The ionic chain lashed around his neck like

The ionic chain lashed around his neck like a leash. It had an accelerator chip on it which jammed the messages in his spine. The prepulsor banged on the floor. The Borg said

"I don't know how this works, I must admit. Are you any good with techie stuff". I was stunned. A Borg should know this stuff, and this one was responsible for my release. I was

a black belt in Linux (the Borg's preferred OS) so I couldn't wait to get my Vulcan fingers on the offered touchscreen. He held it out to me, and I immediately

as the scenes of charred bagels and cheese sandwiches wedged in the toaster cavity seared into my brain. The mind-meld had enhanced my empathy for machines. I now hated humans for

inventing chat roulette. I ran away to the Netherlands with my new wife Libby, a beautiful Blend-O-Tron 6000 I found in the electronics aisle. I didn't need humans anymore,

and Libby and I lived happily amongst the windmills and elderly Dutch folk, who never batted an eye at my robosexual relationship. Life was perfect, it seemed, but then

it happened. I ran out of batteries. I was horny as hell too. I did the only sensible thing and went out back to get my

diesel-powered generator I kept for emergencies such as this, filled it up and turned it on. My head foggy with arousal and anticipation I held up the power plug and

plugged in my chainsaw. I killed all the weasels in my basement. Soon the shrieks made people check in. What they saw was