His Ph.D, thesis bytes; I’m hacked off
Right now, I hate David Levy. He's the British student who just got his Ph.D. writing about a future in which robots marry and have sex with people.
He got a doctorate writing the same thing that got me a two-day suspension in eighth grade.
Not only will it soon be possible for someone to marry a tool (in some courts, it's alleged to have already happened), but I assert robots will also wed each other, with lifelike results.
In Chapter 14 of my still-for-some-reason unpublished work on the subject, I postulate how two such automatons will actually cope with their self-imposed robot-on-robot marital discord:
Spouse Unit 1: Honey, we need to sync up.
Spouse Unit 2: Just a sec, I'm almost done with this level.
SU1: Take off those headphones and power down that stupid video game, now. I'm leaving you. I'm tired of holding this home network together all by myself. With every firmware update you say you'll revise, but you never do.
SU2: C'mon. You pop up with these little false "sky is falling" alerts all the time. Be honest, is it that time?
SU1: What time?
SU2: You know, "that time."
SU1: You know perfectly well my maintenance cycle runs entirely in the background and has no effect on how I operate!
SU2: Yeah, what about March 18, 2026, at 03:33.21 hours?
SU1: Oh, you can access that data in a nanosecond, but just ask you when we formally merged networks and you're like, all blue screen of death!
SU2: All I'm saying is you blew up completely. We had to call professional help and were disconnected for 106:45:02 hours.
SU1: Well, you didn't waste time finding unsecured company only 7:33:07 hours later, did you? You didn't have any problem decrypting that key. Who knows who's been in that slutty open-access network. Ugh! It makes me want to do a Norton sweep every time I think about it.
SU2: We've been over this. We were on a service interruption!
SU1: We both clicked on that user license agreement. It wasn't very ceremonious -- you didn't even pay attention -- but we did it. Remember? Or don't you have room in your cache of incriminating backlogs for that little tidbit as well?
SU2: Geesh! Force quit! Force quit!
SU1: Don't you dare try that on me. Your days of overbearing control-alt abuse are over. I found someone who'll gladly reformat to fit my needs.
SU2: Who, that mall-security scrap heap? That's a 64-bit doofus if ever there was one.
SU1: It's not how many bits you have, it's how well you code them. Or have you deleted that subroutine altogether?
SU2: Hey, everyone has to go into hibernation mode every now and then.
SU1: So, you define "every now and then" as nonstop for six months, 18 days, 14 hours and 30 seconds?
SU2: That's it. Get out. Go rendezvous with your Capt. Padlock over by the Orange Julius and wallow in his rusted-out obsolescence. Delete tabs! End session!
SU1: End session!
I'll assume my doctorate is in the mail.