Love Contrivance (23)

   
   "Love Contrivance (23)"
   
   It just wasn't arousing me, or how to word it properly:  "I'm freaking asexual!"
   The slop and filth of it all, minus the magnanimous, Canadian pronghorn mating for reasons of play and adoration--I didn't get it.  Gotta learn from the stag.
   And deep in the American South, well, South-Eastern Conference Football, in a matter of writing; plus, speaking:  I remembered the Hundred Years' War; moreover, Saint Joan of Arc, and the BATTLE for Orleans, or so as it has been written, crafting my imaginative production on brainwaves in that particular place.
   Fiery, virginal, cross-dressing, short haircut, and all the confidence of someone appearing non-confident, but being the fox, knowing HER'S will last for ultra-eternity--now that's super-sublimity, sincerely aligned and universally united with Intelligent Design, the Master of Us put in creation and rotation.
   Yup, Ai was fine.  A Japanese beauty.  But what did this all mean?  Atari has passed, or so it seems, and without PITFALL HARRY, well, I can handle it--got it covered, dude.  

Love Contrivance (22)

 "Love Contrivance (22)"

Ai started in, at the JACK IN THE BOX of a French Bistro;
Indeed, only grilled chicken marinated in orange juice, nothing but her that was astro--
So far out into the galactic might,
Having a mechanical brain with computerized flight;
Specifically, technological wings of unlimited possibility, and she knew the ethnic slurs,
But I wanted to adorn her in blue-hued sapphire gemstones, and predatory furs;
Alas, I was no match for a love-making machine,
Yet she found faith in my poignant mien,
Knowing my usual thrills were not bodily discharge, like confetti left over after a party;
Plus, my ass could be weirdly wise--a non-potty mouth, though a bit bizarrely naughty.      

Love Contrivance (21)

   
   "Love Contrivance (21)"  
   
   The wait for the Big Orange to take to Terra's terrain was taking its toll one me; specifically, with Wally, every night, for a paperboy never gets a day off--even on the holidays, just means the newspaper has more cumbersome girth with all the bulky advertisements.  Anyway, Wally was dipping up a mouthful of bull's eyeing his little tin cup, verbally going on and on about the Big Orange, saying shit like:  "Live Action, Boy!"
   I tossed my papers, following directions, like:  throw-up in driveway.
   The Road Runner was scattering coyotes that night, and as I piloted the massive 8 cylinder through the Franklin suburbs, I pondered the technical aspects of Ai.  Yes, she was sophisticated; plus, oh so totally robo-sultry.
   The only thing that distracted my Swiss-Cheese mind from Ai was the Hungarian Women's Water Polo Team.  Those corporeal angels crafted to give a guy like me a break in life.  A chance to dream of being young again.  Being reminded:  I am incarnate--in the flesh.   

Love Contrivance (20)

   
   "Love Contrivance (20)"
   
   My date with Ai went as fine as California wine; moreover, she was pleasant, charming, had honor, integrity, at least in vocal admittance; however, before we parted, and with a soft smooch from her China doll lips, though she was Japanese made, she offered another ethnic slur in jocular fashion, saying:  "Why can't you buy an Irishman a birthday present?  Because you can't wrap up an entire pub."     
   I casually cruised home in the monster Plymouth, getting my weirdness out with a heavy foot in the backwoods of Franklin, using the potent low-end torque produced by the behemoth big block.
   At Grandma's, Lucy was there, and I told my girly cousin about my interest and suspicions concerning Ai.  Lucy smiled, knowing me; next, offered:  "Whether she's silicone or flesh--you should get some sex Simon.  It's been over a decade.  Unless of course you pursue the process of underground Monk, going on Grandma's forever quest--or counterpoise it--do both!"
   I thought about it.  Then, I watched the local news concerning the Big Orange.  Thought of Wally and work, and all of it--I was mollified by a moderate reality.  

Love Contrivance (19)

   
   "Love Contrivance (19)"
   
   Ai called me on her Smart Horn, doing the digital dial, and I sweetly surrendered to her robotic suavity and sounds, agreeing to meet her for some Mexican food.
   On the phone, she displayed a sense of humor, though derogatory in a sense of slur, saying:  "What did the Polack do after winning the gold medal?  He bronzed it."
   I liked the Polish Women's Volleyball Team in them Olympics down in Rio, where the mosquito is a real unpleasant pest.  Wasn't much into the swimming, but the rugby was fascinating, as it should be to all of us Americans witnessing, with thirsty hunger, the gladiatorial act of true football.
   So, I lifted Grandma, wiped her hugely stinky rear-end, put her in a diaper, lit her cigarette with an ashtray placed underneath her mild cognizance, and went to meet the lovely, though machine-like Ai.  

Love Contrivance (18)

   
   "Love Contrivance (18)"
   
   I, Simon Swiss, wasn't aware of Mr. Teruma.  Anyway, Teruma was Ai's father.  He'd been watching and monitoring me by way of crystals and copper; plus, mechanical devices and such.
   Furthermore, he had fantastically forged Ai in his subterranean laboratory.  A homemade basement in the suburbs of Franklin; specifically, Ai was Artificial Intelligence, an android, but not fully armed with consciousness, but fully animated by conscience.  Teruma did outshine the rest of the underground creators by way of caring for the welfare of Adamkind.  
   Having a premonition about this--I pondered further psychiatric intervention; alas, I folded, not having the money; nevertheless, as art and metaphor had been crafted thousands of years ago for the watching man's futurity, I took hold of the philosophy of it all--embraced the ancients.
   Having a quasi-Terminator, programmed for love and adoration of the One it was made to protect, well, that contrivance, that gadget of good will, well again--it was all cool.  

Love Contrivance (17)

   
   "Love Contrivance (17)"
   
   Enjoying my time with Ai @ the BURGER KING, I treated her to a large SPRITE that only ran a buck with nine cents--Diamond Jim Brady, right?  Hell, I delivered newspapers.
   Early on, before the specter of death took Dad, he would bully me concerning my job.  This isn't good enough, you're a loser, working a job for losers; next, I explained to him how Homer Simpson worked at a nuclear power plant, and there was no bigger loser than that animated dude, blistering with bravado, and not able to handle his own offspring.
   But I strayed from shrinks and their medication, not having the health insurance to cover the mighty anti-psychotics, medicating myself with meditation, and now:  enjoying my time with the lovely Ai.  
   She sipped her SPRITE with lady-like sophistication, playing no parts, wearing no masks from the iniquitous, ancient gallery.  It was a breath of fresh air.
   Then, I realized:  GRANDMA!!!
   Courage commanding:  I kissed Ai on the forehead, got her SMART HORN number, and bolted homewards in my mighty Road Runner--though, I've been the dog they all tried to beat.
   Grandma was sitting in her wheelchair watching the LONE RANGER, puffing away on tobacco, and upon my entrance blurted:  "Well it's about time Mr. Simon Swiss."