My Virtual Girl

As I gaze into my Microsoft SPOT watch and listen to my iPod Mini, I now realize that the digitized and specular-lit bump-mapped wheels of technology have spun their blue-LED-laser-guided gears to a new epoch. My virtual girlfriend is now superior to my real one.

I did not enter this decision into my blackberry phone note-system lightly, because if I had, then the stylus wouldn’t have picked up my keystrokes. But after a lengthy comparison, it’s clear that my VG girl outshines my RL girl in every way.

For instance, when I want to please my virtual girlfriend, all I have to do is press the A plus X buttons at the same time while tapping the Z-trigger. My real girlfriend, on the other hand, has only one button, but it’s much more complicated.

Now I admit things aren’t perfect with my virtual girl. Whenever she takes her top off the loading times are unbearable. And sometimes the clipping issues can be embarrassing. One minute she’s dancing rhythmically with me as I deftly time my movements on the DDR plastic console mat, and the next her polygonal breasts are stuck in the wall and her legs have fallen through the dance floor. But it’s the little things that render my virtual girlfriend’s virtual foibles insignificant compared to my real girlfriend’s glaring flaws.

When I take my real girlfriend shopping for new clothes, she wants me to tell her what I think about them, yet no matter how hard I twist the analog stick she refuses to rotate 360 degrees.

My real girlfriend is always bothering me with stupid conversation, and no matter how often I answer her correctly, she never levels up. But with my virtual girlfriend, just a few taps of the A-button can advance me past any exchange, and if I ever get stuck, I can just memorize the conversation tree.

And my virtual girlfriend doesn’t seem to mind if I pepper her with high-caliber bullets, whereas my real girlfriend did.

Speaking of girlfriends dying, when my virtual girlfriend dies because she, say, mistimed her jump over a lake of alligators moving in unison, I need only find the 1-up box and she’s my girl again. My real girlfriend did not respond no matter how many boxes I thrust her way.

Cheating on my virtual girlfriend is also easier. I just keep my mistresses on a separate memory card. Eventually I’ll even be able to take my Sony Playstation 2 memory card and upload my virtual girlfriend into a far less virtual sexbot, with a plush, fabric-based, but non-virtual vagina.

I may keep my real girlfriend until then, but I think she knows that her time is nearly up. Every day I visit the Honda Asimo webpage and mark its progress, then glance at my girlfriend and wonder, will tomorrow be the day?