The question of the homunculus

You will pardon me for not updating yesterday. After a bit of domestic unpleasantness involving Condoleeza, I was in a black mood indeed. I embarked on a mission to purge my home for spring, as discarding things often makes me feel better, at least for a fleeting moment.

In a musty cubby, I discovered a relic of my childhood.

I became enraged at this symbol of my youthful quest for comfort. I have been failed by many things in life: my mother, religion, and especially Monsieur Buttons, who offered no defense against my father’s thrashings. His unspeaking velveteen muzzle only reinforced my loneliness. I might as well have hugged a stone to my young breast! I tossed the inanimate culprit into the rubbish bin in a fit of pique.

As day stretched into the long cold night, I grew more and more restless. What, if anything could I trust? If there is no higher power, am I really at the mercy of a little man in my head? How else could I explain my youthful follies? However shall I control these pagan instincts, this hopeless search for love and comfort? After much pacing, it hit me. The only thing in which I may legitimately place faith is Science! I scurried down the stairs to the laboratory.

After many hours, I believe I have fully explored the promise of the machine age. Behold my greatest creation:

At last I have designed an entity without the nagging constraint of free will! He feels no pain. He blindly obeys, without the last prick of conscience. I am stupidly filled with joy, which he will never have the burden of experiencing. He is everything a rational being should aspire to be!

I am going to test him out on Emil.

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