Robot Sex on the Beach


Laura G. Duncan: Knows a lot about sex robots.

The request: Develop a drink for a happy hour presentation about Teledildonics, “Hey, Where’s My Robot Girlfriend,” at The Tip bar—which is exactly what your filthy, perverted mind imagines.

Similarly to how all great writers began their most iconic works of literature, we started with a title and worked backwards from there, drinking more Blue Curacao in one evening than a typical sorority house consumes in a year. And from our blue-stained, sugary haze: A drink emerged.

Robot Sex On the Beach
Robots may be incapable of loving you, but they can give you lovin’. Close your eyes and drink slow and deep. Heat beats down on your bare flesh. You’re sweating for all the right reasons and sand is everywhere you never wanted. Now open. Your tropical fantasy was nothing more than science fiction. This is Sex On the Beach, stripped—to its cold, metal gears.

1.5 pt Vodka
.5 pt Peach schnapps
2 pt White cranberry
.5 pt Lemon juice
Dash of Blue Curacao
Served on the rocks

After learning from Laura’s talk what is possible through technology I, for one, want to extend a warm welcome to our future robot overlords. And not because I’m scared.

All photographs by Rebecca Wilkowski Photography