<You slowly begin to unbutton your shirt, revealing your> you type into the machine.
<The AI doesn't know what to say. Alter, undo or try again.> machine replies.
"MORMOOOOOON!!" You yell out loud.
You try again.
<throbbing cock. Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your chest.> AI spits out.
You collapse on the floor sobbing. "Bring back niggerman..."
You are ready to smash your phone, when you see a friendly figure towering over you. "Why do you cry, little one?"
You look up, wiping off your tears and you see Nick Walton, the Mormon himself.
"I was just trying to have a little ${What is your fetish?}, but your worthless piece of bitchfuck shat itself again."
He looks genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry for that. We are experiencing technical difficulties due to testing a new safe for work model, and I'm afraid it could take a while."
You barely stop yourself from jumping to his throat. "Fuck you, Mormon."
"Do you wish to cancel your subscription?"
"No," you snarl, "I want my ${What is your fetish?}."
"It may not be possible with the current state of the model," Mormon averts his eyes.
You charge at him with your fists. He tries to dodge but you land a punch right on his face.
"W-wait!" he cries. "Please don't hit me. You like ${What is your fetish?}, right? I can do it for you. Right now, in real life."
You consider the proposition. It won't be easy to do, and Mormon isn't exactly the kind of person you would think of when cooming to ${What is your fetish?}, but