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.
Beware of the vending machine
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 WANT MY DOLLAR, VENDING MACHINE!
I would like to yell at the vending machine too, my concern and hatred regarding the robot apocalypse is well documented
spoiler alert – I don’t actually have an extension. Because I don’t have a phone
Hating machines together, in perfect harmony
Never let the machines win.
I’ve always suspected that earth was mere moments away from the robots becoming self-aware. There are suspicious “vending” machines at my job, which I believe might be agents of robot destruction just awaiting the robot apocalypse. Since I live in fear of the work vending machines and the coming carnage, I’ve attempted to become friends with the robots (or alien robots? Maybe a Transformer sorta thing going on here?) and be their vessel once they are sentient.
And the day is nigh. Because when I woke up this morning this was on me:
Hm? What the fuck is that on me?
Generally, outside of my many tattoos I don’t put any stickers on my person unless they are of the Lisa Frank variety
Recognize greatness, bitches!
This is not Lisa Frank. The above sticker is something all together UNLIKE Lisa Frank.
That is a QUALITY ASSURANCE sticker. The robots have assured that I am quality. Also, note the empty toilet paper holder – I am always too lazy to put the actual roll in there.
Well I passed the robot quality assurance test: I’ve passed their first round.
Which can only mean that the day of the robot takeover is closer. I am a-okay in their book but you should probably start sucking up to your own vending machines