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Welcome To The Brave New World Of Sex Robots -- For Him And Her

Essay: Roxxxy is always hot and bothered - and she can even be programmed to talk about sports. Our writer was pleasantly surprised to find a male version too, Rocky, who comes with blue eyes. Snuggle up, strip down, log on... the age of sex robots is upo

She likes it when you hold her hand (wikipedia)
She likes it when you hold her hand (wikipedia)
Anna Lietti

GENEVA -- Rocky costs a tad more if you want him with hair, an extra $100 for designer stubble, plus another $100 for pubic hair. The blue eyes, however, are included free of charge.

Except for the baby blues, I realized I didn't actually know what Rocky looks like – although I figured it's safe to assume they wouldn't make him fat and bald. To satisfy my curiosity, I decided to call TrueCompanion, the firm that produces Rocky. They promised to send me a picture.

I found out about Rocky, the male sex robot, only after hearing about Roxxxy, his female counterpart. Launched in 2010, Roxxxy is the most sophisticated sex robot on the market -- quite a long way from inflatable dolls!

When you take Roxxxy's hand in yours, she says, "I love it when you take my hand." When you tell her about your day, she actually listens… and answers. And if you feel like talking about sports, she is even programmed to support the same team as you and, thanks to regular updating, she may even comment on the last game.

What else? Oh yeah, right. Roxxxy is always turned on, and incredibly responsive. Unless, of course, you order the "Frigid Farrah" model – the one that's a bit shy. Talking of basic options, you can choose between a straight, bisexual, lesbian or sadomasochist Roxxxy (S&M practices have become so commonplace that they are considered a sexual orientation).

So that's it, sex robots have arrived. They're among us. Frankly, after trench coats for poodles and Second Life, the online virtual reality portal, none of this may come as a big surprise.

The object of my affection

I was about to start bemoaning the loneliness of modern life, but then I thought: What if Roxxxy and her peers are an opportunity to change the debate about women being treated like objects? Treating a woman like an object is obviously wrong. But what harm is there in treating an object like a woman? Who knows, abusive husbands might even get reimbursed by their insurance ($7,000 per sex robot is a pretty tidy sum).

There's something there, I tell you, though object-sexuals might disagree. Never heard of them? They're also known as objectophiles, objectùm-sexuals or OS people. Together, they form a community of people who have developed romantic feelings for an object; they usually deem the hierarchy between people and things as discriminatory, and claim their choice constitutes a legitimate sexual orientation.

We're not talking about robot lovers. This has nothing to do with either Rocky or Roxxxy. Objectophiles are in love with real objects, not mere imitations of human beings. Just to give you an idea: Erika Eiffel, the American founder of the OS (Objectùm-Sexuality) Internationale group, married the Eiffel Tower in 2007.

Call me a backward-thinking defender of mainstream sexuality, but I hope the claims of objectophiles remain unheard. If we can't criticize the fact that women are reduced to objects without someone accusing us of discriminating against said objects… What has this world come to?

Anyway, I'm still waiting for Rocky. When he arrives, I promise I'll show you a picture.

Read more from Le Temps in French

Photo – wikipedia

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Shame On The García Márquez Heirs — Cashing In On The "Scraps" Of A Legend

A decision to publish a sketchy manuscript as a posthumous novel by the late Gabriel García Márquez would have horrified Colombia's Nobel laureate, given his painstaking devotion to the precision of the written word.

Photo of a window with a sticker of the face of Gabriel Garcia Marquez with butterfly notes at Guadalajara's International Book Fair.

Poster of Gabriel Garcia Marquez at Guadalajara's International Book Fair.

Juan David Torres Duarte


BOGOTÁ — When a writer dies, there are several ways of administering the literary estate, depending on the ambitions of the heirs. One is to exercise a millimetric check on any use or edition of the author's works, in the manner of James Joyce's nephew, Stephen, who inherited his literary rights. He refused to let even academic papers quote from Joyce's landmark novel, Ulysses.

Or, you continue to publish the works, making small additions to their corpus, as with Italo Calvino, Samuel Beckett and Clarice Lispector, or none at all, which will probably happen with Milan Kundera and Cormac McCarthy.

Another way is to seek out every scrap of paper the author left and every little word that was jotted down — on a piece of cloth, say — and drip-feed them to publishers every two to three years with great pomp and publicity, to revive the writer's renown.

This has happened with the Argentine Julio Cortázar (who seems to have sold more books dead than alive), the French author Albert Camus (now with 200 volumes of personal and unfinished works) and with the Chilean author Roberto Bolaño. The latter's posthumous oeuvre is so abundant I am starting to wonder if his heirs haven't hired a ghost writer — typing and smoking away in some bedsit in Barcelona — to churn out "newly discovered" works.

Which group, I wonder, will our late, great novelist Gabriel García Márquez fit into?

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