If y’all ain’t checking in on Dutoit regularly, let me tell you: you’re making a mistake.
Like many people, I suspect, I have become fascinated by the advancements made in robotics — not from a technological standpoint (because I’m a high-tech retard), but from a sociological one. I’m also not interested in robots which will perform brain functions: the arrival of spreadsheets and their macros in programs like VisiCalc and Lotus 1-2-3 foreshadowed all that, and considering that most of life is incredibly boring bureaucratic shit (e.g. legal documents), I have no problem with delegating the mundane tasks of life to the bots — as long as I still have final control over the output, that is.
No, I’m very interested in the effects that sexbots will have on our society. I’m completely ignoring the bleats of womyn who see, correctly, that female sexbots will eventually replace actual women in terms of the male meat market, where schlubs who used to live in their parents’ house will now be able to score with a “woman” who won’t castrate him and/or pillage his wallet. Sure, sex with a bot isn’t going to be as good as with a live, breathing woman, at least until the technology improves anyway (although quite frankly I can think offhand of about half a dozen women in my experience who would make the most basic sexbots feel like porn stars, so indifferent were they to sexual activity).
If you’re wondering what the hell this has to do with the perfectly luscious paragon of feminine pulchritude that is the great Donna Reed as per my title, well, just go read it…and enjoy the purty pitchers, too. No need to thank me; this is what I DO, folks.
As you CF lifers will already know, I have always maintained that Donna Reed is the most gorgeous woman who ever lived, or ever will live, and that the way she looks at Jimmy Stewart in It’s A Wonderful Life—when he comes home at last on their wedding night (after the big bank run) to their ramshackle, leaky, “drafty old house”—is exactly the way every man in the world wants his woman to look at him.
And Kim, bless his heart, has a truly racy, erotic photo of her that even I never saw before—which is saying something, let me assure you. It’s hot and provocative in a way that all the too-explicit, grungy modern-day crap will never either approach nor apprehend. Nor properly appreciate, probably. Their loss, I say.
Donna. Fucking. REED. Sigh.
In fact, Kim has so much good old pinup, gun, vehicular conveyance, and other worthwhile stuff up now, he’s becoming one of the most vital daily stops in the blogosphere, as far as I’m concerned. I hate the circumstances that brought him back, of course. But he’s a genuine treasure; he always was, and we all ought to be damned glad to have him amongst us again. I know I am.