Band of Bloggers: The robots of NieR: Automata

Together. Forever. Together. Forever.

[We Community Managers usually like to add a witty intro to promoted community blogs to get readers in the right mood. Unfortunately, any attempt at outwitting The Actual Charlton Heston‘s NieR: Automata exposé would be in vain. It blew me away in more ways than one. – Bass]

Howdy. Been a piece since I wrote a blog. How are you? How have you been? Me, I’ve been grappling with such giants as meth distribution, and on occasion, recreational pottery making. These combined endeavors take up most of my time: hush now, it’s not that I don’t love you. I just needed some personal time to assess my feelings.

I’m writing this because, as the title suggests, LaTerry (who is, in fact, a real dragon) has graciously provided the community with another Band of Bloggers prompt. That prompt is robots. I like robots. Do you like robots? Some robots in Japan will let you have sex with them, and it is not illegal, even though they can’t say no. I think that’s pretty cool because I like sex and I like robots.

The peak of sensuality

You may now be wondering what a Japanese sex robot has to do with video games. Well, everything. Or possibly nothing. Honestly, I’m on the fence here, but I had to somehow justify mentioning my love for fucking dead-eyed Japanese sex puppets, or you guys might think I’m creepy. I don’t want that, my mom doesn’t want that, and I’m going to hazard speaking for the community at large and say that you — dearest reader — don’t want that.

Anyway, I’m here to write about a game that features robots, that I have drunkenly played for maybe an hour: I am unsure. That game is NieR: Automata.

As far as I can gather, this is a game about a blind robot who is also a maid, and she is desperately trying to teach us the true meaning of Christmas using only her ass

The first thing I’d like to say about NieR: Automata is that it is a fun video game to play. There, I encapsulated my feelings for the gameplay in a single easy-to-understand sentence. But I am not finished, so strap the fuck in, because I’m about to strap the fuck on.

It has been (erroneously) stated time and again that 2B is eminently fuckable; that she is the bee’s knees, the top “waifu,” the cat’s meow; that she is what many of you see when you close your eyes and allow the silent darkness to escort you in to the sweet embrace of your most lurid wet dreams.

You are all wrong, and I’m about to science the shit out of this to prove it. Because I have nothing to lose and God is dead.

This is the true peak of fuckability

Look at it: gaze upon its form, and be swallowed by the terrible finality of it; the gruesome reality that you will never find a more perfect thing to do the sex with/on. Know in your heart of hearts that all eroticism stops here. It cannot go any further. You want to fuck this robot. You need to fuck this robot. Do not deny yourself the pleasures of its cold, rusted form. Do not deny the swelling in your heart that cries, “Yes, this thing is the only thing I ever need penetrate.”

One of these things is for sex; the other one is 2B

You are in denial, I know; as I once was. “Charlton,” you cry, “You are wrong! These robots have no sexy lingerie! They have neither breasts nor supple ass! I would sooner turn on my blender and fuck it than I would one of those rusted, assless affronts to the name of Jesus!” But, what have you to lose, if you entertain my righteous cause for even a brief moment? Further, what have you to gain? Ah. The answer to the former is, “nothing”; the answer to the latter? Everything.

From here on, for the sake of the children, all of the robots will be censored, in accordance with 1 Timothy 2:9 which states, “Likewise also that women [sex robots] should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control…”

Do not forever tether yourself to denial; flush from your spirit all feelings of apprehension, and shatter every last wall of doubt. Community, I beseech you — all of you — to dig deep. Tear down your posters of 2B and 9S. They are base harlots. They can never truly please you; they can never truly fulfill you.

Let the scales fall from thine eyes!

I have made my case. It is air-tight; it is bulletproof. The onus is on you — each of you— to turn from lies and to now tread the path to truth. I cannot walk the path for you. I can merely show you the way. I cannot masturbate for you, for you must take your own dong in hand/vigorously apply vibrator, of your own accord. I don’t want to overstate the gravity of this, but this might be the most important decision you ever make. So, please, I implore you all one final time: make the right one.

Fuck. This. Robot.

I am actually Charlton Heston, and I endorse this message with all of my heart and with every last inch of my dong.