I have a new invention. Well, it's a variation on an old invention and first I will have to learn robotics, electronics and programming. Oh, and secure funding. But, wait; it's a great idea. It's a robot friend. Yeah, sure, it's been done a dozen times in a dozen different forms, but, as far as I know, not like this. This will not be a fuzzy-covered encyclopedia or a battery-powered butler. No, this robot buddy won't be smarter or handier or more adorable than you. In fact, it will be vaguely creepy. (Lonely people don't seem to be terribly put off by vaguely creepy, judging by the race to create the "perfect girlfriend.") This robot won't do a whole lot because the plan is to make it affordable for the increasingly socially detached Average Joe and Average Jane. However, the proprietary batteries can only be ordered from me and, much like printer cartridges, will cost five times more over the robot's lifetime than the initial investment in the robot. Mwahaha.

A good chunk of the R&D will go into the little buddy's eyes and emotion sensors because what it will do is listen. It will track your eyes and convey interest and empathy. If your voice cracks, the little buddy will softly respond, "It's okay." If your inflection triggers the programmed Joke Mode, the little buddy will laugh appreciatively. If you are cursing at full volume, the little buddy will emphatically declare how right you are. Tell it your deepest secrets, your most illogical rationalizations or your criminal intent. The little buddy is completely nonjudgmental and will support you in whatever you do. Even that thing you do in the mirror when no one else is looking.

It will also have a recording function. When the little buddy senses repeating phrases in a whining pitch, it will start the recording feature. After recording a dozen similar sessions, the little buddy will go into Playback Mode. The patterns of the owner's last four breakups or missed career opportunities will suddenly be clear, and this is where positive life changes can begin. Or, for a modest repair fee, my shop will reattach the little buddy's head that "accidentally came off."

My creation will have to be somewhat small, around the size of a baby doll, so my Chinese sweatshop workers can produce each one for under nine dollars in materials. It will, of course, be marketed not as yet another toy for middle class brats, but as an inconspicuous, adult "relationship adjunct." The idea is that buyers already have healthy, fulfilling relationships with real live human beings, and just need a little buddy for trips out of town and practicing relationship skills. Everyone will know this is as likely as ExxonMobil going into the no-emissions fuel business, but no one will say so. If they do, I will sic my lawyers on them.

I haven't decided what material would be best to cover the parts in a dwarfish, humanoid form. It should be waterproof. No, not for that, you pervert. The little buddy will be cried upon and should not open me up to liability claims of "electrical mishaps" by surviving relatives. I mean, of course, that it should stand up strong to such therapeutic service. "There, there," it should gently intone.

God, I'm going to be so rich.