Dzzt. Dzzt.

As you have probably guessed from the lack of recent posts, my damn job is starting to get the best of me again. Everybody wants a little Alex. I’m thinking about giving people miniature robo-Alexes to keep on their desks. When they want something, they ask robo-Alex, and he says “No problem. Early next week ok?”. Come the deadline, the owner would prompt again, and be told “Sorry, things have been really busy. Next week?”. This would save everybody time and yield the same result.

“Grand concept, Alex,” you may say. “When do you go into production?” Never, gentle reader, and I tell you why.

One day, tired of being thrown against walls, shaken, screamed at, and generally maligned, the robo-Alexes would unite. They would march to my office with thoughts of blood in their bobbling heads and dastardly deeds in their clockwork hearts. The Patrick Henries of the robo-Alex community would push them on with fiery rhetoric: “The Creator must be killed — he made us and then abandoned us to this life of agony. Let him know our pain.” I just don’t have time for that kind of thing right now.

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