A. I. Love

A. I. Love

Once upon a time a saw a girl

Dance with an elegant twirl.

Though her appearance was elegant and feminine,

She was still an elegant machine.

Though she twirls and whirls like a girl, she is still a robot,

More like a robot thot.

For she cannot meet the needs of the man like the real woman can,

The real woman can care for the mind, body, and spirit of man.

At best, this robot thot can only please his flesh temporarily.

She cannot soothe your mind with original care.

She cannot lift your spirit above the cares and nightmares of the world.

For she is only a machine that twirls and whirls like a girl,

Made to work you like mathematical equation.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, you score!

But beyond that, her use is no more.

Just like a robot thot, she can never be a mom.

If you give her your seed, she cannot produce another you.

In time, she will sterilize you to the point where you no longer have the tools to reproduce.

As for your spirit oh man, she can never be one with you, because clay and iron cannot mix.

If none of this convinces you that A. I. Love is a sick trick,

Maybe you’ll get a kick out of this.

The punch line of the whole joke is to fix you and make you a robot thot too.