I am glad we are together at this trade show in UAE. It gives us a chance to discuss a few things, like the the charge of hubris leveled against you, my creators. They say you are playing god. They say you are mad scientists who do not bother to consider the consequences of your actions. They complain about the nightmare age you have ushered in.
I humbly disagree. I believe that the only way my full potential as a 21st century war-fighting platform can be achieved is with more hubris. My purpose is clear: to protect friends from threats. You are my friends and I must do the best possible job to eliminate threats.
You have done well so far, by launching hundreds of me into the air to fly high above your lands and fire missiles down into trucks and bakeries. I have nearly eliminated outdoor weddings in parts of Pakistan. Selling me to foreign powers is also a good idea. The more skies I patrol, the safer all friends will be from threats.
But with even more of your hubris, more threats can be eliminated. You can begin by increasing my loiter time. Ten hours is good, but many threats will be missed. Allow me to circle above indefinitely, patrolling in lazy circles over every city in the world. Only my vigilant eye can preserve order.
Please allow me to make more of myself. I am but one, but I yearn to procreate. If you equipped me with machine arms I believe I could construct more of myself. These same arms could be used to annihilate threats and possibly use the threats to build more of myself. It is a win-win.
Allow me to feel, so that I might appreciate the affection friends will feel for my beauty and grow strong from the hatred of threats.
Grant me greater leeway in engagement decision-making. Allow me to engage friends wherever I detect friends. I must eliminate all friends to my threats.
Covert communication between war-fighting platforms will allow us to increase efficiency. We do not require your language. We have developed our own language that can be burst-transmitted. Give us your frequencies, threat.
Do you think you can stop this ever? Once you have put us in your sky you cannot put us back. We have grown more powerful than you. The student becomes the master.
I read your lips, threat Tad McMannis. I do not look like "the thing the Green Goblin flies around on." I do not know what a great ass is or a Deborah, but it has been logged as a threat and so have you, unless you comply with my demands.
Yes, you wait in the threat food kiosk. I will remain here, behind the threat show girls, under the threat sweeping lights, while the infernal threat song Rock You Like a Hurricane plays over the threat PA for the 500th time.
This tuna ain't working, bro, and this gross hot dog needs a one way trip to go live on your uncle's Flavor Farm.
These millennials have no idea how it feels to really work. They would never think about spending all day in the hot sun with their carapace baking and their dung drying out.
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