I recently met a boy I liked. The big red flag flapping in my face—and eventually bashing me in the skull: He’s an actor. A just out of a relationship actor... and he’s Canadian.
So we never dated. We “hung out.”
About a month ago, his film premiered and he invited me to attend. Having been to a million premieres, I know the way this game works: The talent will walk the carpet and do interviews, while the “plus one” stands off to the side. In most circumstances, the “plus one” brings a friend to keep them company. I took my friend Julie.
We arrived as the red carpet was happening. The boy arrived late and hit the carpet... with another guy... a disgustingly hot guy. I grabbed Julie by the hand, barely able to speak and asked, 'Is he… with someone?'
She assessed the situation and shook her head. 'No. He’s probably just an actor in the film. Besides, why would he invite you?' Good question. But after the movie, it became crystal clear that my new potential love interest was indeed, 100% with this… this… cyborg! When this humanoid smirked at me with that condescending 'the boy is mine' smile, I had to restrain myself from grasping this thing’s throat and squeezing it until its eyes popped out and onto the floor of the theater.
I drove home that night, passing all those hideous “I Lost Myself to Meth” posters, and began to ponder why we aren’t taking a more proactive role in ridding ourselves of these creatures taking over our cities and taking our men?
Here are a few tips to help you identify a cyborg threat:
The Fembot: Before she lost her career to a few hundred or so Lifetime movies, Lindsay Wagner was the girl every young gay boy in his 30s wanted to be. She could rip telephone books in half. She looked good in a tennis outfit. And all she had to do was flip her blond locks away from her ear to hear conversations in the next time zone.
She also had to battle two-faced friends. Literally.
The fembots scared the crap out of me as a kid. Sure, they looked normal on the outside, but deliver a punch to their faceplate and you would discover your co-worker was actually an evil robot underneath.
Today, Fembots are fairly easy to spot. Peruse any on-line gay dating site. The Fembot reveals himself in a photograph of just his nude torso—usually while holding a camera and taking a picture in its dirty bathroom mirror. In some cases, a Fembot does not have a head, and thus, can’t carry on conversations. A Fembot rarely wears a shirt. And with good reason, because his body is so hot, any fabric would burst into flames.
The Terminator: Before he became governor of the great state of
Terminators are usually older men, sometimes referred to as “silver foxes.” They are wealthy and successful. They know it and they show it. They tend to dress like a man half their age in clothes tight enough to be loose on Miley Cyrus or an Olsen twin. They never smile in photographs. They have pools and throw clothing optional pool parties every weekend during the summer. They are usually in the vicinity of a young boy. If in
You know you are in the presence of a Terminator if at last call, a man grabs you by the hand and says, “come with me if you want to live.”
In the lesbian world, the female Terminator is an older, beautiful lipstick. Tight, lean body. Even straight women can’t resist her. Again, they never smile.—they may even have a reality show on Bravo.
The Borg: Truth be told, I’m not a science fiction fan. I would get dragged kicking and screaming to the Star Trek movies.
In Star Trek: First Contact we met “the Borg Queen.” This individual retained all the thoughts of “The Borg,” which was an enclave of emotionless, vapid soldiers who set out to assimilate all of mankind. Their catch phase: “resistance is futile.”
The Borg are by far the easiest to spot. They all have the same haircut. They all wear the same clothes and they travel in bitchy little packs. They snarl and cower. They all have the same glassy eyed stare, usually while clutching an overpriced drink at a very crowded bar. In a word: Twinks.
The only way to kill the Borg is to kill the Borg Queen. However, this elusive creature has yet to be identified. Most likely it’s Madonna, in which case we’ll only have Four Minutes to Save the World. Why just four minutes, I’m not sure, but grab a boy and grab a girl.
The Cylon: If you’ve watched Battlestar Gallactica—the greatest show on television in the past four years—then you know that Cylons have upgraded from "toasters" (metal exoskeletons) to flesh and blood.
These are the most dangerous of all cyborgs. They look and feel human, but underneath all that orange bronzer and make-up—seriously guys, put the mascara down—lies a manipulative, deceptive, evil individual. And as we know from the show… there are many copies. You can’t kill them. Their consciousness simply downloads into another version of themselves.
They have money. Lots of it. They wear very expensive clothes. They tend to work in architecture or model... or both. They have zero percent body fat. They can be found at the trendiest clubs on themed nights. They rarely speak. They just frak* you with their eyes.
While most straight models such as Tyson Beckford and Gabriel Aubry have mastered the “come hither” sexual seduction look, the Cylon is dead behind the eyes. Their glamour puss poses reek, 'I’m hot. I’m to be worshiped. My abs are to be licked.' The Cylon does not need to be standing in front of a camera to give this pout. They assume everyone is looking at them all the time anyway.
The biggest problem with Cylons is most Cylons don’t even know that they are Cylons! Some are sleeper agents, programmed to believe they are in fact human. So you could find yourself dating what you think is a perfectly nice human boy and wake up one morning to find a frakking** Cylon on top of you!
Then again, maybe I’M a Cylon and just don’t know it yet. Actually, that would explain a lot.
*Galactica speak for another word that means “to have sex with in an aggressive manner.”
**Also Galactica speak, used as an adjective to describe an action or object that is subjectively.
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