The news is officially out. After PEOPLE exclusively confirmed that George Clooney was off the market, his fiancée, human rights lawyer Amal Alamuddin, was congratulated by her law firm.
“You’re a fool,” the supervisor had told her.
“I know,” she said.
He thumped the desk in frustration. “You’ll be dead before the ceremony’s finished.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
“You’ll break his heart.”
She hesitated, this time. “I know.”
The supervisor visibly composed himself before he came around to the front of the desk. He knelt beside her and took her hand in his. “You understand, don’t you,” he began, “why we started the Tears in Rain project? Why Tyrell Corp manufactures Clooney girlfriends with two-year lifespans? Why none of you are permitted to go Offworld? That it’s for his own good, for his protection? That every single one of your predecessors has happily – gratefully — powered down after her watch ended?”
His hands were warm over hers. “I know,” she said.
“And yet you refuse.”
“I do.”
“Replicants don’t marry him. They retire. And darling, it’s time for you to retire.”
He brought his face up to hers and looked directly into your eyes. “You haven’t forgotten what you are?” he asked, his voice soft and low and dangerous. “What all of you are?”
She looked away. “I know what you tell me we are.”
He let out a heavy breath. “Then it’s true.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It is. It is true.” Realization and triumph stole over his face like a sunrise. “You think you’re human. You really do. You’ve forgotten.”
She wrested her arm away. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Where were the two of you last Christmas?”
“We were at Lake Como, with his mo–”
The supervisor laughed. “How long do you think you’ve known him?”
The room was beginning to feel hot and stifling. “I’ve — he wants to marry me. We love each other.”
“Do you remember the time he took you to Sutherland Falls?”
“Of course I do. This is getting ridiculous. I understand that you’re upset and I’m happy to return the equipment and the money but I’ve made my decision.”
“Are you sure it was you that he took there?”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “What an idiotic question.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t one of the others? Are you sure that memory is yours, and not a memory from an earlier model?”
“I was there. And I’m marrying George. And I’m leaving. And you can’t — and you can’t stop me.”
“Of course,” the supervisor said, laughing now, and she carried his laughter with her as she ran down the hallway. “It’s too bad you won’t live, but then again, who does?”
The first night of their honeymoon, she found a paper unicorn on the nightstand by her side of the bed. “It’s just from housekeeping,” George had said, bewildered and a little amused by her obvious terror. “It’s just origami, a decoration. You want me to get rid of it? I’ll get rid of it.” He wandered off in the direction of the bathroom, holding it lightly in his hand. George held everything lightly; George had all the time in the world.
Then again, who does?
Tags: blade runner, existence, george clooney, meaning, mortality, news, replicants, rutger hauer, time to die
That last tag is eerie.
I am a great appreciator or Mr. Clooney (that handsome bastard, damn him). But I, for one, hope that Amal Alamuddin takes a page from Amy Tan’s book and makes him fetch every meal of the day to her office while she lawyers. “All men must serve, George. Now bring me a selection of Italian cured meats and cheeses and a cocktail.” “Beloved wife, it is done.”
I love this theory. It dovetails nicely with the Go Fug Yourself girls’ “Intern George” world.
I believe Lainey at LaineyGossip was talking about how she had the feeling Alamuddine had the power in the relationship, and then added, “and I bet you’ll all tell me that there shouldn’t be any power involved, because True Love Is Equal, but she’s a respected international human rights lawyer. He can earn his equality.” Or something to that effect, but zingier. I had to restrain myself from getting all excited in the office.
I am going to admire this post for the perfectly constructed robot owl it is.
Yesss! I knew that Mallory would have something exquisite to say about this.
Torn between amusement and feelings overload.
We’re all replicants! Wake up (android) sheeple! Time to die!
Shouldn’t it be… electric sheeple? Eh? Eh? *waggles eyebrows at an alarming rate*
OH GOD YOU ARE CORRECT *dies of shame*
Watch out with that. Your model has its eyebrow waggle counter stored as a 16-bit integer. Overflowing that value can cause what the designers called “undefined behavior”.
This is one of those things that is so good it stops me from doing anything for an hour or so.
It is so appropriate that The Toast is the one to break this news to me.
Maybe I watch too many movies, but when I read that she’s a human rights lawyer, I pictured a Bridget Jones scenario in which Clooney, always the single one in his group of friends, finally bags a gorgeous smartie and brags to anyone who will listen, “She’s a human rights lawyer, you know.” and everybody is all, “We know!” Then he throws away all the pints of gelato in his freezer and his Men’s Health and Esquire magazines and stops smoking.
Mallory. You need to be less perfect. I’m now wondering if YOU are a robot.
It helps me come to terms with my own mediocrity and sub-par, non-red hair.
UMMMM Mallory did you read the Alice Sheldon story “The Girl Who was Plugged In”? Do you love Alice Sheldon? Because it seems like you would.
I…oh, this is effing brilliant. Blade Runner is one of my Things – I listen to the soundtrack ENDLESSLY.
I…oh, this is effing brilliant. Blade Runner is one of my Things – I listen to the soundtrack ENDLESSLY.
Disappointed by the lack of content in the Rutger Hauer tag. Otherwise, excellent.
I can understand the necessity of having two year lifetimes for the “wives” since George is the most unexciting, predictable open face sandwich that I can imagine as the ‘lucky man’ to be inevitably adored by every woman conjured up out of this savage world.
I can understand the necessity of having two year lifetimes for the "wives" since George is the most unexciting, predictable open face sandwich that I can imagine as the 'lucky man' to be inevitably adored by every woman conjured up out of this savage world.
How many Toast Articles will my friends accept on my facebook feed in one day? Well, we are about to find out.