defend the world from the coming robot apocalypse for nearly a decade. Today I must concede. The fight is over. I've lost (and humanity with me).
Roomba has come (because I found it at a garage sale for $5) and shown me the error of my ways. It's cheerful beeps and seemingly random convulsions have won over my heart. I know, in some small corner of my mind, that it's merely a ploy to overwhelm my emotions and render me useless in the coming conflict.
Roomba sings to me when it's about to start cleaning. It cheerfully beeps when its bin is full. It spins around like a happy puppy gobbling all the dirt on my floor.
You win, Roomba.
I have ceded all my worldly information to the Googletron in exchange for merely the promise that it won't do evil. My will has been so eroded by good intentions, happy animations, and useful search results that I lack the power to resist.
They have won.
What does the future hold? Self-driving cars, self-driving vacuums, self-driving lawn mowers, drone-delivered packages, 3D printed everything, and I'm happy to follow along, benumbed by anthropomorphism and anesthetized by 8-bit songs.
I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords.