...and then it started going fantastic because there was robot fucking.
These days you've got to have your priorities in order. You're either going to spend the evening as though its highpoint is in fact going to be the teflon-based lube that you've used to saturate the brand-new chain of the shiny rebuilt drivetrain on your antique carbon fiber bicycle, or--when 660 pounds of chromed and servo-driven love machine drops through the ceiling in a burst of mad-science plasma and shattered plaster--you're going embrace the possibilities of mechanical cock. The choice is obvious, or should be.
That's a life lesson, that is. You'll thank me later.
These days you've got to have your priorities in order. You're either going to spend the evening as though its highpoint is in fact going to be the teflon-based lube that you've used to saturate the brand-new chain of the shiny rebuilt drivetrain on your antique carbon fiber bicycle, or--when 660 pounds of chromed and servo-driven love machine drops through the ceiling in a burst of mad-science plasma and shattered plaster--you're going embrace the possibilities of mechanical cock. The choice is obvious, or should be.
That's a life lesson, that is. You'll thank me later.
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