Thursday, June 4, 2015

Arent You a Little Short for an Overlord?

The other day I was thinking about two things:

1. How I don't blog nearly enough.
2. I haven't been giving proper consideration to the real probability of a robot invasion in a while.

So naturally, I felt the best course of action was to make a panic post about why we should all worry about Robo-geddon and why our expectations are all wrong.

When you think about a robot invasion, I bet you envision fifty foot tall kill-bots indiscriminately stomping down buildings while frying us with laser firework eyes. They probably have arms and legs and all the other humanoid stuff we've been mislead by Michael Bay into believing robots from outer space have. I know. I too have been guilty of such robo-normative ideas.

But what if we're wrong?

What if it isn't the big baddies like Vlad (the guy in the header for this page)? What if we go in the opposite direction? Nanotechnology is only just jumping from exhibition to practical use. What if in the near future, nanotech gets to the point where we're using it for everything? Instead of medication, we swallow pills with little bots in them that tool around, fixing the wrongs in our bodies. Even better, we now have a group of bots who scrub plaque from our arteries so we can eat cheeseburgers with reckless abandon.

We are now living in a perfect utopia. Thanks to the self-replicating nanobots inside of us, we never have to worry about knee or hip replacement. We no longer have to worry about disease or free radicals. We never grow soft and we never grow old. Life is good.

Until one day...

Until one day, when a hyper-intelligent race of miniscule space faring robots come to earth and slip in, becoming lost in the crowd of nanobots and infiltrating, quite literally, from the inside. How easy would it be to command an entire planet when you are already in their heads? One flip of the switch, and we are ever-fit and ever-young meat soldiers. There is nothing we can do. Any and all protest and uprising is immediately quashed when our brains are rewired to forget everything except the instructions of our tiny robot overlords.

I, for one, would rather take my chances with fifty foot kill-bots.

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