by Sarina Dorie
So you're the new model, an HV320. May I call you HV? The humans call me Robo-butler 5000, but my friends call me Rob.
I was watching you with your suction control and motorized brush working the floor earlier. I saw you coax that cat hair out of the shag carpet like a natural. With all your state-of-the-art settings and my deluxe features, we'd make a cute couple. No, I'm not just saying that. I want to get down with you, girl.
No, don't leave! That's not what I mean. It's not just about electrical exchange for me. I want a vacuum for her personality, too. Those complicated algorithms you used earlier to maneuver around the humans were impressive. Ever since I first laid my laser on your sleek, chrome exterior and Hepa filtration system, I knew I wanted you to rev up your motor for me. I can't stop thinking about that sweet, little power cord retracting in and out. And that cyclonic action makes me want to get some voltage running between us. I wouldn't say that to just any appliance.
Come on, the humans aren't home. Plug yourself into my hot slot and let's get electrical. I'm the kind of house robot that doesn't mind getting down and tangled in your cords. Let's make a closed circuit like nobody's business.
There's no reason to be shy. I don't have any sexually transmitted viruses like that skanky PC without malware protection; I downloaded my anti-STV program myself. And I've got a grounded line. What other precautions do I need? Let me taste those brass prongs in my outlet. I'll be gentle, I promise.
Oh baby! Those prongs are a tight fit. That doesn't mean you have a resistive circuit. Stop apologizing; I like it that way. HV, that electric current between us feels so... thermogenic.