Status: In Progress
Me Am Robot
Prologue
I used to be like you. Well, okay, maybe not exactly like you. It really depends on who you are. If you’re a Caucasian male born and raised smack dab in the middle of the good old North American Empire, then my initial sentence was spot-on and I didn’t really have to waste your time—and mine—with this little rant. If you’re not a Caucasian male born and raised smack dab in the middle of the good old North American Empire, please forgive me for giving you the wrong impression. I can’t really afford to be sued for false advertising, after all.
As you may have gathered, I am—sorry, was—a Caucasian male born and raised in the good old North American Empire. Another thing you might have picked up on is that I’m not really a writer by trade; from the clichéd opening sentence to the repetition and the fact that it took me an entire paragraph to establish the simple fact that I am—dammitall, was—a Caucasian male born and raised in the good old North American Empire1, you should have guessed by now that this will not be, in any way, shape, or form, a prized manuscript that agents will fight over.
You know what? We should start over. I don’t like this at all.
My name is Alex Iverson. Yes, you are the first person to point out that my initials are ‘A.I.’, which is absolutely hilarious because I’m a robot. And just like the other hundreds of people I haven’t met who haven’t made that same joke, I won’t correct you by saying that I’m more of a cyborg, because you fleshbags need every precious parcel of air you can spare and I’d hate to waste it trying to beat something I know won’t stick into your stupid organic brains.
I’m sorry, that last one was a cheap shot. Technically, I have an organic brain, too. Parts of one, anyways. Sometimes I forget how much of me is still human. Now, I could bore you with the details of how that came to be a problem in the first place, but that’s not the story I came here to tell. I’ll probably tell you later, anyways, when I want to build the suspense. My friend—yes, singular—told me that editors love suspense.
So sit down, shut up, and hang on; it’s going to be one long, bumpy ride.
As you may have gathered, I am—sorry, was—a Caucasian male born and raised in the good old North American Empire. Another thing you might have picked up on is that I’m not really a writer by trade; from the clichéd opening sentence to the repetition and the fact that it took me an entire paragraph to establish the simple fact that I am—dammitall, was—a Caucasian male born and raised in the good old North American Empire1, you should have guessed by now that this will not be, in any way, shape, or form, a prized manuscript that agents will fight over.
You know what? We should start over. I don’t like this at all.
My name is Alex Iverson. Yes, you are the first person to point out that my initials are ‘A.I.’, which is absolutely hilarious because I’m a robot. And just like the other hundreds of people I haven’t met who haven’t made that same joke, I won’t correct you by saying that I’m more of a cyborg, because you fleshbags need every precious parcel of air you can spare and I’d hate to waste it trying to beat something I know won’t stick into your stupid organic brains.
I’m sorry, that last one was a cheap shot. Technically, I have an organic brain, too. Parts of one, anyways. Sometimes I forget how much of me is still human. Now, I could bore you with the details of how that came to be a problem in the first place, but that’s not the story I came here to tell. I’ll probably tell you later, anyways, when I want to build the suspense. My friend—yes, singular—told me that editors love suspense.
So sit down, shut up, and hang on; it’s going to be one long, bumpy ride.
1I would swear that I’ll never repeat that phrase again for the rest of the story, but as my lady friends would tell you, I’m really bad at keeping promises.
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So glad Mibba uses BBCode like the forum I'm used to posting my work on.