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My mother was a professional hot air balloon pilot, and I was her ground crew chief. We had a bunch of regular crew members, and I was shocked by one guy who confessed that he had fallen in love with our hot air balloon. He asked permission to spend a day in our garage, and explicitly told us he wanted to unpack the envelope (the balloon part) and fuck it. He also said he had been having dreams of fucking the suede and padding that lined the top of the rattan gondola.
He was never called to crew again.
Beautifully done.
My dumb ass initially missed the lowercase L, and read your headline as A.I. Pastor. Then I contemplated a completely robotic church, and, thanks to your pic, got really hungry.
But mostly I just want to start the “Robots to save your soul” campaign and automate religion.
Welcome to the church, fellow human. Please attend to the baptismal dunking machine. That’s Henry, our resident industrial arm robot. 7487 pitches this week, and he’s never missed. Alexa will take your confession in the next booth. Don’t worry, anonymity is a thing of the past, and your confessed sins will be reflected in your Amazon shopping list. Finally, the two vending machines will provide the body and blood of Christ, both expertly prepared on the spot with both wine and grape juice options available.