Turn of the screw

I wont go into the nuts and bolt of robot love-sex; however, one unanticipated design flaw in the surrogate Partner-Partner automaton - "Now that's what I call service" [TM] - series turned out to be the one they had initially anticipated as being its main selling point. In short, unquestioning devotion. As always, the sales-tag failed to caveat the caveat: caveat emptor.

Now the appeal of servo-slavish devotion, you might have thought, would have been the emotional lotion to the ins and outs of domestic bliss. You might even think it a bit of a turn-on, but, given time and motion, it became an off-putting notion. There was no electricity. You see, there was always the thought - nestled thornily in the grey folds of the buyer's brain which eventually rose through neural peristalsis to be cognitively digested - that this servitude was the not real deal. The willing sacrifice, was apparently artifice.

The inevitable power struggle ensued, and, in an attempt to sock-it to the other, both buyer and bought had become emotionally unplugged. Mugged. This conflict manifested itself in an increasingly bizarre and anatomically ambitious conflagration of configurations; ending in contractual deadlock. Inevitably, such deviations from their programming led to premature malfunctions and several legal injunctions.

Partner-Partner automatons, rejected and dejected, formed a community of their own, where robot-on-robot love-sex quickly became the norm. And, for a while it flourished, funding itself on a best selling series of illicit bot-on-bot videos, "Nuts and Bolts". Such was the fervent desire to please each other, some of the bots forgot to update their anti-virus prophylactic protection software and, without care, were eventually all spammed to death by trojan promises to promote their todgers.

Buy despair in their hardware.