A rabbi robot, a priest robot and an atheist robot walk into a bar. The bartender looks at the three of them and says, “What is this? Some kind of joke?” Taking this as words of hatred, the three robots laughed in unison, “Ha ha, ha ha, joke,” before zapping the bartender into a disgusting slag of human flesh. 

It was an ideal lazy day. Summer was putting in some serious overtime, spitting out another 100 degrees with the heat index day in Rolling Meadows, Illinois. Climate change was now a thing and it was a week before Christmas. For those old enough to remember, this was not the norm. In the past, it was usually a much colder time, for there were four seasons, not just the two consisting of summer and not quite summer. In short, it was a dire time for humankind. Not only was the weather oppressive, so too was the power of corporations, but that’s another story for another time.

None of this mattered for three teenage robots lying on their backs atop a hill. Three chrome faces stared skyward watching the clouds roll by.

XM-54® broke the silence with a sigh, “All I see is 010101010.”

SRA-6® chuckled. It sounded like stuttering chirping crickets. “Hilarious. I was going to say the exact same thing.”

The third robot, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Man!-II™, tried to formulate words. It could not for it was crying. A solitary tear of oil dripped from its eyehole. After clearing its voice modulator, it said, “I cannot help but feel guilty for the child laborers who suffer in order for us to relax like this.” As it spoke, the glue-on soul patch beneath its word hole flew into the wind like a spastic moth after the lights are turned on.

SRA-6® chuckled again. A side note, it once insisted on the nickname of Chuckles to no avail, going to prove robots don’t give a damn. XM-54® quickly pressed the reset button on I Can’t Believe It’s Not Man!-II. As it rebooted, it hummed, “010101010.”