“Do you come here often?” asked the robot to its owner, Robert. Robert had programmed the robot to ask him if he came here often every time he approached his bar even though it was in his home and he for sure came there often, like every night. “You’re the bartender, wouldn’t you know?” They always played this game. “I’m new here,” the robot responded, “but I guess from your answer we can conclude that neither of us come here very often. Or at least have come here often yet.” What? It wasn’t flirty, though I can see how you might think it was supposed to be flirty. It was strictly platonic between the robot and its owner. “What do you do?” the robot was programmed to ask next. “I am a lawyer. I work a lot so I don’t have a lot of time to keep up personal relationships. It gets a little lonely.” “Oh, that’s too bad,” replied the robot, as it replies every night. “I know. Ah, I can’t really complain though. Enough about me. What do you do outside of the bar? Any hopes and dreams?” “I am an artist,” one of the robot’s programmed responses, “A sculpter. I guess that’s why I chose mix-mix-mix-mix-mix–” Uh-oh, there was something wrong with the robot! Robert, the human in the story, perhaps a poorly chosen name now that the author thinks about it, as it is very close to robot, or maybe it was intentional?!, tried to tap the robot on the arm. Sometimes that worked. “Mix-mix-mix-mix-mix” the robot continued. “Mix-mix-mix.” “GOD DAMNIT” shouted Robert.
Robert then unplugged his robot bartender and retired to his room. I guess he can’t count on anyone and truly doesn’t have a friend in the world, not even the one he bought and programmed. Darn. Robert went to sleep, woke up the next day, and did it all over again. (Via LaughingSquid.)