and these cigarettes won’t smoke themselves. Here’s to Aria, the robot who looks as confused about her purpose as I am about mine. At least one of us can be turned off when the existential dread kicks in.
[Editor’s note: Henry passed out on his keyboard shortly after filing this piece. We found him muttering something about robot Lincoln and “honest Abe’s honest babe.” The bourbon has been confiscated.]
Yours in perpetual cynicism, Henry Chinaski
P.S. Still waiting on that callback about the robot’s anatomical features. Something tells me I’ll be waiting a while.