A Scots­man Co­lada, please


Okay, this is very nearly it. We’ve had a good run but now, like all good things, it’s com­ing to an end.

We hu­mans may soon have to face up to the fact that we are ob­so­lete, past it, re­dun­dant, and ren­dered so by ar­guably our great­est cre­ation, the ro­bot.

If ro­botic brains, who let us re­mem­ber don’t ac­tu­ally have taste­buds or not ones like ours any­way, can make a bet­ter whisky than we can, then there seems no limit to their tal­ents; ours will slowly dwin­dle into ob­scu­rity in com­par­i­son. So, we should prob­a­bly get ready for

ro­bot co­me­di­ans who are fun­nier than Billy Con­nolly ( no!), ro­bot artists ca­pa­ble of paint­ing smiles more enig­matic than Mona Lisa’s, and ro­bot mu­si­cians who sing sweeter songs than, yes, even Ed Sheeran.

Maybe even­tu­ally we will all live in a Robotoc­racy. Robo- MPS that never dis­sem­ble or over- claim for ex­penses and that come up with poli­cies and laws ev­ery­one in­stantly loves. “Why didn’t we think of that?” peo­ple will say be­fore tak­ing a sip of their per­fectly mixed ‘ Scots­man Co­lada’ ( a real cock­tail, we Googled it) and car­ry­ing on do­ing what­ever it is hu­mans do in the near fu­ture.

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