We bought a little robot
To help us clean the floor.
It wasn't real expensive,
We could have spent much more,
But all the bells and whistles,
Self-dumping and the like,
Seemed frivilous and wasteful,
So we bought this little tyke.
We named our robot "Biscuit"
Because it seemed to fit,
But since I've got to know it,
I call it "Little Sh*t."
It beeps and plays a little tune
When it begins to suck.
It even speaks some funny lines,
Like, "Help! My brush is stuck!"
It knows its way around the house,
And wipes from door to door,
By dragging anything behind
You left upon the floor.
It interrupts my writing
By bludgeoning my feet
Until I back out from the desk,
Acknowledging defeat.
When Biscuit hits a threshold,
Because the floors aren't level,
It bumps and spins and whirls, as if
Possessed by Robot Devil.
When all the rooms have been attacked,
It finds its way home soon
And parks its happy little butt
And plays a happy tune.
And when the little sh*t is done,
Everything's dust free
Until I empty out its tray,
And then, the dust's on me.
But Biscuit is a toddler,
Whom we hope one day will grow,
Into a real, live robot
We'll all be proud to know.
Meanwhile, my friends and neighbors,
Please heed my warning well,
If you buy the cheaper model,
Prepare for AI hell!
