I was on the roof of my university's robotics laboratory when it happened. I sat cross legged amidst a tangle of wires and computer parts, feeling cautiously optimistic, but secretly expecting the worst. I had chosen this spot not only for its privacy, but also for the very practical reason of it being the best place to garner sunlight my project's solar panels. It was a typically beautiful spring day in Cambridge, after all, and after months of being sequestered to darkened computer labs any sign of actual life was a welcome change of pace for me. I listened intently to the sound of children playing the courtyard below me, and at one point a small starling had even perched itself on the lid of my laptop. I observed the bird’s inquisitive nature with amazement, and felt a renewed sense of purpose and excitement in what I was doing. It was one of those moments where I couldn’t help but read every small event as being symbolic.

With my eyes closed I leaned forward and gently placed my finger on the enter key of the computer, hoping for far more than any professor of my statue could ever dare. I winced, pressed down, and opened my eyes to watch my creation slowly come to life and stand up. My pulse quickened. Base functionality was by no means the barometer for success here, though the fact that my robot was working at all was still a very promising sign. The real test was yet to come however, and would lie in how my subject responded to the world around it. “Benny”, you see, despite bearing the same awkward, humanoid shape as all of my other robots, was to be the first unit with a fully functioning Artificial Intelligence chip on board. This is the project I had spent the last year and a half of my life working on.

"Benny!” I proclaimed, "welcome to the real world...how are you feeling today?". I sat motionless and waited for a response, but none came. "Benny", I said again, "Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?" After a few tense moments I was met with simultaneously exciting and confounding answer.

“Ay caramba!”

If I were sitting down I would fallen out of my chair. He spoke! But what did it mean? Why "ay caramba"? I clasped my hands in excitement and pressed Benny further for information. “Can you please elaborate?” Benny slowly raised his hand and pointed at the vaguely sombrero like structure of solar panels affixed to the top of his head, a whimsical, but now regretful design quirk on my part. “Yo quero taco beeell!” he yelled. It was at this point that Benny began to laugh almost uncontrollably, an insistent, robotic chortle that was as unsettling as it was vaguely annoying. “Just kidding”, he said, “Mexicans…fuckin’ A man”. I sat there stunned, our eyes locked in contact for what felt like an eternity. I had created an idiot.

The following weeks consisted of me putting Benny through a litany of aptitude tests, all of which he failed miserably. Any attempts at teaching him even basic arithmetic ended in frustration, and simple tasks such as cooking and cleaning were well beyond his grasp. Instead Benny seemed intent spending most of his days watching Mad TV reruns, quoting something called “Robot Chicken” and arguing with people on various body building forums. Usually when I grew tired of his antics I would close all of the blinds in our house and he would eventually power down from a lack of power supply. He never caught on to this tactic or bothered asking where he had been during this lost time. He would just boot back up, open his eyes and immediately start talking about Men’s Rights and listening to Howard Stern radio again. I was, needless to say, completely embarrassed of this abomination, and I considered the project an abject failure in every way. I eventually got to the point where I was planning on terminating Benny for good, but he ended up doing the job for me when he installed an 800 watt subwoofer in his "butt" which destroyed his entire body during his first playback of “Superbass” by Nicki Minaj. Benny will not be missed.