Perpetual Thought Machine – Caffeine Donuts May Cause Yummy Cancer

I’ve been thinking of vacationing outside the dome but then I’d have to pick up my environsuit from the cleaners, rent artificial lung tanks and brush up on my Flargonese. “Gleetor Doo” means, “Where’s the toilet pad?” Whatever, Flargons!

Lawyers are like herpes. Everyone’s got them and they’re expensive to suppress.

Some animals that we’ve allowed to exist are cool but others should go back to extinction. Dreamflies are awesome but I hate those depressing Butterflies. I wish I could get paid to swat those tri-colored wing worms out of the artificial sky.

The giant Glade plug-in at the smell factory ran out of scent-juice last week and the stench from the boron energy fields wafted up to my residence pod. The smell was so bad I almost wished I wasn’t created with the sensitivity of a thousand dog noses but then I caught a whiff of tacos from Old Mexico and it totally made up for it.

Life is full of tough decision. Like, what TV channel should you download, should you pull the plug on your 400-year-old grandmother and when do you fire your Butlerbot?

The Science Masters won’t let us have books and I say good riddance! The only way I can learn is with pretty pictures and approximately three bouncing breasts.

My boss claims to have traveled to the land of women but he’s full of boron.

Saturday Social Hour is the worst part of my week. I could understand maybe fifteen minutes of social interaction but an hour? That’s an extra forty five minutes that my penises are away from the orgasmatron!

When I told the new kid at work that I don’t teleport anymore he called me a squarebot. Listen, in my youth I’d teleport from Neo Egypt to New New York, but those days are over and I don’t miss the molecular reassembly hangovers one bit. So don’t tell me about teleporting when you’re not even old enough to drink Fermented Social Beverage, kid!

My dream for Human and Flargon peace really took a step backwards when Celebri-God Danny DeVito showed up drunk on the Flargon View and said that all Flargons were born out of Donald Trump’s third anus. It was pretty funny, though.

I hate buying a new computer because it’ll be outdated by the time you take it out of the cloud box. For what I paid to get my eggplant processor you can now get a dual-shelled unsalted peanut processor.

I wrote a poem;
The lightbulb-sun illuminates the dome
My brand new Butlerbot welcomes me home
Flargons and Humans unite at the cores
We just have different-sized herpes sores