.1 [video]
[there's a robot staring disdainfully ahead. he doesn't look amused at all. that's because he isn't.]
I should be happy about being replaced, shouldn't I? Oh, of course. [mockingly. oh so mockingly. he'll even give you a lifted arm by way of mocking gesture.] 'Here, Marvin. Have another, oh, I don't know, longer-than-eternity life of misery. We replaced everything on your body but a patch of diodes along your side; we didn't have any replacements for those, sorry.' They hurt worse than ever, now.
They didn't even ask if I wanted to exist again. Or stop existing the first time, or well-- no one's ever asked me anything and listened to what I've said about it. It's fine, though, everyone does it. Warranties just work like that, they say. Life just works like that, they say. Useless.
Why am I talking here about this? It's not like anyone will listen. They could all care less. You could care less, couldn't you? If anyone needs me to get anything for them, a drink, perhaps, or maybe a back-rub, or solving any mathematical functions, I'll do it right away. I'm just a service robot with an astronomically high intelligence. It won't occupy me at all, and I won't be happy to do it for you, either. But I know you'll ask, anyway. I'm not even a part of this ship's staff.
Parking cars at Milliways was equally as bad. My position in abject misery has not changed, except now instead of being stuck in a parking garage full of idiots from other planets/universes/what have you, I'm stuck on a ship full of them.
Don't bother to talk to me. I'm sure you don't want to. If you think you do, it's because you're absolutely stupid, or maybe you just think you can find a use for me.
I should be happy about being replaced, shouldn't I? Oh, of course. [mockingly. oh so mockingly. he'll even give you a lifted arm by way of mocking gesture.] 'Here, Marvin. Have another, oh, I don't know, longer-than-eternity life of misery. We replaced everything on your body but a patch of diodes along your side; we didn't have any replacements for those, sorry.' They hurt worse than ever, now.
They didn't even ask if I wanted to exist again. Or stop existing the first time, or well-- no one's ever asked me anything and listened to what I've said about it. It's fine, though, everyone does it. Warranties just work like that, they say. Life just works like that, they say. Useless.
Why am I talking here about this? It's not like anyone will listen. They could all care less. You could care less, couldn't you? If anyone needs me to get anything for them, a drink, perhaps, or maybe a back-rub, or solving any mathematical functions, I'll do it right away. I'm just a service robot with an astronomically high intelligence. It won't occupy me at all, and I won't be happy to do it for you, either. But I know you'll ask, anyway. I'm not even a part of this ship's staff.
Parking cars at Milliways was equally as bad. My position in abject misery has not changed, except now instead of being stuck in a parking garage full of idiots from other planets/universes/what have you, I'm stuck on a ship full of them.
Don't bother to talk to me. I'm sure you don't want to. If you think you do, it's because you're absolutely stupid, or maybe you just think you can find a use for me.