Bar...

So I was in a bar this last weekend, eavesdropping on others conversations, as I am known to do. When lo and behold, I hear a guy hitting on this chick by talking about his favorite websites.

Now, there’s nothing terribly unusual about that. Many guys don’t understand that the ladies just aren’t interested in the internet and their favorite websites. That’s fine…we all have to learn somehow.

What was interesting was that it was actually working on the chick. She was digging every word that was coming out of his mouth. And this was not an attractive man either. He looked like Steve Buscemi would if he got hit in the face with a frying pan after his mother mated with a horse. He was uglier than a butt. That’s all I’m saying. But she was totally digging him.

This led me to one conclusion. This guy had built some sort of she-bot to procreate with. That was the only solution I could think of. So, I went over to rip her wig off and exposed them for the frauds that they were and then I would probably get some sort of congratulatory call from the White House, a key to the city and ringside seats to the Mike Tyson-Roaring Lion match.

Now, as we all know, robots can not grow hair. They have to wear wigs. While they have figured out how to have robot childbirth, robot souls and robot whoopee, they have not mastered robot hair.

So, I went over there to rip off the wig. And it came right off! But instead of exposing wanton wiring and bells and whistles, it just revealed a shaved palate. It turns out that it was some pre-op transsexual, not a robot! Boy, when I found that out, was I ever embarrassed.

But it sure would have been sweet if that guy had made a robot to listen to him talk about the internet. Sweet indeed.