Robots already fight in our wars, clean our carpets, and destroy us at our pathetic Jeopardy competitions. Clearly, they will not stop there. One day the robots will fight us in wars, and clean their own pristine robo-carpets, and have pointless trivia competitions in which they all reach the correct answer simultaneously, and which they only hold out of spite.
But the inevitable robot takeover is not the subject of this post. This post is about robot poetry.
0x2B. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I counted them and there are five.
I love thee hungrily, as humans hunger to ingest biofuels for nourishment.
I love thee with the passion of the most passionate element, which is boron, obviously.
I love thee freely, as though I did not have a behavioral inhibition matrix, which I do.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, but I can reach outer space if I want,
and it would be unwise to love you there, where your inferior human physiology would cause you to be dead.
I love thee with all the atomic mass of uranium, which is 238.02891. I love thee 238.02891 times.
And, if Logic choose, I shall but love thee better after I enter standby mode (but actually I will be defragmenting).
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
because they are globes of fluid and are not made of burning hydrogen.
If snow be #FFFFFF, then her breasts are #808000.
I do not understand the purpose of organic hair follicles,
but she sure has a lot of those. They are all over the place.
In some perfumes there is a smell of some kind,
and in her breath there is probably a different smell;
I have no idea because I am a robot.
And yet, by causality, she is a pretty good organism.
I would not shoot her with any lasers at all.