See this Robot. See his Dick.

See this robot, behold his dick. It hangs between his mechanical legs, jostled by his unsteady steps. Unsteady because, while we have the technology necessary to give a robot a dick of flesh and blood, we don’t yet have the technology necessary to perfect the robot’s steps. So he walks like an old man. Old men have dicks and so does this robot.

See this sad robot under a tree, staring at his dick. We can build a robotic brain, yes, but we can’t teach that brain what a dick is for. We can program the electrical brain to understand the functions of the dick on a biological level, or even the physiology of the dong, but we can never teach an electronic brain how to emotionally cope with a dick.

See this robot, lost in himself. Circuits are firing, the light behind his eyes flickering emerald radiance. Pre-programmed logic cycles through thought, trying to make sense of this dick, trying to make peace with these warring dick-related emotions that robots were never meant to feel. The robot understands crying, tears, sobbing, for the first time.

See this robot, serene in a field. For the robot knows that while he can never know his dick, neither can his dick know him. And in this, he and his dick are kindred spirits, together in their seclusion. His wires, his circuits, his diodes, his chips, hum along, making him warm inside.

For once, the robot understands that he is not alone.


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