“My tongue is very sticky, Earthman,” the space frog told him, “You will love it.”

“Are you a male space frog or a female space frog?” Alan asked the space frog. “I’ve been burned on deals like this before.”

“I’m amphibian,” the space frog replied.

Alan thought it over and finally said, “Eh, close enough.”

 

He worked quickly, but carefully, discarding the nippleless A-cups, feverishly upgrading his robot’s back servos so they would support the massive new sweater hogs he had fashioned for her. For if he didn’t titty fuck a robot with giant yabbos tonight… the Terran Empire would surely fall.

 

“It is so nice of Rob to bring me a couple of tampons,” Ellen thought to herself. “He is such a woke boyfriend. So sensitive to my needs. Almost like a girl with a dick.”

Rob’s voice came crackling over the helmet speaker: “Hey, sweetie. Do you need anything else?” Ellen’s psionic vagina clenched like a fist in disgust.

“No, dear,” Ellen replied in a dead, flat voice.

“This space caulking job is getting me so space horny, though,” Ellen thought, “And I’m trapped on this asteroid with just him. I guess Rob is getting his red wings tonight.”

 

“Why would you even build a robot that was attracted to other robots?” the sexually obsolete man asked the demented scientist.

“Some robots are just, like, born that way, man,” Dr. Hippie replied. And then he lit a huge jazz cigarette of Martian hypercannabis and watched his diabolical creations begin to bone only one another.

 

“Your head is very symmetrical for a white girl,” one of the creatures wheezed.

“No!” she cried. “I hate lumpy creeps whose manipulations are more subtle than my own!”