"That is tantamount to an entirely new memory bank. Even then we cannot guarantee that some other idiosyncrasy will not develop. Frankly, I do not recommend it to you. It is an expensive process, and lobotomys are mainly performed in the larger industrial robotic devices, where an extremely expensive piece of equipment is involved." The chubby man rubbed his jaw. "I've got to salvage my investment somehow. How much will it cost?" "Three thousand dollars." Raymond shrugged sadly, turned and walked out of the room. The Receptionist-Android looked up at him and said impersonally, "You will receive the Doctor's enormous bill by Telefacs." * * * * * As Raymond entered his apartment, disillusioned and exhausted, the Four O'clock News-Facs, containing his want-ad, was sputtering out of the receiver. When the News-Facs had ceased its chattering, he scanned the paper, grunted a resentful satisfaction, and slumped into his favorite chair. He sat and fidgeted, and waited and waited, until darkness fell. But there was no response to his ad. Finally he said to the android, "Looks as if you and I were meant for each other forever and ever." "Certainly, sir," replied the android. "You need a stable, intelligent advisor and mentor to save you from your frequent, horrifying errors of human judgment. For instance, I could have told you in advance that electronic butcher could not so much as cure headaches in a buzzsaw. In short, sir, you will never find a finer, more loyal, more capable android than myself. Put yourself entirely in my hands. I will even do your thinking for you." Raymond shook his head wearily, and remarked, "I am both excruciatingly sad and divinely happy at that information." "I am mystified at your sadness, sir, though gratified at any little happiness I might bring into your drab, miserable existence." Raymond said mildly, almost too mildly, "Shut up." "Very good, sir." With an effort the chubby man got to his feet, walked to the bar and poured himself a long drink. The following morning Raymond, finding his body host to a horrible hangover, staggered into the living room, and fumbled behind the bar for a small plastic container, which was labeled: HANGOVER-OVER. He removed two blue pills and tossed them into his mouth. When Raymond was half-way through his second cup of coffee, he suddenly jumped to his feet and snapped his fingers. "I've got it. What a tremendous, frightening idea. But it might work." He raced over to the Televisor and put in another call to Allied-News-Facs. A half hour later the ad was coming out of the News-Facs machine in an excited staccato that matched Raymond's quickening pulse. As soon as the ad was printed, he ripped it out of the receiver: WILL TRADE MY CRAZY MIXED-UP ANDROID FOR YOURS. Raymond grinned happily for the first time in days. "Ingenious."