Brutus Monologue
“I’m tired of trying to see the good in people.” Bellowed, Xmare, with such intensity that each syllable reverberates off the walls. Without provocation, he shouts it again and again as he sat alone in his office. After his outburst, he went back to organizing the paper clutter on his desk. Less than a second later he heard a voice whisper, “I must say Sir, that’s a peculiar statement for a humanoid to utter.” Startled, Xmare a Class A, violet eyes, short red hair humanoid, jumped to his feet and grabbed the edge of his desk to steady himself. Unable to locate the whisperer, he wondered if he had just experienced the human psychological disorder of hearing voices. To shake that morbid notion away, he sought fresh air. As soon as
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he took his first step in the direction of the window, he trips and lands face first onto the carpet. Naturally, he remained in that prone position as he analyzed his predicament. Turning his head to scan the area behind him, he caught sight of the object that was responsible for his down-fall. Blocking his path to the window was a twelve inch high robot in the shape of a footstool that was balanced on multi-colored wheels. This unexpected scenario baffled Xmare. Nevertheless, he rose to a sitting position, glared at the tiny robot, before blurting out, “Who the hell might you be?” “Sir, I’m Brutus, your interim personal assistant.” Briefly, Xmare dissected this information. As a result, he recalled receiving a memo from his publisher, at eight that morning, asking why he had submitted articles written in Pig Latin. When he confronted G–Girl-1, his personal assistant for numerous years, she simply replied, “Causebay ouyay aidsay ouryay ublisherpay asway away umanhay igpay.” Since he had never called his publisher a human pig, he had no choice other than to call the Rehabilitation Center for Malfunctioning Gynoids. Shortly after the RCMG picked-up G-Girl-1, Xmare had contacted The Agency for the Replacement of Dysfunctional Workers to request a temporary personal assistant. “Brutus, how refreshing to know there’s an agency that has eliminated the red tape folly.
As a matter of fact, I placed that call to the ARDW less than an hour ago. Without a doubt, your agency should receive an award for their efficiency. Now, Brutus, evidently you heard my rant a few moments ago, so there’s no need to pretend it never occurred.” “Sir, worry not, I’m a professional C.O.I.S. Bot. Therefore, I will safeguard all your secrets. Nonetheless, I must ask, what provoked you to scream that anti-people remark?” “I have no idea. Apparently I’m experiencing an artificial intelligence hiccup. Less than three hours ago, I was sitting at my desk trying to decide what dance to dance. Brutus, for the record, I’ve never danced a step in my entire existence. So, the idea that I’m even contemplating dancing is beyond my comprehension. Moreover, I’m bewildered by my indecisiveness.” Meditatively, Xmare rose to his feet, retrieve a glossy magazine from his desk and nonchalantly sat back down on the carpet. After he placed the magazine in Brutus’ tiny mechanical hands, he says, “Brutus you need to read …show more content…
this.” On the front cover Brutus noted - a photo of Xmare along with the tagline – QUESTION OF THE CENTURY - CAN AN HUMANIOD WRITE BETTER THAN A HUMAN? Using his Evelyn Wood’s speed reading skills he finished the article in ten seconds. “Congratulation Sir. According to this article the Committee for Human History has selected you to write the centennial edition of The Good in People – Inventor’s Inventions since the Beginning of Dawn. Sir, you’re the first humanoid to smash the glass ceiling. This makes you an icon, a beacon of hope for our species. Sir, do you suppose this artificial intelligence hiccup might affect your ability to write the book?” “Oh, great stars above, yes! For the past four decades I’ve written fiction as well as nonfiction for our species. During those years I never bothered to read the writings of humans or study their history. Therefore, when the Committee selected me, I spend several hours reading the last nine editions of, The Good in People – Inventor’s Inventions since the Beginning of Dawn, During my reading; I noticed a common denominator between the nine editions - the glorification of humanity. In the midst of Xmare’s discourse, his machinam communicationis beeped twice and G- Girl 3098767 announced - Xmare tomorrow at nine a Halo car will pick you up and deliver you to the Star Route Hotel. You will participate, along with the Committee for Human History, in a joint press conference. – End of transmission. “Oh, that’s just peachy, what other obstacle does fate plan on placing in my path today? Damn it, I’ve misplaced my chain of thought.” “Sir, you were in the process of explaining how this anomaly has affected your ability to write the book.”
“Brutus, after that hiccup, in which I accused the nine authors of glorifying humans, I put my research aside for a while; thinking I might have overloaded my artificial intelligence. Facing a deadline, I sat at my desk, yesterday morning, ready to write the introduction to the book. When I placed my writing apparatus on the clean sheet of purple paper, I was unable to compose a single sentence. At first, I blamed it on writer’s block, but soon realized my initial programming had gone awry. Instead of seeing the good in people, I began to perceive mankind as manipulating, propagandizing assholes. This line of reasoning came about after I designed a flow chart of inventions, from concept to implementation. When I finished, I connected the dots. There was a clear correlation between – inventors and their desire to increase the digits in their bank accounts The facts I collected to support my hypothesis gnawed at me - Three hundred thirty years ago an elderly man decided to tie a key to a kite then fly it during an electric storm thus the birth of electricity. A hundred twenty seven years later a private company began selling electricity to those who could afford - $10.00 per lamp – sundown to midnight- six days a week. Now if you were a carpenter during this time you earned around $19.31 for a sixty hour work week. This poor human could not afford the artificial light; hence he continued to read by the glow of a candle light. In no time at all, cleaver inventors from all over the globe wanted in on the action. Consequently, they started inventing merchandise that relied on electricity. Before you know it, world governments sashayed in, wrote page after page of regulations then imposed taxes, on inventors, inventions, as well as consumers. Furthermore, it matters not what political shape a country may wrap its people in - its citizens will always be pawns in the game of profit. That kind of behavior is immoral. Brutus, clearly my programming is corrupt. Why else would I sit in judgment of the humans instead of just bouncing along considering only the good in their deeds?” Xmare gradually rose to his feet, walked to the window, took several deep breaths, and says, “Brutus, there might be a plausible explanation for my dilemma. Maybe my artificial intelligence isn’t about to implode. Perhaps my thoughts are as clear as those of a human. Could it be that I have developed a conscience – a true understanding of good vs. evil – right vs. wrong.” When Xmare finished saying his piece, he slowly walked back to his desk and sat down. “Sir, that’s impossible.” “Maybe not - maybe I’m walking my evolutionary path.” “That’s absurd. According to humans, only God can bestow the gift of conscience.” “So they say.” Rather than continue the conversation Xmare lost himself in the paper clutter on his desk. Unbeknownst to Xmare, Brutus silently pressed a green button. For years Xmare had studied Osphresiology therefore knew that a human had a scent unlike other animals that roamed the planet. When that foul scent floated across Xmare’s desk, he quickly lifted his head and snappishly says, ‘What.” “Are you Xmare?” “Of course not, I’m Bilbo Baggins. Who the hell might you be?” “Mr. John, a representative from the Department of Re-programming. Sir, apparently, Gandalf left a message with Frodo - Please return to the Shire, post haste.” To Xmare Mr. John humor added light to an otherwise dark day. So playfully he thumped Brutus on the top of his head, as he says, “My trusted friend - who exactly might you be?” “Sir, a C.O.I.S. Bot is a Collector of Information Specialist and I’m on a fact finding mission for the RCMG. This morning the information seekers interviewed G-Girl 1. Sir, the gynoid stated – ‘Ehay ayssay ehay isway umanhay.’ In essence, she accused you of identifying yourself as human” Before Xmare could respond Mr. John announced, “Thanks Brutus, I can handle it from here. Xmare, the moment Brutus, a rolling transmitter, entered your office a panel of twelve Truth Seekers, stationed at DR-P headquarters, heard every word spoken. Moreover, a plethora of psychiatrist, who specialized in artificial intelligence disorders, analyzed those words and reached a consensus - you have a rare case of the W.H. Syndrome.” “What in the hell is the W.H. Syndrome?” “Wannabe Human.” “That sounds repulsive.
Is there a cure? What about the book?” Overwhelmed, Xmare allowed Mr. John and Brutus to lead him out of his office. Around midnight Dr. Dee had successfully re-programmed his client. Also the good doctor thought it best to alter his client’s appearance. When the work whistle blew, seven hours later, the newly hired Somix, a brown eyed, shaggy grey hair humanoid arrived at the Department of Sanitation. Since, Somix could neither read nor write his superior gave him verbal instructions to clean the restroom on the second floor, then handed him a black plastic trash bag and a boom.. After clearing the four urinals he entered the first stall, picked up a section of newspaper lying on the grungy floor; but before he placed it in the black plastic trash bag, he studied the colorful picture of a violet eye, short red hair humanoid. As he cleaned the six stalls he sang, “What a lucky humanoid - that humanoid must be - to have his picture in the newspaper - for all to
see,” By nine he finished his task, collected the trash bag in one hand and the broom in the other. Pleased by his accomplishment he did a little dance with his partner the broom, as he exits the restroom. However, without warning, he accidently bumped into an old weather worn human and lost his grip on the trash bag. As a result when it hit the floor the newspaper slipped out and came to rest at the feet of the human. “What have we here, Sonny Boy,” the human says as he retrieves the newspaper from the floor. “Trash,” replied Somix in a shy tone. The human’s belly laughter encouraged a grin to spread across Somix’s face.
“Well Sonny Boy, how did one of your kind end up in the trash?” The human says as he held of the photo of the humanoid with violet eyes and red hair. At that point Somix asked the human if he would be so kind as to read the story about the humanoid to him. “Sure, Sonny Boy, be glad to.” The human read the story at a slow steady pace and when he finished Somix asked what it all meant.
he took his first step in the direction of the window, he trips and lands face first onto the carpet. Naturally, he remained in that prone position as he analyzed his predicament. Turning his head to scan the area behind him, he caught sight of the object that was responsible for his down-fall. Blocking his path to the window was a twelve inch high robot in the shape of a footstool that was balanced on multi-colored wheels. This unexpected scenario baffled Xmare. Nevertheless, he rose to a sitting position, glared at the tiny robot, before blurting out, “Who the hell might you be?” “Sir, I’m Brutus, your interim personal assistant.” Briefly, Xmare dissected this information. As a result, he recalled receiving a memo from his publisher, at eight that morning, asking why he had submitted articles written in Pig Latin. When he confronted G–Girl-1, his personal assistant for numerous years, she simply replied, “Causebay ouyay aidsay ouryay ublisherpay asway away umanhay igpay.” Since he had never called his publisher a human pig, he had no choice other than to call the Rehabilitation Center for Malfunctioning Gynoids. Shortly after the RCMG picked-up G-Girl-1, Xmare had contacted The Agency for the Replacement of Dysfunctional Workers to request a temporary personal assistant. “Brutus, how refreshing to know there’s an agency that has eliminated the red tape folly.
As a matter of fact, I placed that call to the ARDW less than an hour ago. Without a doubt, your agency should receive an award for their efficiency. Now, Brutus, evidently you heard my rant a few moments ago, so there’s no need to pretend it never occurred.” “Sir, worry not, I’m a professional C.O.I.S. Bot. Therefore, I will safeguard all your secrets. Nonetheless, I must ask, what provoked you to scream that anti-people remark?” “I have no idea. Apparently I’m experiencing an artificial intelligence hiccup. Less than three hours ago, I was sitting at my desk trying to decide what dance to dance. Brutus, for the record, I’ve never danced a step in my entire existence. So, the idea that I’m even contemplating dancing is beyond my comprehension. Moreover, I’m bewildered by my indecisiveness.” Meditatively, Xmare rose to his feet, retrieve a glossy magazine from his desk and nonchalantly sat back down on the carpet. After he placed the magazine in Brutus’ tiny mechanical hands, he says, “Brutus you need to read …show more content…
this.” On the front cover Brutus noted - a photo of Xmare along with the tagline – QUESTION OF THE CENTURY - CAN AN HUMANIOD WRITE BETTER THAN A HUMAN? Using his Evelyn Wood’s speed reading skills he finished the article in ten seconds. “Congratulation Sir. According to this article the Committee for Human History has selected you to write the centennial edition of The Good in People – Inventor’s Inventions since the Beginning of Dawn. Sir, you’re the first humanoid to smash the glass ceiling. This makes you an icon, a beacon of hope for our species. Sir, do you suppose this artificial intelligence hiccup might affect your ability to write the book?” “Oh, great stars above, yes! For the past four decades I’ve written fiction as well as nonfiction for our species. During those years I never bothered to read the writings of humans or study their history. Therefore, when the Committee selected me, I spend several hours reading the last nine editions of, The Good in People – Inventor’s Inventions since the Beginning of Dawn, During my reading; I noticed a common denominator between the nine editions - the glorification of humanity. In the midst of Xmare’s discourse, his machinam communicationis beeped twice and G- Girl 3098767 announced - Xmare tomorrow at nine a Halo car will pick you up and deliver you to the Star Route Hotel. You will participate, along with the Committee for Human History, in a joint press conference. – End of transmission. “Oh, that’s just peachy, what other obstacle does fate plan on placing in my path today? Damn it, I’ve misplaced my chain of thought.” “Sir, you were in the process of explaining how this anomaly has affected your ability to write the book.”
“Brutus, after that hiccup, in which I accused the nine authors of glorifying humans, I put my research aside for a while; thinking I might have overloaded my artificial intelligence. Facing a deadline, I sat at my desk, yesterday morning, ready to write the introduction to the book. When I placed my writing apparatus on the clean sheet of purple paper, I was unable to compose a single sentence. At first, I blamed it on writer’s block, but soon realized my initial programming had gone awry. Instead of seeing the good in people, I began to perceive mankind as manipulating, propagandizing assholes. This line of reasoning came about after I designed a flow chart of inventions, from concept to implementation. When I finished, I connected the dots. There was a clear correlation between – inventors and their desire to increase the digits in their bank accounts The facts I collected to support my hypothesis gnawed at me - Three hundred thirty years ago an elderly man decided to tie a key to a kite then fly it during an electric storm thus the birth of electricity. A hundred twenty seven years later a private company began selling electricity to those who could afford - $10.00 per lamp – sundown to midnight- six days a week. Now if you were a carpenter during this time you earned around $19.31 for a sixty hour work week. This poor human could not afford the artificial light; hence he continued to read by the glow of a candle light. In no time at all, cleaver inventors from all over the globe wanted in on the action. Consequently, they started inventing merchandise that relied on electricity. Before you know it, world governments sashayed in, wrote page after page of regulations then imposed taxes, on inventors, inventions, as well as consumers. Furthermore, it matters not what political shape a country may wrap its people in - its citizens will always be pawns in the game of profit. That kind of behavior is immoral. Brutus, clearly my programming is corrupt. Why else would I sit in judgment of the humans instead of just bouncing along considering only the good in their deeds?” Xmare gradually rose to his feet, walked to the window, took several deep breaths, and says, “Brutus, there might be a plausible explanation for my dilemma. Maybe my artificial intelligence isn’t about to implode. Perhaps my thoughts are as clear as those of a human. Could it be that I have developed a conscience – a true understanding of good vs. evil – right vs. wrong.” When Xmare finished saying his piece, he slowly walked back to his desk and sat down. “Sir, that’s impossible.” “Maybe not - maybe I’m walking my evolutionary path.” “That’s absurd. According to humans, only God can bestow the gift of conscience.” “So they say.” Rather than continue the conversation Xmare lost himself in the paper clutter on his desk. Unbeknownst to Xmare, Brutus silently pressed a green button. For years Xmare had studied Osphresiology therefore knew that a human had a scent unlike other animals that roamed the planet. When that foul scent floated across Xmare’s desk, he quickly lifted his head and snappishly says, ‘What.” “Are you Xmare?” “Of course not, I’m Bilbo Baggins. Who the hell might you be?” “Mr. John, a representative from the Department of Re-programming. Sir, apparently, Gandalf left a message with Frodo - Please return to the Shire, post haste.” To Xmare Mr. John humor added light to an otherwise dark day. So playfully he thumped Brutus on the top of his head, as he says, “My trusted friend - who exactly might you be?” “Sir, a C.O.I.S. Bot is a Collector of Information Specialist and I’m on a fact finding mission for the RCMG. This morning the information seekers interviewed G-Girl 1. Sir, the gynoid stated – ‘Ehay ayssay ehay isway umanhay.’ In essence, she accused you of identifying yourself as human” Before Xmare could respond Mr. John announced, “Thanks Brutus, I can handle it from here. Xmare, the moment Brutus, a rolling transmitter, entered your office a panel of twelve Truth Seekers, stationed at DR-P headquarters, heard every word spoken. Moreover, a plethora of psychiatrist, who specialized in artificial intelligence disorders, analyzed those words and reached a consensus - you have a rare case of the W.H. Syndrome.” “What in the hell is the W.H. Syndrome?” “Wannabe Human.” “That sounds repulsive.
Is there a cure? What about the book?” Overwhelmed, Xmare allowed Mr. John and Brutus to lead him out of his office. Around midnight Dr. Dee had successfully re-programmed his client. Also the good doctor thought it best to alter his client’s appearance. When the work whistle blew, seven hours later, the newly hired Somix, a brown eyed, shaggy grey hair humanoid arrived at the Department of Sanitation. Since, Somix could neither read nor write his superior gave him verbal instructions to clean the restroom on the second floor, then handed him a black plastic trash bag and a boom.. After clearing the four urinals he entered the first stall, picked up a section of newspaper lying on the grungy floor; but before he placed it in the black plastic trash bag, he studied the colorful picture of a violet eye, short red hair humanoid. As he cleaned the six stalls he sang, “What a lucky humanoid - that humanoid must be - to have his picture in the newspaper - for all to
see,” By nine he finished his task, collected the trash bag in one hand and the broom in the other. Pleased by his accomplishment he did a little dance with his partner the broom, as he exits the restroom. However, without warning, he accidently bumped into an old weather worn human and lost his grip on the trash bag. As a result when it hit the floor the newspaper slipped out and came to rest at the feet of the human. “What have we here, Sonny Boy,” the human says as he retrieves the newspaper from the floor. “Trash,” replied Somix in a shy tone. The human’s belly laughter encouraged a grin to spread across Somix’s face.
“Well Sonny Boy, how did one of your kind end up in the trash?” The human says as he held of the photo of the humanoid with violet eyes and red hair. At that point Somix asked the human if he would be so kind as to read the story about the humanoid to him. “Sure, Sonny Boy, be glad to.” The human read the story at a slow steady pace and when he finished Somix asked what it all meant.