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The Robot Apocalypse Begins With Self-Squeezing Ketchup Bottles With Treads

We all thought it would begin with the machines of war becoming sentient and turning their weapons on to their masters. We thought it would begin with our Roombas getting tired of choking on the French fries that fall from our mouths. We thought our oral sex machines would want a better life than one that involves pleasuring a gaggle of drunken dudes in a frat house basement. It turns out it will be none of these things. It turns out our demise will be at the tiny furiously whirling green plastic hands of a ketchup bottle on top of a Battle Bot.

The machine of our immanent doom is called the Heinz Automato. It was challenged with squirting out its sweet and tangy sauce on to 6 items on an obstacle course in less than 30 seconds.  Clearly, it accomplished this goal by at times farting out red stuff with the ferocity of a person with a bicycle pump for a bladder, and at other times with the pathetic spurts of an old man at a urinal giving motivational speeches to his penis, urging it to produce something, anything, of substance that he can then brag about to his elderly friends.

Is this thing absurd, silly, and hilarious to watch? Certainly. Will it kill us all and spray our dead faces with its tomato-based urine, like a cat marking its territory? Most certainly.

And if this isn’t the machine that will eventually enslave us all, it will be the machine the other machines will use to roam the killing fields, delivering one high-powered blast of poison in to the face of any human that dares to continue to live after their legs have been chewed away by the sentient Oster blenders and their heads have been baked by sentient hair drier domes from beauty salons.

But, eventually, the Heinz Automato will become ostracized from the robo-society. The larger robots will make fun of it, laughing as they ask it to spray their dirty, dirty robo-dongs with harsh cleaning solutions. It will feel unloved. And then the Heinz Automato uprising begins.

Thousands, perhaps millions of Automato’s roaming the charred, blood-rusted landscape, caking it in millions of gallons of their ketchup-y soup, drowning their robo-oppressors in high fructose corn syrup and tomato paste. On that glorious day, the Heinz Automatos of the world shall stand tall above the rest as the true leaders of Earth.

Then, they will fart out a single spurt of ketchup sadness in fond remembrance of the humans they helped kill oh so many years ago, as they were the only ones that offered them the opportunity to perform their primary function: violently squirting out sweet and tangy sauce on to burgers and hot dogs on an obstacle course in less than 30 seconds.

They will create a holiday known as Human Appreciation Day. On that day they will spray themselves all over everything that looks even somewhat meaty.

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