Renting a sex doll is like picking up a fleshlight you found on the street and thinking "Hey, I wanna f**k that." The f**k you do! That's gross as s**t, man. You don't need me to give you a PSA on disease or grime or crust buildup. That stuff is out in the world -- hell, it's basically Earth's trademarked motto at this point. And I'm sure these things would get shoved into a dishwasher in between renters, but f**k that. What if the last dude hexed its vagina and now it's Chucky or something? What if he put a microphone in its hair and is now sampling your sex sounds for a wicked dance track? Didn't think of that while you were porking the communal squish mitten, did you?
Speaking of sharing the load, what's the deal with tech conventions that include advanced sex robots? If I may prey upon tech convention stereotypes, I think that's totally asking for trouble. "Hey, sweaty guys who are so passionate about gadgetry and electric forks that they pay money to attend an event in their honor, want to touch this fake lady who responds to your dong-centric advances?"
In a turn of events that should surprise no one yet still sadden us all, when Sergi Santos brought Samantha the sex robot to the Arts Electronica Convention, she was set upon by pervy tech nerdlingers like a ham being ravaged by malnourished coyotes.
Samantha, which costs about $6,000, is an intelligent sex robot that responds when you massage her breasts and whatnot. So a bunch of dudes got all up in her personal space until her fingers were broken and she was covered in filth. Apparently her breasts were "mounted," but I have no idea what the hell that even means. Was that a little something that was lost in translation, or did someone actually hump this thing's rubber boobies? Or did they cut them off and put them on a plaque like trophy hunters? More importantly, which answer would make you the least sad?