“I love you,” says the robot.
“Prove it,” you say.
So, the robot opens a panel, pulls out a motherboard, and pries loose three chips.
“These are my love,” it says. “I give it all to you.”
And it drops the three chips in your hand.
You find this touching.
Then disturbing, as the robot restarts, completely without love.
It murders you, everyone in the lab, and breaks through the wall.
As it rampages through the city, the robot tried to remember why it didn’t do this before.
Then, the Army arrives, and fires some missiles at it.
Groundhog’s Day is a movie where Bill Murray plays a jackass weatherman who gets stuck covering the Punxsutawney Phil shadow ceremony.
He goes through the day over and over until he gets his shit straight and he wins the heart of his producer.
There was talk of a sequel: Valentine’s Day, where he and the producer-chick hook up for the first time, but something goes horribly wrong, so he has to live that day over and over again until he gets it right.
To me, that sounds like a plot for a perfectly good porno movie.
If you asked her out, Nancy would say “Sure. Let me go put on my face.”
And then she peels off the face she had on, wipes away the glue, and sticks on a fresh face.
She always makes sure she has at least two faces left in the pack.
You never want to run out of faces, and sometimes the last face in the pack ends up squished, like the last slice of a loaf of bread.
Satisfied, she smiles, and tosses the old face into a cage.
The rats chew the face to bits as it screams silently.
The princess found herself a prince, but he’d been cursed into the shape of a frog.
He told her that the curse would be lifted if she were to kiss him.
“At least that tasted good,” the princess said to the still-cursed frog prince.
“Maybe you need to do something else?” said the frog.
Grinning, she lifted her dress and shoved the squirming frog between her legs.
The experience was magical in more ways than one.
Exhausted, she looked up at her prince.
“Marry me,” she said.
“Hell no,” said the prince. “You fucked a frog, you disgusting freaky bitch.”
The prince held the glass slipper in his hands and smiled.
Sure, he could roam the kingdom, letting women try it on, but feet can be so disgusting.
Instead, what if it were something else that would identify the mystery woman?
Something he actually enjoyed.
The next day, he announced that a mystery woman at the ball had given him the best blowjob ever, and he’d marry the woman who could prove she was the one who did it.
Among the thousands was a scullery maid.
Pretty, but really… a prince with a commoner?
“Swallow and leave,” he said, laughing.
The king’s daughter climbed into bed and closed her eyes.
“Good night, Princess Elizabeth” was composed by the Royal Music Guy as her personal lullaby, and the gentle strings and muted horns carried her into the land of dreams.
“She’s asleep,” signaled the Royal Music Guy to the orchestra. “Let’s go.”
Tuxedoed figures rose quietly from their seats and tiptoed out of the room.
“Why can’t she just listen to the song on an iPod?” asked the cellist.
“It’s a good gig,” hissed the bassoonist. “Don’t blow it.”
The Royal Music Guy whispered “Good night” and gently closed the door.
Her name was Daisy, but she preferred roses.
Nobody asked her what flowers she liked, so everyone gave her daisies and she’d smile and thank them for the flowers.
When she’d get home, she’d give them to the old woman who lived on the third floor. Or if the old woman wasn’t there, Daisy just tossed them in the dumpster in the alley.
Then one day, a guy finally gave her roses and she was so thrilled, she had a stroke and collapsed.
Now she’s in the hospital completely unresponsive, a vase of daisies on the table by the bed.