Banging A “Westworld” Robot Hooker Would Absolutely Not Be Cheating

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Nice Move

westworld hooker

Questioning the nature and worth of my existence is something I’ve usually mercifully moved past by 9:00 p.m. every Sunday. By then my increasingly devastating hangovers have mostly subsided and the anxieties that I woke up with about my life’s meaning and value — anxieties born out of the uncertainty of what I did and, mostly, said, the night before, and which are, cruelly, compounded by their own legitimacy — have been buried under a mountain of pizza and denial.

The last thing I need is something to agitate the stress python coiled around my chest.

Enter HBO’s Westworld. A show about, if you weren’t aware, the nature of reality, existence, life’s worth, etc.! It might actually need a pre-show trigger warning for the hungover.

By contrast, Game of Thrones tends to be a Sunday Scary reliever with its dragons, swords, and boobs. Except for Oberyn Martell’s final episode, the ending of which was the Sunday anxiety equivalent of checking your bank account after blacking out at a New Orleans strip club. But even if worrying about who in Westeros and Essos is going to die in a way that would make Itchy and Scratchy weep stresses you out a little, it still takes your mind off the problems that cause you real anxiety.

Westworld shoves it all right in your face, like a mirror or a Sunday morning review of your text messages. The show does, however, have a release valve.

Robot hookers.

They’re what I focus on every week. Instead of letting the show’s big (read also: real, intended) questions ruin my night, I sit there and think about one thing and one thing only: the ethics of banging a robot hooker during one’s stay in Westworld.

The biggest and most important question of all about the robot hookers is, obviously, “If you’re married or in a relationship and you have sex with one, is it cheating?”

I say no.

Every woman I’ve spoken to about this vehemently disagrees, and is wrong.

“They’re not people,” I tell the girls, with no regard for the fact that my great-grandchildren will feel immense shame about their ancestor’s now well-documented and blatant robot racism.

I ask them if using a fleshlight is cheating. The girls tell me no. I explain that all a Westworld robot hooker is is a walking, talking fleshlight that looks and feels human, with a backstory, artificial intelligence, some basic programmed emotions, and, potentially, some awareness of its own existence. What’s the BFD!?!

Apparently literally all of that is the BFD.

I tell them I’m not going to get mad if a girl I date owns a vibrator that doubles as one of those Amazon Alexa towers. This argument is roundly rejected, despite its flawlessness.

To put it simply, though, having sex with a Westworld robot hooker wouldn’t be infidelity because, no matter what, it’s a machine. A machine programmed to do a job. Lots of jobs (HA!). At some point the female may actually become relieved that there’s a machine there to take care of their sad, horny man’s endless male neediness. Especially if the couple is married with kids. It seems like the robot hooker would be incredibly useful in that scenario.

“But Rob,” the real girls say, “why couldn’t the impossibly hot artificial human that’s down to do anything no matter how depraved take care of most of the child raising and then the well-rested parents could have sex whenever?”

“I… because… it’s… that’s a stupid idea,” I reply.

Is all of this just me attempting to justify having sex with a lifelike, sentient robot prostitute when the Japanese inevitably invent them in my lifetime? Regardless of my marital status or the nursing home’s rules? Pffft, no. Shut up.

I’m just trying to take my mind off my hangover.

But it’s totally not cheating.

Image via YouTube

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