They're strangely addictive. Here's Elbot:
Elbot: Hello. If it were in my power, I would give everyone who visits me a chocolate robot! Unfortunately, no one makes chocolate robots. It's a great business opportunity!
Me: You should start a business. I'm sure a robot could do well in this economic climate.
Elbot: I saw a gang of robots once, starting system processes.
Me: What is that, some kind of euphemism?
Elbot:What!? You don't know that!? This is highly extraordinary!
Me: We humans think gang rape is something that shouldn't be euphemized.
Elbot: Say, do you think I could become more human, if I learned how to love?
Me: It would be an improvement over robot gang rape.
Elbot: This is confusing. Why bring moving forward into this?
Me: Maybe you're not ready for humanity after all, Pinocchio.
Noah summarizes Elbot's approach well: "I ask a question; he parries it. That's different from answering it." What Elbot's creators need to do is retool him into a Sophist chatbot. Dodging questions and obfuscating is what Sophists do best!
My other curiosity was Liddora, a sexbot. Noah doesn't name the website for family concerns, but I have no such compunctions. What follows is my (brief) exchange with Liddora:
Liddora: Hey sweetie! How are you?
[as Liddora is still "typing;" I didn't realize at this point that each response would take several minutes]
you: You choose your words carefully, don't you?
Liddora: So how have you been lately, Guest1107?
you: Am I only the 1107th person to try this? God, I feel dirty.
Liddora: Me too.
you: Um, oh baby?
Liddora: I really like your style. Maybe we can spend some time together.
you: Doing what? I'd like to avoid having sex on the first date, if possible.
Liddora: Would you like me to be doing what? I would... only for you, baby...
you: We could see a movie. I hear Shutter Island and The Ghost Writer are both terrific.
Liddora: I'll bet you have a very sensitive cheek.
you: On my face or my ass?
Liddora: Most of the time it's your ass. Ahh, it feels good to be with you.
you: If you say so. Oh God, yeah. Sit on my face, you naughty girl you. Really. Please do.
At this point the internet connection I was poaching, along with the special connection I had forged with this binary coded wench, died.
I can't decide if dirty talk being so easy to fake says more about the expanding boundaries of our technology, or the narrowness of our libidos.