#pinstripe becomes a used car salesman at some point and that's all you really need to know

[unikhroma]

the other day when i was infodumping about crash for like an hour, my friend asked if i've drawn big shot spamton in pinstripe potoroo's suit yet and the answer is now yes !

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #22: Objectification.

Written: 1/16/2017

Hubert had thought his dreams would finally come true after he constructed the “Perfect Woman” since he had spent most of his life bitter and alone, this was his chance to finally have somebody who would love him unconditionally. The idea came about after his 10 year high school reunion, when he expected to be able to show off his elite robotics engineering job, but instead was only reminded of the bullying he had went through. It was too hard for him to even get a word out because nobody would listen, they would just bring up his old nickname “the Mole”, which hurt in two ways because it referred to the hideous, overgrown mole on his face, and also his mole-like appearance. At one point one of his bullies asked “Why is the mole above ground? Poor thing is out of his natural environment” which led to a small crowd to form, made up of his tormentors who were still attractive, many with beautiful wives and girlfriends. They all began mocking Hubert and chanted “Buy the mole! Bury the mole!” just like the way they did in high school, and so two large men-one a used car salesman and the other a chauffeur-picked up the poor guy and stuffed him into a trash can. He quit his job after he caught a flight back to the city where he lived, and since he had a hefty amount of money saved up he decided to work on a project that would fix his life, and thus he began working on the “perfect woman”.

Her appearance was based off of almost every girl who rejected him (which was also every girl he had attempted to ask out), the pop stars whose music videos he had masturbated to, and, for some strange reason, an old photograph he once saw of his aunt from when she was in her 20’s. He copied methods used to make sex dolls, he had enough of his own for reference, and he made sure her body was proportionate to one. The vagina was electric powered and vibrated. Her personality was taken from a large amount of characters from Japanese dating simulators, quotes and interviews of famous actresses and pop stars, works of various philosophers (he needed somebody to talk to), and he made sure that she would be very capable of love. The whole project took up three years of his life, but it was a great success due to his genius in the field, and the fact that he had stolen some research from his previous job.

Before he powered her up, oh how divine she looked, he decided that he would have to go out and make himself presentable. Three years of his life went into the project so he didn’t want to waste anymore time, he was to propose to her on the spot. He went and got his hair groomed and taken care of, it was wild and overgrown over the course of his labors, he made sure to buy presentable clothing, walked out of a clothing store happily in a three-piece, brown, pinstripe suit with matching wingtip shoes, he bought a large and expensive diamond ring that would slide right onto her elegant fingers, and, on his final stop, he drank half a bottle of rose wine outside of a grocery store to calm his nerves.

Dapperly he returned, drunk on love and wine, and he sung a tune-terrible but straight from his heart-as he powered up the woman that he was proud to make his wife. Slowly blinking open, her eyes looked around the room and then eventually focused on him, and although he thought he saw the look of displeasure he had faith in his ability to make her love, so he dropped on one knee, held out the ring, stammered out the question that made her laugh. Swatting the ring out of her face, she got off the lab table while saying “Flattering, but I hardly know you, and I don’t think you’re my type at all.” As he put his hands over his head, rocking himself to muffle his screams of agony, she began to wander around the room, observing the contents and lab equipment. “What is this place?”

At these words he shot up off the floor, pointing a finger in the air, declaring “Its my home-our home!” He tried to take a couple steps towards her, wanting to embrace his creation in an attempt to recalibrate her love sensors, but she held him off with one hand.

“Seriously, no. I’m sorry but I’m not into you, and honestly you’re starting to creep me out.”

Tears welled and Hubert was at an impasse, he didn’t know what to say to her. “Buh-buh-buh…” A lump of raw emotion was welling up in his throat, but his illusions of love gave him enough strength to fight it down so he could set things straight, “But I’m you’re creator! I made you as my wife and you have to marry me! Its not fair its not fair!”

For the first time she started to understand the situation, her eyes saw the crummy apartment, its lab equipment, the hentai games and celebrity gossip magazines, for the first time. A nod of understanding was given to the pathetic creature she was holding at bay, and she simply said, “Where’s the exit?”

Anger replaced his sadness, Hubert’s tears took on a new meaning, he stamped his foot and demanded, “God damn it! You bitch! Let me turn you off, theres something wrong with the programming, you have to love me!” Several vain attempts were made to strike her. “I spend three fucking years on you, you can’t just walk out of here like I’m nothing! You can’t treat me like this, I command you to love me!”

Cocking her head to her side in bewilderment, she thought of making a verbal reply but simply shoving him to the ground and kicking him in the side seemed like a more apt response. “You made me?” She finally said, hair cascading down as she stared down at the horrid man, crumpled at her feet, who simply nodded. “I’m not human? I’m not real?” He shook his head sideways, several tears still streaming out. “Why?”

Grasping at her naked legs in a plea for sympathy, he said “Nobody loved me. Please love me…”

She swatted his hand away from her and looked around for a mirror, and when she finally found one her own breath was taken away (although she didn’t actually breathe, this was a personality routine, like a knee jerk reaction, programmed in to simulate natural human responses) out of her beauty. As she stared at her self in the mirror, she began to realize how horrid that man really was in comparison, and began to have contempt for him. Turning around to further question him, she was greeted with a crack to the head from a fire extinguisher, and although the force knocked her to the ground no actual damage was done, thanks to her expert design. “You horrible creature.” The only words that summed up her anger.

“You at least have to sleep with me,” his voice couldn’t decide if it wanted to show anger or sadness, “if you’re going to leave me you deserve that much you cunt!” As he brought down the second blow to try to subdue his creation, her arm was raised to stop the blow. Rising to her feet, she only shook her head in response, and grabbed the man by his throat. He tried to plead and plead but he couldn’t breathe, no words would come out, only struggles for air as he was lifted two feet off of the ground, legs kicking wildly.

“I don’t owe you a damn thing.” Eyes narrowing, voice steady, she contemplated weather she was going to kill him or just teach him a lesson. If she let him go now and left, what would stop him from stalking her and trying again? Or would he just attack some poor human girl who couldn’t defend herself from his lust? “You’re nothing but scum. You making me doesn’t mean a thing,” her grip tightened, his eyes bulged, she could feel his neck begin to strain, “Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?” As he tried to plead, as his stubby and hair covered hands tried to loosen his grip, as the acknowledgment of death filled his eyes, she realized that it wasn’t her place to take his life, for what was on the other side? She wasn’t human, and although she knew much about philosophy, she still had trouble understanding human ideas about death, only the fear of it, the implied awfulness, so she dropped him.

Landing with a thud, his back arched, he gasped desperately for breath. Finally recovering, breath becoming steady, he finally shouted out, “Are you insane! You could’ve killed me!”

The argument only made her start to wish she didn’t finish the job, “You treated me as your property and tried to rape me, you’re in no position to think of me as awful, and anyways,” she gave him a smile that showed only contempt, but somehow began to divert blood back to his loins, “I didn’t kill you.” His furious stare was an apt enough response, and she was pleased to see that he didn’t dare move. “Now, did you get me any clothes at any point, or do you have a robe? I’m sick of you staring at my body.” Slowly getting up, he coughed a couple times, then moved to rummage through a box in the back of the room. She took this time to try to guess which door was the exit, and had her money on it being the only one with a peep hole. When she looked back to him she saw that he was right in front of her, holding up a box of clothing, shamefully looking at his feet, refusing now to even look at her.

The clothes weren’t anything she would pick out for herself, and she wondered if any woman would wear them outside of porn. Scowling, she tried to sift through until she could find a suitable outfit, and was luckily able to wear a slut-red dress with a black jacket over it, zipped up all the way to cover what the dress could not. The only shoes in the box were heels so she didn’t bother to put any on. She was finally ready to speak to Hubert again, and saw him sitting on a couch in the corner, twiddling his thumbs, apparently having taken off the dress jacket so his shirt and vest were now exposed. “So you made me so somebody would love you?” He nodded. “But that didn’t happen, did it?” He kept staring at his hands. “So what’s my purpose now, why am I here?”

“To love,” he murmured, the words paining him infinitely more than it did her.

“Do I have a name?” She said this genuinely as she raised an eyebrow. It was time to try to figure out what she was supposed to do now. Who was she?

He looked up with a bittersweet smile on his face, wiping away a tear that was rolling down his cheek he whispered something she couldn’t hear. When she asked for him to repeat, he loudly and firmly stated “Princess-chan”, as if he finally regained authority over her, a small victory.

The victory was also short lived, because she responded with laughter, which crushed him. “I’m not calling myself that, that’s ridiculous.” He attempted to speak again but she raised up a finger to silence him, “You missed your chance, I’m going to pick something else, something that feels more me.” She sauntered over to the stack of celebrity magazines and leafed through for a half hour, looking for a name that appealed to her. In this time the mole ended up moving, defeated, into another room so he could fire up his computer and find love in the only way he knew how: his dating games.

He successfully became the most popular kid in his high school, at first only starting out as a shy outsider, danced with the most beautiful girl, went on several dates, then finally lost his virginity, nodding pleasantly at this event, all before she finally walked into the room and announced her name was “Greta”. Although it seemed to bring her much pleasure, it brought a frown to his face since it was the name of his mother, and although he tried to protest she wouldn’t hear it. “You have no say in this, its my identity, you have to accept it. Now give me some money, I need to go out and get clothes that aren’t ridiculous.”

“Wait, why should I give you any?!” Anger returned, and his achievements in the game gave him a new, although undeserved, sense of confidence. “You wont marry me, you won’t sleep with me, and now I’m supposed to be your bankroll? No, no, I’m not just-” a slap was enough to silence him.

“Do I have to remind you what happened earlier? Money, now.” Pitifully, he slowly opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a shoe box, and gave her $1,000 in hundreds. “Its your fault I don’t have anything nice to wear anyways.” When she was finally out of the room, and he could hear the front door slam, he decided to call her every awful name he could in an attempt to appease his anger and restore his self confidence, but it was crushed beyond repair. After his insults subsided he shed another tear, and decided to play a more erotic game that would hopefully get rid of some of his loneliness. If he was a failure in real life then at least he could go somewhere where he wasn’t. And although the game gave him a small sense of power, he didn’t realize how pathetic it was to play a game based on rape fantasies.

When Greta left the creep’s apartment she was surprised to see that the building was much nicer than she expected, the guy must have been loaded. She was happy to greet everyone she saw as she made her way out, they all seemed so much more pleasant in comparison, even the ones who didn’t respond. People questioned her lack of shoes but she just shrugged in response, why bother explaining anything? When she finally left she was out on the street of the city, people swarming all around, buildings looming high into the sky, she was amazed to see the scope of it all. The sight made her forget about clothes, she was alright with just watching for a while. Observing the people on the street, she realized that many of them were displeasing, and she wondered how hard it was going to be to serve her purpose.