About a year ago I started a blog with the hopes of rallying humans against the mortal threat of further robotic development. The blog was a wild success, and within months I had more than a dozen views and made contact with the premier anti-robot blog commentator in Poland. The sudden success of the blog was a mixed blessing – I’m afraid I let all the excitement and hysteria go to my head. I lost focus, and flew to Poland to meet with my Eastern-European counterpart. We were filled with fire and purpose, but lacked direction.
From Poland we flew to Israel to meet with another major Anti-Robot activist. As it turned out, Yakov’s hatred for robots manifested itself in a crippling fear of death at their cold, metallic hands. He purposefully stranded us on a deserted island to live out the robot driven Holocaust in paradise.
Like every major hero, I am directly responsible for the death of a close friend, and the widowing of his shy, attractive wife. Yakov was a good man and I loved him more than I did Milo the dog, but he was a selfish coward. I do not regret allowing the nest of blood-thirsty fire ants attack and kill him – he had to die. I am not ashamed to say that I wept by his side day and night for each of the 6 days it took for the ants to finally eat away enough of his flesh to attract the Puffins, which finished him off. His death is a burdeon I must carry for the rest of my life. Often times I catch myself staring off into the distance wearing a cold, wounded, vacant, furious glare – I am thinking deep thoughts about things you couldn’t possibly imagine.
For months after Yakov’s passing, I was anrgy at the world. “Fine!” I used to yell to myself. “Fine…” I crawled into a bottle of whiskey, and grew a grisley beard. I had sex with exotic women who were attracted to my bad attitude and aggressive apathy. They wanted to save me – but I was a tough case. The toughest they had seen in all their years working as prostitutes on the streets of Morocco.
It was a wild, ugly, passionate, heroically pathetic time that came to an abrupt stop. I was in an internet cafe in Tangier drinking Turkish coffee and smoking hashish when I received an email from Raza with the subject “Permanent Midnight.” I opened the email, and sat and watched the following video in horror.
After I fell to my knees and wept for a few moments, I stood up. “Yakov will not die in vain!,” I screamed over and over again as I destroyed every computer in the cafe.
Yakov Did Not Die In Vain.
I am now fighting the robot threat with a clear strategy. The first major task is getting Ashton Kutcher on board. Then we need Donald Trump.
WE ARE GOING TO STOP THE BOTS!
