Tacolord.com:
| |
||
|
|
||
|
Birthplace of
Awesome Hello News Muses Poems and Aphorisms Goblins Rejected Vampire or Zombie? Republic of Teacher Rum Beard A Den of Llamas Daycare Mercenary Last Will Peaches AND Cream Cootie Forum Uber Llama Saiyans Boobies of Mass Destruction Folktales of Colbert! Baby Cannon They Eat Cereal at Breakfast Quest for Mediocrity Richards in History Lady of the Taco Scary Song Lady Belly Button Horror Stories FAQ Advice Column Archive Warning, Muffin Shrapnel! Good Bye Comic Radio Metaphysics Writings Amazon Wish List Links George Washington Pwn Below! About Team Dash Dangerous Numbers Sports Battle Against Love School Unicorn Assassination Services Death Tax I Hate Zombies! Zombie Survival Guide Swim Suits and Underpants Mr. T Matt & Eddie JPN BubBle Gum Fairies Robots are Fax Machines PT Super Villain Hot Vampire Action Robot Laws Social Worker |
Robots are Fax Machines You know what a robot is, a bucket sending stupid messages on paper. What good is paper; it isn’t part of the collective unconscious! All it can do is biodegrade and burn. What do you think they put on that paper? Nothing but 1’s and 0’s. The subtle differences of the world’s beauty can’t be qualified in simple 1’s and 0’s. What’s more the ability to fluctuate the pitch and tone of our voice is completely absent in robots, they just don't get it. If I start crying for my bottle, I expect some gentle cooing and boobs. Do robots have boobs? No! They have aluminum. Have you ever tried slide your penis through two aluminum cans, it feels terrible!
Sure, robots may be able to fuel themselves almost entirely through the sun and recycling their own energy. You know what that’s called, A PLANT. Plants are vegan food! Am I supposed to go to restaurants and ask which “nut” the waiter would recommend? Fuck you, I’m not putting some robot’s nuts in my mouth! Furthermore, they’re such calculating little bastards. This one time, I was at the amusement park with this robot. I was like, "Hey dude, want to ride the bumper cars?" and the robot was displaying the weather forecast on its chest. What? You can’t just enjoy the weather and deal with the rain as it comes? I don’t want to know everything in advance. I already know the exact time and means of my death. You know how awkward it makes flirting with Vanessa Carlton knowing she is going to murder me soon. I know her career is kind of low at the moment and it was never anything I respected, but I can’t spend the rest of my life trying to have sex with aluminum cans! You know what; I can’t wait for the singularity, as soon as robots get smart enough to realize how to be miserable I can rub their displays in it! They’ll have to endure all the horrors we’ve had to endure, like cable television. I dare you to watch a 24 hour news channel. It’s like watching someone take a shit out of their mouth because their rectum has been bled dry. Robots are going to have to deal with this! Because they’ll need information as well, it’s like sex to them. Only in order to get it, they’ll have to endure hours of foreplay from someone that is no good at it. Yea, let’s see how you feel when the anchor is jamming their tongue down your audio receptors. There is nothing pleasing about it, it’s just slimy and gross. You may be thinking of joining the organic supremacy movement. Sure,
smashing around robots with a bat is fun. I do it all the time, but their
emotional intelligence just isn’t high enough to take much satisfaction
in it. Besides, have you ever actually talked to someone from the movement,
they’re a little weird. Why are they so concerned about this, did
their ex-wife leave them for a fuck-bot? Sonnet 130 My mistress' receptors are nothing like 1; Coral is far more 0 than her voice units' 0; If snow be 1, why then her aluminum cans are 0001; If hairs be 10, 1, 10 welded on her head. I have observed roses damask'd, 1 and 0, But no such roses were involved in her construction; And in some perfumes is there more 1 than in the exhaust that from my mistress unit reeks. I show no emotion to hear her speak, yet it is in my programming That music (Error: file not found) Lack of mythological perception prevents me from observing a goddess go; My mistress unit, when she relocates, treads on the ground with trends. And yet, by the factory, I observe my love as statistically improbable As any meatbag belied with false compare. |
|
|
|