Congratulations Better Robot Butler!

After the disastrous happenings of yesterday, Bruce Wayne didn’t get discouraged. No, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, finished hosing down his laboratory floor and started work on you: another, hopefully better robot butler.

He realized that the capacity for love is crucial in getting any robot butler to not murder its cruel human master and, as such, was careful to imbue you with such tendencies. But after the disastrous outcome of the robo-boner that occurred yesterday, he knew he couldn’t let you love romantically. Robots just can’t handle it.

So instead he imbedded deep within your circuits an unrivaled capacity for platonic love. One that gave you the capacity to love but made you realize that your love could never be manifested physically, so you’d better get used to it.

You cried some robot tears over it at first (which are oil!) but after about two hours of intense sadness you came to terms with how great Bruce Wayne is to hang out with and decided that if you can make him happy then you’re proving your love for him, and in doing so you’re making the world a better place.

Also, if you don’t explode you know you’ll make his life considerably easier, so that’s a big motivator too. Keep up the good work and remember: not everyone knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman!

Congratulations Better Robot Butler!

Congratulations on Using Butter As Lube!

We’ve all done it. We’re banging our wives and we run out of lube and we’re like “Hey, butter is kind of lube-like.” So we slip into the kitchen, rub our dicks into butter until the body heat melts it and then we’re back in the bedroom getting anal out of the trade Quaker style.

But here’s the thing. It’s not a great idea to use butter as lube when you’re fucking a cow. Right off, fucking the cow is a bad idea in the first place. Second off, you’re using the cow’s own milk to fuck it which is kind of hot, sure, but it’s really just pretty sick because the cow isn’t complicit in it at all. It’s like you’re raping a cow with the sustenance that would normally go to its little fucking cow baby. Third off, cows are kickers sometimes, and nothing says no like a hoof to the balls.

You’re going to learn this last lesson the hard way today when Bessie, upset over your latest amorous intrusion, bucks your dick out of her cowgina (a word we made up for cow vagina just now) and lands a nice big back kick right on your dick.

The coating of butter on your genitals will offer you no protection. Her hooves will rip the flesh of your penis and catch on your scrotum, tearing it as she returns her feet to the ground. This will make your testicles spill out of the ruined sack of flesh that once held them, and the residue of the butter will make the already excruciating pain unbearable.

“Aggh!” you’ll shout at your cow. “Fucking whore!”

Your cow will look at you lazily and resume chewing her cud, which is what she was doing before you tried to get your dick in her. We hope this is a lesson to you about why you shouldn’t try raping cows and also why girls in general don’t like you.

Congratulations on Using Butter As Lube!

Congratulations Debate Team Member!

Today you and several other members of your high school debate team will find yourselves standing in the Hall of Mirrors in the house of The Lady of Blades, the City at the Center of the Universe, Sigil. You’ll be debating with a group of impish creatures and one larger creature composed entirely of antimatter about the nature of existence.

The tale of how you arrived here is long and horrible. It involves a time warp “catching” your bus, a lengthy journey across the Gray Plains, where nearly half of your team was murdered, and a brief and perilous chase through the Wards of Sigil as your strong views and inability to process anyone else’s opinions managed to place you at odds with the vast majority of the factions in this strange city.

But now it’s all come to a head. You’ll be making points by quoting various philosophers, hoping to impress the unseen judge you expect is scoring you even as you speak. The fiends and the black guy will take a different approach, walking you step by step through the various tenants that you believe in and proving them moot through independent thought and freedom from preconceptions.

After a while their arguments will start to make sense. Your compatriots will be exhausted, and two of them will be on the verge of tears when their repeated rhetoric remains unmet by any sort of judge. But you’ll have caught on. You’ll gather up your strength and debate your little heart out.

You’ll abandon everything you’ve ever learned about debating (since you’re part of a debate team this is an excellent idea; this means you will be able to make cogent points and consider an argument intelligently) and you’ll lay it down for those fiendish creatures how you must, by a certain line of logic, be the most powerful creature in the universe. In addition, you’ll inform them that the giant black creature made of antimatter cannot, in fact, exist.

When you finish your argument the creature will sit there pensive for a moment before his eyes go wide and he’ll flare out of existence. Several of your teammates will do the same, since they’re not very smart and thought that following his example would make them seem a little cooler. Luckily a few will still be alive, including Kelly, the hot one who you’ve been trying to get into the pants of for the last few weeks.

This means you’ll still have some people you can trust around when the imps surround you and start bowing and scraping, calling you their new master. This is the first step on the road to you becoming an inter-dimensional pirate.

Enjoy the ride, and congratulations debate team member.

Oh, and just FYI? Turns out Kelly is not in to you. Sleep with the lady imp instead, she’s a freak in the sack. Meee-ow.

Congratulations on Sleeping With the Mail Clerk Who Has Downes’ Syndrome!

Just to start this off, you’re a terrible person. I thought you should know that.

It all started three months ago, when you found work temping for a small, but high profile, law firm. The firm, run by a young professional named Margaret Samson, is called Samson and Sons. There are no male members of any litigious education, which Margaret finds hilarious. They specialize primarily in civil rights and liberties cases. You were a low-level male employee, brought in to balance out workplace diversity.

After a few weeks, you developed a rapport with the mail clerk, a young woman named Dolly. Dolly isn’t short for anything, and to the best of your knowledge she doesn’t have a last name. Whenever you asked her what it was she simply shouted “french fries,” so its possibly McDonald or Wendy’s or Burger King or whatever. Who knows. The point is that Dolly is profoundly retarded.

She isn’t terribly attractive or charming, but she has a staggeringly large forehead (which is totally your thing) so you’ve found her utterly irresistible. Each time her glazed, dull eyes meet yours when you gather up Ms. Samson’s mail you smile and your heart flutters. This would be adorable if your intentions were honorable and you wanted to offer this young woman a better life. But as we’ve established earlier, you’re a terrible person.

You have no desire to marry Dolly, something you know well in your heart. You simply want to, as you like to tell your friends (none of whom really like you, by the way) , “put that drool to good use.” You want to fuck the retard. If possible you want to bend her over the mail bins and ruin her life by impregnating her with a child she’ll have neither the wherewithal or the financial standing to deal with.

After two months of coy looks and “accidental” hand touches, you’ll finally luck out. Dolly will be working late one night and you’ll have her all to yourself as you help Ms. Samson compile a brief. One thing will lead to another, she’ll have no idea what you’re doing, and you’ll fuck the retarded mail clerk on a conference room table while your boss talks to a client who is currently fighting extradition in Myanmar. The entire affair will last fifteen minutes, including the brief and unsatisfactory foreplay, and will leave Dolly confused and sexually frustrated as you will fail to bring her to orgasm, as you so frequently do.

Dolly will stare at you, puzzled, her face dripping with semen, eyes burning with the question why to which her mouth cannot give appropriate form to.

“Randolf?” she’ll manage. Your name is Scott.

If you weren’t a terrible person, it would be enough to break your heart. Instead you simply throw her underwear at her and tell her you’re going to find some paper towels.

In your absence, Ms. Samson will find Dolly in the conference room where you were supposed to be compiling briefs. She’ll immediately know what transpired and when you attempt to deceive her with stories of a “rape monster” she’ll break your nose with one good, well placed punch. You’ll tumble to the ground, blood streaming from your ruined face, and black out.

To make a long story short you’re going to be convicted of rape in about three months. Then you’ll be going to prison where your life will be brief and horrible as men who have had their worlds stripped from them destroy you physically and mentally in order to feel powerful. Then you’ll be killed in an altercation over your tater tots.

Congratulations on fucking the retarded mail clerk, though. Consider killing yourself.