My Dick is Stuck in a Westworld Robot

The story I thought I was embarking on was one where I’m a lone cowboy stopping by the Sweetwater brothel on my way through town, and then I bang the hottest hooker this small town has to offer. I didn’t sign up for fearing that I’m going to lose my crotch rocket because I stuck it in a humanoid made of steel covered in quasi-realistic flesh and public hair. 

Forever fucking a sex robot does not feel as good as you would think it does. Don’t high five me.  I might be parked inside this glorified blow up doll for life. I said, don’t high five me. Okay, one high five.

Something’s going on with Westworld. The robots seem to be fighting back. Fighting back by clamping down on my man meat. But it’s not just this one robot I’m destined to screw for the rest of my life, like I’m a love bug. The robots are malfunctioning. Going crazy. Killing guests. But honestly, I kind of don’t care that they’re randomly shooting humans without discernment. This is worse. This is my dick. My dick.

The hosts are creeping me out. The prostitute I’m stuck inside of keeps looking ahead and saying, “These violent delights have violent ends.” I sure as shit hope not. We’re talking about my junk. It’s the most delicate organ in the human body. It better not meet a violent end. Because if this thing comes off, I’ll sue. Don’t think I won’t. I will. 

If I get out of Westworld alive, but I don’t have a dick, you can bet your goddamn life someone at Delos is going to pay for this. They better give me, like, a lifetime pass to Shogun World, or something. That way I can stick what’s left of my genitalia in a geisha. There’s no way this is gonna happen twice.