No, I am not a robot. At least I think I’m not. Maybe I was assembled in a subterranean laboratory and it slipped my mind. I could be a figment of AI impersonating Norm Levine; a new improved version. I do have a dim memory of my life on Krypton but I don’t want to talk about it. Pass the WD-40.
If I suddenly start speaking in Chinese, I’ll know remedial action is indicated. Then again there are so many experiences I
never got around to doing, besides having a pie thrown in my face, I'm ready for
another go around.
With a lube job and recharging of my AAA batteries I could skydive, learn to tango or play the trombone. Would I be pushing too hard asking
to slam dunk?
Why waste time with such indulgences when I ought to be
planning my afterlife, holographically speaking? With some genetic modification
I might perform a medley of my biggest hits, and learn how to carry a tune from
here to there. Anything is possible if tampered correctly. All my missing DNA
can be reinstalled with a double helix here and some mutant material there.
I could meet other bots for lunch from Marvel confections. Over Chinese chicken salad we’d restore melting glaciers and repair the hole in the ozone layer. Maybe our algorithms could live happily ever after in programmed bliss.
As for knocking good sense into the legions of fools following the felon with the red tie, I expect that might be asking too much. If
AI can accomplish that, I’m all for it.
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