It welled up inside him, this tinny emotion. (They had built "emotions" into him, so he would be the perfect robot son for a childless human mother, but they had fucked it up, the circuits or whatever were switched.) She had gone, and he was alone for eternity. And what erupted in his switched circuits or whatever in his infinite sadness was "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha." They didn't even get the laugh right, because all the engineers were on some awesome Future Drug like in Philip K. Dick or whatever, and they could only see in fractals.
Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.
