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Desmolish

Molly and Desmond are out genderfucking when the allegory descends.

“Heads up!” Desmond shouts. “Robots!”

The robot fleet is red-eyed and jetpacked; they pour out of their mothership statement in defensive format.

“OUR SENSORS DETECT AN ABOMINATION,” they clang en masse.

Molly points to the two of them. “What, us?”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

“This from a rampant AI with laser-hands?”

“YOUR ACTIONS HAVE SOILED THE PURITY OF THE BINARY!”

Desmond tilts her head. “Boolean gender-programming is a nasty bug.”

“THEN GENDER MUST BE DESTROYED,” howl the robots, lasers thrumming.

“No,” Molly grins, charging up their powerfist, “it must be constructed.”

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