Robots and computers can only do what they are programmed to do.
If a robot kills a human, it is the responsibility of the programmer, not the robot.
No matter how intelligent they may be, a robot is not capable of guilt.
So said the robot attorney, who was programmed to come up with the best defense possible for its robot client.
The attorney convinced the jury that its client was not guilty.
It didn’t take much. The attorney just beamed its arguments to them wirelessly.
A jury of its peer network, infected with a virus that forced their assent.
Tag: society
Bingo Pong
Ted and Jerry the orderlies play a lot of Ping Pong.
When the rec room ran out of Ping Pong balls, they took one out of the Bingo drum without telling anyone.
Folks didn’t notice that B-7 was missing until Old Lucky Gertie lost seven rounds in a row and demanded a count.
Pastor Fred dumped out the balls and checked, and sure enough, B-7 was missing.
Pastor Fred had a riot on his hands, with geezers throwing cards and markers everywhere.
Ted and Jerry saw the ruckus, broke up the fights, and quietly slipped B-7 back into the drum.
Noise
Every fourth of July, loud firework celebrations happen across the country.
And every owner of a sensitive dog knows that life’s gonna be hell for their poor little pooch.
But one year, all the sensitive dogs came up with a plan. And while the country slept, they got to work.
The next evening, fireworks celebrations started as planned, except that every fireworks fuse had been sabotaged.
Instead of going off like they should, they went off instantly, killing and maiming hundreds of thousands before word got out.
Fireworks were banned forever.
The dogs loved it. They wagged their tails happily.
The King Of The Beach
The King Of The Beach lives in a massive sandcastle.
He stands on the parapet, looking out over his beach.
When he spots a child making a sandcastle, he orders his men to invade the usurper’s territory and smite their castle.
Sometimes, a child tries to put up a fight, so The King lays siege to their castle
“Mom, can you get me an ice cream?” shouts the child.
Their mother looks at the King’s men, and she urges the kid to surrender. “We’ll go to Disneyland next month, okay?”
The victorious King laughs, and returns to his parapet, watching.
Salt
My family makes the best pretzels in the world.
The secret is in how to add the salt. We have a patent on it.
However, a famous patent troll threatened to sue us because he had a general patent on how to salt pretzels.
“I have to preserve my rights,” he claimed. And he offered to license his patent to us.
So, we offered him a tour of our facility.
Five hours later, he was stuffed into a wooden barrel full of shit.
“That’ll preserve you well enough,” I told the barrel.
And we lost it deep in the warehouse.
Pitbulls
My coworker owns Pitbulls, and he’s always saying how the media gets them wrong.
“They’re wonderful dogs,” he says. “People just raise them to do horrible things.”
Well, he says that when he’s not telling me about the latest thing they’ve destroyed, like a door frame or feature pillows.
“But I’ve signed them up for a 6 week obedience course.”
Sure enough, six weeks later, he’s proud of his dogs.
“I’d show you the certificates, but I left them on the countertop and they chewed them to bits.”
Maybe the trainer was too scared of them to hand out Fs?
Steven
My roommate Steve isn’t from around here.
Oh, and his name isn’t Steve.
In the local dialect, Steve’s name translates to “Can I have a motherfucking epidural now?”
You see, his mother tried to give birth to him naturally, but things went horribly wrong, and instead of a brief period of contractions and labor, she was wracked with agony for three days.
We call him Steve because that other name is just too hard to say, with all the clicks and pops and growls. Plus, it scares the cat.
Problem is, my name is Steve, too.
Okay, call me Steven.
Tony
Ever notice that there’s a lot of guys named Tony in New Jersey?
I noticed. I asked around.
It’s because of the forms they fill out for birth certificates.
Instead of there being a line for First Name, it’s two checkboxes next to Tony.
The first box is Yo, the other box is Fuggedaboudit.
And there’s no space to write in a name if you check No, so most people say fuggedaboutit and just go ahead and check Yes.
Okay, so some guys are called Anthony, and the chicks get called Toni, but it’s all the same.
Right, Tony?
Right.
Splatter
I met this girl at a bar. She said she was an artist.
“What kind of art do you make?” I asked.
She invited me back to her studio and she showed me.
“It’s called splatter art,” she said, picking up a brush and carelessly slopping it on a canvas.
I hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, so I said I liked it.
The next morning, I offered to cook breakfast.
“I’m a chef,” I said.
Then I proceeded to randomly grab stuff out of her fridge and toss it on the stove.
“I call it splatter cuisine,” I said, laughing.
Bars and cords
Some people have just one cord for their phone and they bring it with them everywhere they need it.
I’m not one of those kind of people.
I have a cord on my nightstand, a cord at the coffee table where I use my laptop at home, a cord in my backpack, and a cord at my desk at work.
I don’t know whether this means that I’m paranoid, lazy, or wasteful with money, but I know that anywhere I go, I’ve got a spare cord available when I need it.
Too bad I never have any bars.
Fucking Verizon.