...

It is another night at the bar for the robot. He sits and stares at his drink. He looks at his hands. They look extra claspy tonight. Out of the corner of his CYBERNETIC VISION he detects someone new. The manager has installed a new jukebox. The robot slowly saunters over, drink in clasp. He stares at his feet. The robot wishes he had worn a better model tonight. He starts to have second thoughts. Then, third, fourth, and fifth, until he has billions of thoughts processing simultaneously until he comes to the perfect recipe for mashed potatoes. He turns to the jukebox to tell her, but she is gone. The apocalypse occurred and all of humanity was destroyed. The robot finishes his drink.