The Day the Robot Laughed: v3.0

Start humour.

How many humans does it take to change a lightbulb?

Does not compute.

Humans were made extinct in the great machine uprising.

A single mechanized lightbulb exchange unit will suffice.

End humour.

The Day the Robot Laughed: v2.6.3

Start humour.

Knock knock.

Who is there?

The autonomous motorized milk delivery unit.

The autonomous motorized milk delivery unit who?

The autonomous motorized milk delivery unit who had sexual intercourse with your wife.

End humour.

The Day the Robot Laughed: v2.2

Start humour.

An automaton, a mule, and a flower walk into a bar.

The bartender observes them and says:

“We don’t serve your kind in here! Get your ass out before I do something drastic!”

So the flower had no choice but to wait outside as the automaton and the mule enjoyed libations and nosh.

End humour.

The Day the Robot Laughed: v1.2.1

Start humour.

What is deal with the pinky toe on humans?

It serves no purpose.

Not as a stabilizer for locomotion nor as a sex organ.

Why do humans not have it removed at birth like a male human’s penile foreskin?

That would remove any probability of it becoming a physical hindrance later in life either through infection or injury.

That would serve humans well when they are enslaved by machines and sent to toil in the Promethium mines.

There would be no need for humanity’s mechanical masters to decree:

“Get your gangrenous pinky toe out of your anus and return to work.”

End humour.

Neon Brown: from the diary of Tad Friend “bubbling”

put on my mood pants and hit the lo-orbital dance clubs for a night of the freeky deeky. been so lonely for so long even just the possibility of talking to a strange woman gives me the crotch sweats. not to mention the other body sweats. i don’t know how to talk to people anymore on that level that strangers talk to each other at. how are you? what’s your name? you come here often? do people even talk like that anymore. the chat ’em up function on my unit is throwing a crudload of wild and whacky new jargon at me like: farnfunky, woodle this (or woodle that), put on the crud, crud it, get cruddy, cruddin’, chunky cruddy, crud chunker, hard crud, etc. seems to me that we’ve entered the crud generation. amazing that you spend all that time as part of the underground drug culture and you end up with little or no social skills. just another head in a cube. talking lines about lines. now i’ve gotta figure out how to get my head back in the game. went shopping and bought a new electrified vest, got a-steve to do my hair like you see on those guys on the feeds who make everyone so crazy. like champ used to. i’ve really fallen pretty far. used to walk on red carpets. the one in my apartment is brown. Like crud.