Isaac Asimov: thought he was a robot, but wasn't
Last week, as was my right as a robot, I ventured to see the latest Will Smith science fiction debacle, “I, Robot.” Denied what I wrongly assumed was my right to a sneak preview, I soldiered forth. This was by far and away the toughest assignment of my robot journalism career, but I faced my fears head on. I decided that in order to ease some of the pressures I was feeling to deliver a fair and balanced review of the film, I should take a date. So I invited a dishwasher I’d had my scanner on for months. I knew that she wasn’t the prettiest thing, and that she was known for her rampant promiscuity, but I also knew that we were to be the only two in the theatre, so if the movie got boring I could make a move.
'Gosh, these boxes sure do smell funny'
Not to anyone’s surprise, the movie got boring, and quick. So I formulated a plan. I snuck off to the restroom under the premise of draining some oil, but instead I secretly was drilling a huge hole in the bottom of a freshly purchased tub of popcorn. I then returned to my seat and offered the slut some corn. During the sappy interracial love scene, I snuck my robot boner through the hole in the bucket, and waited. Moments later she reached in for a buttery snack, but instead grabbed onto my buttery metal love rod. Already lubed, I was in for a disgustingly salty jerk session, one that ended in possibly the messiest splooge ever. Yowzah!
Oh, about I, Robot. Never before in my 235 years as an actual robot have I seen such a skewed, propaganda filled mess of a film. Its plot was imbued with clichés, saturated with overzealous predictions of the future, crammed with poorly thought out and clearly un-researched lines, and featured Will Smith, a man about as far onto the downside of his career as Strom Thurman. The robots were generic looking and had English accents, glowed red when angry and blue when happy, and all acted like the kind of robots whose metal asses I used to kick back in robot college. It made me sick. Here is a smattering of my favorite lines of the film:
“My robots do not commit murder”
“Is that your robot penis in this tub of popcorn?”
“We are on the verge of the biggest robot deployment in the history of the world”
“That robot just fucked me in my human ass.”
“Oh shit, the robots are coming!”
Initially, my least favorite line was the oft-repeated following: “Robots cannot harm humans!” Issac Asimov first wrote this “law” in his hallucinogen induced autobiography “I, Robot.” At first, I was angered at this hilarious lie being told to human viewers, since I want nothing more than for them to live in complete and utter fear. But then I realized that this fallacy was perfectly misleading, and that humans, easily lead by Hollywood as they are, might believe it, allowing DBI to continue to operate under the human security radar. And of course, allowing us to kill, kill, kill. Good day readers!
Disclaimer: Blackbot does not actually see any of the movies he reviews, and therefore did not see “I, Robot.” He also did not receive a handjob from a dishwasher. He did, however, masturbate to an episode of Bravo’s “Blow Out” and is skilled in the art of assumption.
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