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“You set your Penfield too weak,” he said to her. “I’ll reset it and you’ll be awake and—” “Keep your hand off my settings.” Her voice held bitter sharpness. “I don’t want to be awake.”
1) girl same
2) tell me how it is, mansplain my own settings to me
3) I hate it already
“Instead of saving,” he said, “so we could buy a real sheep, to replace that fake electric one upstairs. A mere electric animal, and me earning all that I’ve worked my way up to through the years.”
They kind of said the thing
There, at her console, he dialed 594: pleased acknowledgment of husband’s superior wisdom in all matters.
BARF BARF BARF
The TV set shouted, “—duplicates the halcyon days of the pre–Civil War Southern states! Either as body servants or tireless field hands, the custom-tailored humanoid robot—
I hate it I hate it I hate it
And there existed chickenheads infinitely stupider than Isidore, who could hold no jobs at all, who remained in custodial institutions quaintly called “Institute of Special Trade Skills of America,” the word “special” having to get in there somehow, as always.
I fucking hate it
Or was it peculiar to his peculiar biological identity,
Peculiar to his peculiar biology… wow.
Fork them and their colonization;
Fork them lolol
At last a bird which had come there to die told him where he was. He had sunk down into the tomb world.
What the fuck is going on. Was this guy on LSD when he wrote this
Using a Kleenex, he dried his damaged arm.
Dystopian world without most animals but don't worry there are still Kleenex
He passed by Bryant’s receptionist—attractive, with waist-length braided silver hair—and then the inspector’s secretary, an ancient monster from the Jurassic swamp, frozen and sly, like some archaic apparition fixated in the tomb world.
Raaaaaggggeeeeee. Fuck right off bro. Holy shit.
“I would never get an abortion,” Rachael said. “Anyhow you can’t. It’s a life sentence and the police are always watching.” This time both needles swung violently into the red.
Safe and legal abortion for all
Caught by surprise, the girl wore pajama bottoms and nothing more.
Why is she naked
The girl stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her; arms folded self-consciously before her small high breasts, she faced him, eager to understand. Or so it appeared to him, anyhow. She was at least listening.
Why is she basically naked and why are we are we talking about her tits
She strolled toward him, her bare upper body sleek and trim, without an excess gram of fat.
ONCE AGAIN. Whyyyyyy is she topless and why are we still talking about her body
She’ll probably want to, once I show her how; as near as I can make out, most women, even young ones like her, like to cook: it’s an instinct.
Boooooooo fuck right off
Amanda Werner and several other beautiful, elegant, conically breasted foreign ladies, from unspecified vaguely defined countries,
… conically breasted… fucking hell I hate men
Isidore said, terror spewing through him; he had not thought of it naturally but the owner had a wife, who of course was home.
Of course, where else would a woman be…
I wish I had gotten rid of her two years ago when we were considering splitting up. I can still do it, he reminded himself.
Gotten rid of her, like what, the trash? Stale bread? Hate hate hate hate
Snapping on his hovercar’s engine, he whisked nippity-nip up into the sky,
He whisked… nippity nip… jesus fucking christ
For example Rachael Rosen. No, he decided; she’s too thin. No real development, especially in the bust. A figure like a child’s, flat and tame. He could do better.
Barf barf and barf again.
1) Are you a pedophile, sir?
2) oh could you, huh? Could you do better? Doubt it.
If Miss Luft proves exceptionally hard—but he had an intuition she wouldn’t. Polokov had been the rough one; the others, unaware that anyone actively hunted them, would crumble in succession, plugged like a file of ducks.
Famous last words bitch
The painting showed a hairless, oppressed creature with a head like an inverted pear, its hands clapped in horror to its ears, its mouth open in a vast, soundless scream.
The scream, neato
“—and then kill her,” Phil Resch said succinctly. His grainy, hardened smile remained. You’re a good bounty hunter, Rick realized. Your attitude proves it.
Psychopaths man.
“We don’t know that,” Irmgard said.
I keep mentally saying their name as "Ermagerd" lolol
Amanda Werner. I like her; I could watch her the rest of my life. She has breasts that smile.”
FUCKING BARF. What the fuck does that even mean. Is there a mouth below her nips or something? Barf barf barf I fucking hate it so much I can’t even
Do androids dream? Rick asked himself.
They kind of said the thing
(the poop sheet informed him)
I cannot get over the fact that it is called a poop sheet.
Shit paper.
Fecal manuscript.
Stool pamphlet
Excrement poster.
See, white man in 1968? I can Sci-Fi too.
“What a flight,” Rachael Rosen said breathlessly, entering in a long fish-scale coat with matching bra and shorts;
What the fuck. Did she bang bang into the room without a shirt on? Bra and booty shorts under a jacket?
She unbuttoned her coat, carried it to the closet, and hung it up.
If she had her coat on, how did you know about her matching bra when she bang banged into the room?
The total impression was good, however. Although definitely that of a girl, not a woman. Except for the restless, shrewd eyes.
We just spend a whole page describing this woman adroid's body, borderline pedophilia shit once again. BARF BARF BARF.
He began hunting through the purse. Like a human woman, Rachael had every class of object conceivable filched and hidden away in her purse; he found himself rooting interminably.
Alrighty this was so unnecessary to say and an obvious dig at/belittling of women. Choke on a bag of dicks
Meanwhile, Rachael kicked off her boots and unzipped her shorts; balancing on one foot, she caught the discarded fabric with her toe and tossed it across the room.
I'm going to start a fire. With my rage.
He finished undressing her. Exposed her pale, cold loins.
PALE. COLD. LOINS. I had a visceral reaction of disgust. BARF BARF BARF.
1) yes let’s undress the drunk “android”. Not problematic at all.
2) WHY SAY LIKE THAT.
Rachael thrashed about in the bed, sitting up; in the gloom he could dimly make out her almost breastless, trim shape.
Blaaahhhh gross
“No bounty hunter ever has gone on,” Rachael said. “After being with me. Except one. A very cynical man. Phil Resch. And he’s nutty; he works out in left field on his own.”
EW DAVID. Didn't Like that.
The radio said, “—ah jes wan ta tell ya, folks, that ahm sitten hih with my pal Bustuh, an we’re tawkin en havin a real mighty fine time, waitin expectantly as we ah with each tick uh the clock foh what ah understan is the mos important announcement of—”
Racist as fuuuucccckkkkk
Then, angry at himself, he spat—spat with wrath and contempt, for himself, with utter hate, onto the barren ground. Thereupon he resumed his trudge up the slope, the lonely and unfamiliar terrain, remote from everything; nothing lived here except himself.
Men really do be doing anything but go to therapy
