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Elijah: I love you Flyboy, in only the way I could love a not at all on fire robot.
One day, possibly soon, you're going to walk into a bar and meet the most stunningly incandescent burning robot you've ever seen. It'll be there, knocking back sambuca with a flash and a roar, an attractive whiff of petrol drifting across to you, the dance of flame across its soot-scarred metallic body inflaming your passions, and you'll walk over and drop some quip, try to catch its smouldering eyes and say "You're hot. Can I get you a drink?"
And it'll reply, in crackling artificial tones, "I read that shiznit you wrote on Barbelith. Get out of here, loser, before I burn your ass." And you'll leave, head bowed, the fire at your back receding until you hit the cool street and taste your own regretful tears.
Then your best friend, who's always been more tolerant of artificial intelligences with heat exhaust issues, will hit on the robot and they'll totally make out. |
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