R. D. Harless

“Scientists,” the people who brought you such discoveries as Phlogistons and the planet Vulcan, have come up with their latest so-called boon to mankind: robots that move like we do. On feet, knees, legs, and other miscellanea. Forget the days when you could easily confine your Roomba in a vacant bedroom where it would bang around in a bloodthirsty rage (true story). Thanks to “Scientists,” these fuckers will now be all terrain.

These “Scientists,” people driven by sadistic urges and childhood traumas to create technology and concepts that shatter the world view of a populace they loathe, would have you believe that creating human-like devices to do menial jobs in the middle of an economic crisis is a good thing. Tell that to the guy who used to put on car doors on the Ford assembly line (you can’t; the robots already killed him) or the guy who used to tell people to press 1 for customer service (you can’t; he probably didn’t exist). People gotta eat. Robots don’t. Give a robot my job, and what’s he going to spend all that disposable income on? Robot porn and getting blasted on Duracells. This is allegedly progress.

So, everybody grab your ankles and say “Thanks, Scientists!” Thanks for the next phase in derailing human civilization, as if a thousand TV channels and texting weren’t enough. In ten years, we can all look out of our liquid nutrient cocoons at a new Mt. Rushmore of Johnny Five, Hal, a fucking Dalek or something, and that creepy abomination from iRobot.