Girlfriend in a Coma.
hot soup girl: Here's my idea: you pay a corporation to put you in an induced coma for a month or two, while they run your life for you. You wake up and everything's been dealt with - ex-partners broken up with gracefully, all messy loose ends tied up - and you just pick up where they've left off. Robots may be involved.
signalstation: maybe a robot duplicate of yourself?
hot soup girl: Sure, why not?
signalstation: I'm glad it was that easy to convince you. I was ready to weep hot tears of frustration if you weren't willing to concede.
hot soup girl: I'm all for the robot. I'm thinking it would look like a rough fascimile of you, with a plate printed on its chest letting people know that they're interacting with a proxy.
signalstation: A proxy that thinks nothing of extending a middle digit and telling someone on your behalf to "sit on it and spin, shit-eyes" while breaking up with them.
hot soup girl: Maybe. Personally, I'd like my facsimile to deal with the situation with grace, self-respect and compassion. It's just that I'd rather sleep through the accompanying suffering, while the robot glides through with emotional imperviousness.
signalstation: Ah. See, I want a two-fisted duplicate. One with a reputation so fearsome that people will plead with me not to enter that coma.
hot soup girl: That works.
hot soup girl: This idea reminds me of the induced comas that opera singers opted for in the 70s as a effortless weight-loss solution.
hot soup girl: That didn't work out too well. Probably because the appropriate robot technology hadn't evolved yet.