Bill Casselman

Lobby Robots

At the Wording Desk

Increase your vocabulary learning newly coined phrases by such masters of neological wordcraft as my humble self

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Yes, middle-class parents, could your kids grow up to be Lobby Robots? I’ve had to coin that new phrase: Lobby Robot.

Many well-to-do parents are engaged not in child nurture or helping their children enter a complex world by making sure their kids are analytical, compassionate yet critical of the world’s dense bullshit, no, no, trendy parents seek to raise what I call LOBBY ROBOTS.

These are well-behaved, fashionably dressed little automata of serenely unblemished complexion, sufficiently athletic to make the high school basketball team, attending church several times a year but not out-of-control Christians with an excess of sympathy for the poor or unlucky. Eek!

If a stern parent catches their offspring in an unguarded moment of self-knowledge, even looking in a mirror, or writing a simple exploratory paragraph in Grade Seven entitled “Who Am I?” two punishments occur. Quickly the commissioning teacher is fired. Secondly the child is slapped hard, that he or she may repent of their obscene need for any sort of attentive perception of who morally and spiritually they are.

Later, in their maturity, unless they have memorized the “compendium of acceptable corporate thought,” lobby robots are devoid of the slightest personal opinion and never wear loud neckties or too-high skirts. They vote for the conservative politicians whom “everyone ought to vote for.”

They clank to work each day, perfectly at home greeting clients in the lobby, where they never burp or fart or commit the atrocity of an independent thought. Is the company gouging sick people with obscenely steep drug prices? “Well, after all, Tiffany, it is business.” “Sure, Fred, but think of all the R&D years in our ophthalmology lab testing that drug. Our sand-based eye salve, for example, was double-blind tested for more than three minutes on blind gerbils! The cages! The lab fees! Just catching those little rascals! I mean, come on!”












Early in their “junior executive learning module” (translation: childhood), lobby robots learn to distrust the suggestion that humans may have evolved to practice mutual support. The very idea that humans ought to help one another is “communism!”

Likewise early demonized are unions and any significant profit-sharing. Letting manual laborers and factory workers participate in corporate financial gains is socialist nonsense. Yes, executives should have four homes, but workers? None. What do you think DynoSlime Consolidated is running here? A damn welfare paradise!

Did you know that large companies blackmail news media into running anti-union stories? Corporations do this by threatening to cancel media advertising unless the news outlets flood their pages and broadcasts with insights into how evil unions are. Imagine entities believing that everybody should share in profits! Will these commie bastards never stop?










When mating time finally dampens their expensive undies and leaves tell-tale spatterings on the boy’s duvet, the lobby robot seeks a mate. Sought spouses must arise from strictly similar economic backgrounds. Your true lobby robot does not want a link-up, carnal or otherwise, with some low-class climber who was scrambling up the splinter-runged ladder of success from a family where the father may have worked as a janitor in a hammer factory. Ye gods! How infra dig! As for choosing mates from among the pullulant hordes of “our tinted brethren,” no thank you! Puh-leese. White only at the altar!










The parents of potential lobby robots keep an alert eye on their sullen progeny. If, at the play-park teeter-totter, their spawn display early signs of an easy corruption, parental eyes sparkle. Let’s say Dad sees his young Lloyd spritz bug-spray in the eyes of the little pitcher on the other baseball team. Says a proud-as-punch Dad, “My Lloyd could be a rich lawyer. There’s nothing low-class about standing in hospital corridors outside the OR and handing out business cards as what’s left of your Mom after the accident is wheeled past on a gurney in three separate HRPs (human remains pouches). It’s no sin! After all, most of us will see the inside of a body bag for at least a few post-mortem moments. Is such behaviour sleazy, scummy, and steeped in a squalid greed papered over by a law degree? No, indeed. There is, in fact, a certain nobility of defined purpose in chasing ambulances, and my Lloyd is just the little lobby robot for the job.”

Every lobby-robot parent knows the meek will not inherit the earth. They will eat it.

The evidence from early psychometric testing is clear: human children are not born with inherent compassion. Parents must teach their kids to have a conscience about others, to display compassion. What police and psychiatric workers often find is that, for the lobby-robot psychopath, other peoples’ feelings are not real. One of the truest, most loyal types of employee is the lobby-robot psychopath. He’s real. His company is real. His boss is real. But persons external to the company are not real. Most of his coworkers don’t have real feelings either. So when Lobby Robot uses the company snitch phone and rats on “those other people”, well, that’s okay, because his coworkers don’t really, really exist. They’re phonies. They don’t have a real soul or deep feelings like Lobby Robot. As for the young children poisoned by the company’ new drugs which were rushed to market before proper testing, that’s okay too. They weren’t real children, like the psychopath’s. Why, some of them don’t even live in our neighbourhood. Their parents were not able to buy Lexus SUVs, so we don’t talk to them.

Lobby robots have thin skin. Under their sullenly pulsing epidermis (for your true lobby robot resents heartbeats as a possible waste of corporal-corporate energy) one may glimpse the zomboid Gollum within, its etiolated fingers clutching “the precious.”


I don’t want to conclude here by waxing fascist. But what I’d like to see in front of each entranceway to a company HQ are plywood recanting booths in which lobby robots would undergo obligatory retraining and could not enter the workplace until they’d aced Compassion 101.





Bill Casselman, September 21, 2016

Copyight 2016 William Gordon Casselman

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Hey, Mom? Dad? Are your children destined to be lobby robots?