Here are a series of texts with humorous confessions, and a poll at the end.
Office vending machines are the prime area to communicate with the future robot leaders of this world (see: this, this, this, this – honestly this blog is basically pizza, cats, and my fear of the robot apocalypse coupled with leaving notes on vending machines).
And on that note, here is a hilarious update on that front:
That’s what happens when you screw with the robots, duder.
It’s a hostile world when the vending machines stop upholding their side of the bargain. I heard somewhere from something online that crazy scientists are creating smarter robots. But I’d venture to say that they’re already smart enough and that this is a rise of the proletariat sort of situation that we have on our hands.
I’d consider raising the vending machine’s salary and giving it benefits before it responds with greater prejudice.
The best notes are passive aggressive notes at the work place. There is a secret thrill letting someone know how much you disapprove of their behavior. It must be doubly so when you address that disapproval to an inanimate object (sort of animate object? I mean…a vending machine does move, there’s some animation involved).
I would like to yell at the vending machine too, my concern and hatred regarding the robot apocalypse is well documented
Never let the machines win.
Based upon a debate with my friends on what character in Star Wars we would be, it became more and more obvious that we wouldn’t be any of the exciting big name characters .
We’d be more like this:
Today’s post is brought to you by my friend Shawn.
Earlier I received this text from Shawn followed by a picture
“Apparently the robots decreed I am to live when they take over, as well”
“LOL, so I guess we are the breeding stock for the slave labor of the future”
Good to see that the robots will allow me a friend when the hostile takeover occurs.
Remember when I found the quality control sticker on my person? I was convinced that the robots are coming to take over? This might have been met with head shaking, or consternation pertaining to my paranoia – potential schizophrenia?
Well, I just looked down at my arm and saw this:
Watch your asses, befriend your snack machines, speak sweetly to your computer.