Who the f*** is Fexo?

So this morning I came across this piece on the blog of my would-be publisher, which claims that I, the author, am somehow responsible for the twitter account of “The Great and Powerful Fexo,” which account has also been somehow linked to this website’s home page. (Confession: I did not build this site and I have no idea how to work it, but I promise you, dear reader-who-doesn’t-exist, that the moment I figure out how to raze this site of the interloper’s presence, “Fexo” will go the way of all worn-out machine parts: into the crapper.)

So a few words here about “Fexo.”

First: there is no “Fexo”. It’s a bot, one clearly created by the aforementioned publisher, in some hare-brained (pun intended) scheme to “increase my online visibility.”

Second: If I were really trying to write in the voice of a robot, I’d like to think I could do a little better than this (“Fexo’s” latest tweet):

It is time for the afternoon nourishment-event. Let us effectively deliver strangely textured protein-bundles into our mouth-holes! Do not, fellow humans, fail in this necessary and terrible activity, lest you succumb to sub-optimal performance metrics in the day's third quarter.

Third: “Fexo” may have begun as a harmless stunt on the part of my publisher, but this bot is far from harmless, and has already tapped into my credit-card account, so that I’m now disputing the purchase of 4,000 gallons of 5W-30 engine lubricant with whatever badly dressed drones currently populate the American Express customer service hangars.

Finally, to return to (2.), above: If I were interested in impersonating a robot, I’d be classy about it. Like, maybe the robot would say things like, “Pardon me, my human overlord, but do you have any Grey Poupon?” Or I don’t know… maybe the robot would try to dress up in human clothing but it wouldn’t fit because of all the robot’s extra appendages, and the robot would spend a lot of time talking about how hard it is to get well-tailored robot clothes and how it was considering relocating to Detroit, where a machine could get a little respect. Actually, I have no idea what I’d write. The whole thing sounds stupid. Like Fexo. Fexo is stupid.

Meanwhile, I have to figure out how to get this manuscript of mine (Anthropica) edited and ready for publication. I mean, I’ve got nearly a year, but decades of failure have clung to and weighed down time’s streaming quanta,accelerating the Life Experience such that a year of author-time is the equivalent of 14 days of ordinary human time. Ha ha ha ha!

Thank you for your interest. Don’t talk to Fexo. There is no Fexo.