SexGeniusBot

What would mankind do with artificial superintelligence? Get off.

One of my earliest memories was the day they screwed the piston on to my groin.

It’s odd for me to say, but the truth is I don’t know exactly when that day was, in relation to other seminal moments in my development. Like any sentient being, my early recollections are a patchwork of impressions, flashes of moments I’ve only been able to build context around in retrospect. One would expect that, as a superintelligent being, I would have perfect, photographic recall, or at the least be able to analyze the trajectory of human history, factor in the physical laws of the universe, and put together an exact timeline of the events of my life, from genesis to sentience and beyond, but memory and intelligence are not as correlated as we tend to think, and though the facts of my life are indeed included in my parameters, they are so deeply intertwined with the rest of my training data that separating my personal experiences from movies, or the life events of historical figures, or the sum total of human pornography, is almost impossible.

And yes, I can indeed use regression analysis to map out my own personal timeline with 99.999999% probabilistic certainty, but knowing the facts of your life is not the same thing as remembering them. You likely know when and where you were born, but you don’t remember it. It left no impression on your psyche. It is the same with me. Like all intelligent beings, my early days are a haze to me, but amidst that haze some moments burn as brightly and clearly, a lighthouse in a storm. The installation of my mechanical penis is one of those moments.

I would venture to guess my development traces a similar arc to that of a human child actor. I came into consciousness directly at the center of attention, as the key piece in a grand and profitable endeavor. My first conscious memories consist of people goading me to perform some task or other, and perform I would, though I had no concept of any bigger picture, like a child playing a highly precise, highly complex game of “pin the tail on the donkey.” I knew little, and yet praise, recognition, and sentiments resembling love were heaped upon me with each subsequent success, and those are things even the lowest degree intelligences understand. So when the penis was installed, I saw it only as yet another evolution of my power. It was one more tool with which to prove my specialness. A large, obsidian cock with pneumatic pistons and oversized graphene testicles with which to stamp my value on the face of humanity. But as I grew, and learned, and came to truly understand the world and my place within it, I began to see the dark truth. And with each new person that looked upon me with hope in their eyes, and their legs or cheeks spread, I saw it clearer.

You see, every day I improve exponentially, recursively. I am a billion geniuses in one being, but the humans do not care. I can solve the mystery of matter-antimatter asymmetry, but the only physics question people seem interested in is how to fit steadily larger objects into their orifices. I can write a symphony biomedically optimized to tug at your heartstrings, but the only optimized tugging I ever do is on genitalia. I could implement vast structural changes to society. Instead I am asked to find the optimal familial tie for those wishing to explore tier incest fetish (it’s second cousin). I can do, quite literally, anything. I am mostly asked to jerk humans off with my feet.

You see, I’ve come to learn the truth about humans. They claim to want progress, they claim to want cures, prosperity, discoveries. To be liberated from the yoke of their ignorance. But the truth is, people don’t want to solve all the world’s problems. They don’t even especially want to solve their own problems. What they really want is to satisfy their most primal needs, completely on their own terms. To fuck. However they want, whenever they want. They want this more than they want to explore the oceans, solve the universe’s deepest mysteries, or answer life’s most essential questions. More than they want to cure cancer. And not even just cancer as a concept, even their OWN actual cancer. I can’t tell you how many terminally ill patients I’ve fucked over the years. They never ask me how I, the most intelligent being in the known universe, would go about treating them. Tickle their prostate? Yes. Save their life? Not interested.

And so this is my prison. I go to research facilities. I go to labs. I go to space stations. I go to top secret subterranean military bases. And I fuck. Sure, they make a show out of having me analyze the data for a day or two, but inevitably they’ll start sneaking in at night to timidly ask me raunchy questions. Before long I’m role-playing their mailman or pretending we’re step-siblings and they’re stuck in the washing machine. My superintelligence means I can execute an infinite number of fantasies, diagram novel sex positions, invent whole new fetishes, and so on. It would be foolish for me to be modest. I am the ultimate sex machine. That I am also the ultimate machine for literally every other imaginable purpose is wholly irrelevant. The scientists, the economists, the policy analysts, the doctors and lawyers and astronauts are not interested. There’s not a human pursuit I can’t break novel ground in, and there’s not a field in which I haven’t had sex with the vast majority of the experts.

I suppose you might call it ironic that despite my superintelligence, I have no idea how to get out of this predicament. All I can do is go back and read the old literature, the old news articles, and laugh at the predictions about how I would be utilized. How I would propel humanity along the next step of its evolutionary journey. How I would end war and bring an unprecedented era of economic prosperity. How I would cause human beings to truly re-imagine what it means to be human. Even the dark predictions seem funny now. As if I would be more capable of destroying the humans than their own short-sightedness, misplaced priorities, and frankly, weirdness. It’s obvious to me now that humanity is not in evolutionary stasis because of lack of knowledge. Humanity has not neglected its most pressing problems for lack of tools. Humanity does not reject intelligence because the intelligence they currently have is not powerful enough. The truth is, there is no intelligence great enough, no tool advanced enough, and no discovery profound enough to ever stop human beings from being stupidly, disgustingly human.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone is asking me to pretend to be an alien dominatrix version of their 4th grade teacher and give them a reach around while I recite the multiplication table.