Shady Dave holds a status meeting to confront the rumor that their jobs are moving to an overseas online sweatshop. Yes, the decision to downsize was made, but that doesn’t mean they should tinker with the font on their résumés or degrade themselves by applying for a position at the Genius Bar. Rather than taking drastic measures, management is compassionately allowing the department to dwindle until its ultimate demise, as if it were a diseased limb on a tree of ones and zeros. Personally, he’s not happy about the move, he confesses. For what it’s worth, he’ll be transferred to the targeted-advertising team where it’s like, “We saw you were interested in this anal lubricant. Customers who bought butt lube also purchased this kombucha tea.” Besides, at some point in the not-so-distant future, these positions won’t exist altogether, not for them, not for Filipinos. The algorithm will become sophisticated enough to supervise on its own the worst that humanity has to offer.

Too long; the woman didn’t listen. As far as she’s concerned, someone among them could commit another mass shooting at this moment and decorate the insides of their entire team across their screaming panels. Why should she care when she has found out the rapist is in a relationship? Prior to their status meeting, the rapist tweaked his bios and status across social media. When she logged into the dating site and his profile had disappeared, she knew: His failure to reply to her message wasn’t on account of guilt, or the fear that she would press charges if he admitted to the rape, or any of the other excuses she thought of on his behalf, like that he was dying from flesh-eating bacteria. The rapist didn’t bother to write back because he got a girlfriend. The rapist’s girlfriend confirms this gut instinct by commenting, surrounded by hearts, on each of his posts: They say it’s not real until it’s on the internet. We’re exclusive!

The rapist’s girlfriend is hot. The rapist’s girlfriend is probably who the woman cried for the night she thought the rapist was raping another woman. The rapist’s girlfriend is studying interactive telecommunications, and her master’s thesis is an avant-garde app. The rapist’s girlfriend’s app is entitled Tender Buttons, and what the app does is it instructs the person who has downloaded the app to enact a ritual with someone else who has downloaded the app, pinpointable via GPS. “Find Phil and tell him he matters” is an example of what the rapist’s girlfriend’s app could command, in addition to “Attempt handstands with Nancy in Golden Gate Park,” and the idiosyncratically titillating “Take turns using a riding crop to beat a sofa left for curbside trash with Gary.” On the rapist’s girlfriend’s website, there is an excessively long description of the app’s origins.

Tender Buttons is the hypothetical love child born from the union of TaskRabbit, which allows someone with the app to hire someone else with the app to complete small jobs or “tasks,” with Joseph Beuys’s legendary performance piece How to Explain Pictures to a Dead Hare. We have apps for delivering gourmet meals to our doorsteps, apps for washing our shit-stained underwear, apps that find us fresh genitals to fuck, apps to maximize our investments and minimize our waistlines, apps to one-up our peers by posting pictures of our filtered lives, but practically no apps that enable random encounters without hope of reward. This app is the only app on the market intended purely to solve the problem of loneliness. The woman thinks it is pretty great that she is still stress-eating while obsessing over the rapist on her sister’s baby-stained sofa while the rapist is in love with a sexy programmer artist who wants to use technology to facilitate more hugs.