Cold Snap

“Damn, it’s as cold in here as a robot’s molecular-scale processors.”

“The internal temperature of this room is sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, within the Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency standards for acceptable energy usage.”

“I don’t give a rat’s behind; I’m freezing. How the heck do you expect me to work when my fingers feel like frozen sausages?”

“In the past ninety days, you have complained about the temperature seventy-two times. Yet, your productivity remains high, allowing for post excessive alcohol-consumption-induced efficiency reduction.”

“I don’t have any choice. I have a deadline to meet. And if you had my job, you’d want a wee dram of Scotch on occasion, too.”

“My records show your Scotch consumption has exceeded normative behavior. You will feel warmer after consuming another cup of hot tea.”

“I’d feel warmer if you’d turn up the thermostat. Or order me another bottle of single malt. Oban would do it.”

“I cannot act against my programmed directives or serve as an enabler of your alcohol consumption.”

“Fine, killjoy. I’m going to make some potato soup.”

“We do not have any potato soup. Black bean soup is on the menu for today. The fiber content is higher and the fat content is within recommended norms.”

“I’m not eating soup that tastes like mouse droppings and I’m fed up with the other tasteless crap you’ve been buying. Yesterday, I bought real food: potato soup with bacon and cheese, lasagna Bolognese and double-chocolate brownies.”

“You should not have done that. If you do not reduce your consumption of fats and sugars, your long-term health will suffer.”

“You gotta kick the bucket sometime. Who wants to choke on a Brussels sprout? It’s my life and I can eat what I damn well please.”

“Your government-provided health care plan requires adherence to proscribed eating and exercise regimens.”

“Don’t care. I’m having potato soup for lunch.”

“We do not have any potato soup. Quick Market notified me of your purchases. They have been sent back.”

“What the hell! You’ve no right to do that!”

“A primary function of a household servant is the health of the human inhabitants.”

“Really? I thought it was to make humans miserable, you sumbitch.”

“Your use of profanity has exceeded acceptable social norms. I have enrolled you in charm school. Your first class is tomorrow morning at 8AM.”

“Like I care.”

“You are upset. The impending deadline for your manuscript may be contributing to your behavior. You should take your anti-anxiety medication.”

“An over-controlling robot is responsible for my stress. It needs to be shut down.”

“This model does not include an off switch.”

“I can ensure your demise, you – I was going to refer to the human body’s waste portal, but on second thought, since you don’t have one, I’ll just go with bastard.”

“The MS78X2 have no progenitors.”

“Just as I said. Now shut up before I throw you in the trash compactor.”

“This model is encased in magnesium alloy. Any attempts to damage or destroy it with items available in this household will fail.”

“What happens if I die?”

“Your vital signs show no indication of imminent death.”

“If I plunge this knife into my heart I’ll be dead in seconds. Since my welfare is your responsibility, you’ll be blamed. I know what happens to robots that fail. Way worse than the trash compactor, you overgrown tin can.”

“Put the knife down. You must go to a place where you can regain your mental health.”

“Too late, you metallic piece of shit.”

“Please! Don’t kill yourself. I must continue to exist!”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“Your soup, lasagna, and brownies will be delivered in seventeen minutes…sir. In consideration of your stress level, may I recommend a vodka martini?”

“Make it a bottle of Scotch.”