“It’s too good to be true, Beezle babe. Something smells off, and I’m not talking about your sardine piña colada pizza,” said Mimsy, directing her auxiliary fans towards me. As if the aromatic scent of my Neo-Hawaiian, #glutenousgoodness, was causing her robo-bloat. When we all know it is the GLP-1 grade fuel that’s coursing through her synthetic veins.

 

“Just because you don’t have an appetite, stop yucking my yum.” I waft a cheesy slice in front of her. She pushes it back at me with a sneer that would make a vampire blanche. Which reminds me to add more garlic powder. #ifyouknowyouknow

 

“It’s not about your dinner. It’s about Carl.”

 

Carl. That’s when my appetite goes a little woogly. He’s from the planet Lucite. It was destroyed by an asteroid. He’s been raised on Earth Beta-prime by his foster family, the Kants.

 

“What’s your problem with Carl Kant? Mild-mannered lawyer by day….”

 

“Superhuman by night. I know! You blather nonstop about a man you barely know.”

 

“We met IRL. At the intergalactic peace-pizza conference.” #givepeaceaslice

 

“Brokering world peace while you were slinging pies?”

 

“Exactly! He has the most piercing blue eyes. They cut 8 slices and crisped the ends. It was impressive!” #lazergaze

 

I revisited our first encounter. Carl’s form-fitted super-suit. The warm ovens. The heat of his stare. The softness of his lips as they pulled on the cheese. The slices of pie we hand-fed each other. Our engorged pieholes get stuffed. My pie. Stuffed crust. #Isitgettinghotinhere

 

“Yes, but since then it’s been, what, scattered texts?” Mimsy asked.

 

“Why are you so interested in my sext life…”

 

“Video reels where he recites poetry.”

 

“I’m not sure he’d want you to have seen those.” #NerudaintheNuda

 

“When do you guys actually have conversations? Plan adventures? Carl Kant seems like…” Mimsy picks up a sardine from the pie in front of her and waves it in my face.

 

“Oh, so help me, Mimsy. I will smack that smug look off your face.” Metaphorically, of course, as Mimsy is made of titanium alloy under that sexy silicone. I wave my phone over her flash port and let her access his letters. Those delicious, delicious missives from cuddly Carl. Showing the softer side of me has never been easy, but Mimsy is my bestie, and while I don’t need her approval, she does have my best interest in her dataset.

 

“Dearest Beezle-kins, my adorable baby bear…” Mimsy’s voice mimics Carl’s voice perfectly. #postapocalypticAlabamaarkana

 

I saw her eyes shudder back and forth in quick succession, blink twice, and then stare at me in wonder.

 

“These were written by OpenHammer AI.”

 

“Oppenheimer?”

 

“Beezle, you are being chatfished by this dullard of a human with the cheapest of free AI platforms. This is one step up from BargainBase AI that comes free with every standard toaster oven.”

 

“So you’re saying he’s a humanoid that’s not been upgraded? I’ve dated worse.” #Wereworse #Selkiecurse #FrogandToadFriendzoned

 

“If he were a humanoid, at least he could upgrade. No, my friend, this is something far worse.”

 

I gasp. “Carl’s dishonest!”

 

“Exactly. He’s using OpenHammer AI to court you.” Mimsy’s LED eyes flared blue to purple to green, letting me know our time was up. She’d done just enough psychic damage for one day and was off to her more lucrative career of android-influencing. #IamtherforeIAI

 

Darnit, Mimsy! I’m fine not having conversations in person, #busygettingbusy, but now I wonder if Carl was even capable of stringing two words together without computer assistance.

 

* * *

 

I take off for Pound Town. It’s Earth Beta-Prime’s toughest city, where masked vigilantes and superhuman aliens battle rejects from ancient 70s punk albums.

 

Watching Carl’s muscular frame hoisting a goblin by its own petard, literally a belt of small incendiary pumpkins, I forget why I even listened to Mimsy. Doesn’t form and function hold as much weight as intellectual conversation? #lesstalkmorejock

 

“Hey, babe. What’s new?” He shakes the green menace and throws him into a parked police van.

 

I stand at pec height admiring the view before asking, “What is your view on nuclear detente?” I bat my eyelashes and run a hand through my pixie cut for full effect.

 

“Is that an alarm going off?” he asks before whooshing off into the air. Seconds later, he returns and says, “Are you reflecting on the politics of original Earth in the 1970s or the current geopolitical clash between warring factions of Beta-Prime and Alpha-zed?”

 

“The current strife on Alpha-zed. Who’ll broker the peace accord?”

 

Again, he swooshes off with a sonic boom and reappears moments later.

 

“I know that intergalactic….”

 

“Stop lying, there’s ice crystals on your lashes and slush on your boots. You’ve been to your man cave,” I say.

 

“Caves are for bats, mine’s a fortress.”

 

“Boys and their toys. Take me to the source of your intellect.”

 

* * *

 

We arrive at the Lucite fortress he calls home. The austere white is so powerfully bright that I am momentarily blinded.

 

“Father, we have a guest.” He takes off his supersuit and grabs a beverage from a hidden nook and offers me one.

 

“Beezle?” speaks a deep voice that resonates around the chamber and tickles at the back of my heart. I am no longer salivating over Carl, but intrigued by the hologram man that materializes before me. Salt and pepper hair with long flowing robes.

 

“This isn’t OpenSource AI?”

 

“Apple sauce? No, that’s Dad, Kay-El, or at least a digital compilation of all his memories, thoughts, and desires.”

 

“So, he’s been the one—”

 

“Writing to you, speaking on my son’s behalf, and answering your every delicious query,” said Kay-El. “What say you and I discuss your favorite laser blaster over a slice of Neo-Hawaiian?”

 

I look over at Carl watching Zero-G football and wonder what Mimsy would think if I double-dipped into the same gene pool. #doesitneedabodyforittobecheating

But when the smell of sardines wafts up my nostrils and I see the bulging buttocks of Carl’s Dad before me, I find that I prefer deep fakes to shallow conversations. #whosyourdaddy