Small Fry the Robot was thoroughly asleep, rumbling loudly, since it was sleeping on the floor on its back, and breathing only through its nose hole. It sounded like an unbalanced washing machine. The commotion caught the attention of the supervisor, Mr. Hinkus Lipp.
Mr. Lipp was pissed off royal. “Wake the fuck up!”
The robot merely rolled over on its side, the snoring subsided, and it mumbled, “It’s all cool.”
“No. It is not all cool. Get your lazy ass up so I can fire you.”
The robot was now awake, but did not stir. It figured if it just layed there, the human annoyance, or humannoyance, would eventually go away.
Mr. Lipp was having a conniption fit. His face was red with rage; he was trembling with anger. This did not bode well for his weak heart. To prove this point, he fell to the floor, clutching his chest. His last words were, “Hiring you was the biggest fucking mistake of my…”
The robot slowly and methodically assumed a standing position over the dead body. The combination of its inability to show emotion compounded with the fine weed it recently smoked made this whole moment odd and embarrassing.
That all changed when it said, “It’s 4:20 somewhere.” It pulled out a vape pen and took a long toke.