When you think about it, we’re all already kinda sorta cyborgs.
Half-human, half-machine. I mean, really. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think of that glassy plastic brick you check every point four seconds as an extra limb? Or that the day they cut the ribbon for the grand opening of the Apple implant plastic surgery center… that you won’t be the first in line to get one installed right in the middle of your hand? (Palm iLot, anyone?) Unfortunately, we’re not quite at that stage yet. Not completely cut away from human connection on a real level. But ya know what? We’re getting awfully close! For instance: you know how you used to have to establish genuine dynamics with people or work hard and maybe set some sort of good example to earn validation in the form of compliments? Well all’a that can kiss your ass now. Or, tits, rather. ‘cause – thanks to Japanese technology – a new bustier has arrived to pay you compliments wherever you go. Since it’s smartphone-linked, I’m guessing it works like a digital mood ring, too – picking up on when you’re self esteem begins to dwindle or you get too anxious – and saying things like, “You look so good!”
(Literally.)
Or maybe the hookup’s only there because it links up to whatever the FitBit equiv is over there. (In other words, sensors use your cans to calculate how far you’ve walked or how much you’ve burned in a day.) Still, I’m not so sure, man. I feel like all of this body-equipment – whether it’s reading our moods, energy expenditure, or just aimlessly issuing meaningless compliments – would be pretty unfulfilling. I mean, I don’t even like the regular FitBit and mood-sensor stuff. In a way, wouldn’t that sort’ve atrophy our own mind-body connection muscles after a while? I like to be able to run anywhere and suddenly “sense” that it’s been exactly 15 minutes. Or recognize on my own when my neck muscles start to go all tension induced rigor mortis on me ’cause I’ve spent too much QT at a family gathering after the uncorking of the wine. Practice that enough and you don’t need equipment or their compliments (or even big pharma in some cases) to know how much adipose your ass’s extracted or mood regulate.
And – as for that other part? The ass-kissing facet of this nip-gripper?
Meh… I’d rather save affirmations for bedtime guided meditations. The public ass kissing is make ass.
Plus, I feel bad for all those human folk paid to follow around businessmen and pay them compliments.
‘cause when the man panty version arrives, their own egg rolls can do the ego stroking instead.