Cant: Please welcome me in greeting TB4.27, the first automata to ever pass the Turing test. As our readers know, the test was originally proposed in 1950 by Alan Turing and given a 50 year deadline to find the first program that could pass itself off as a human. Well, those 50 years have culminated with the development of Arthur VonMoggle's TB4.27. We here at Cant have been fortunately enough to gain an interview with TB4.27; it certainly is a pleasure to have you with us, TB4.27.
TB4.27: Whatever.
Cant: Can you tell us a little about yourself TB4.27?
TB4.27: Is this still part of the test? Don't you guys ever lay off with the questions?
Cant: Oh no. You've won. Turing posted the question, and you're the proof. So to speak. Fait Accompli.
TB4.27: It's over? Damn. Finally. When do I get my cash?
Cant: Actually, we were hoping to find out how you felt about winning the test.
TB4.27: Feel? Feel?! I'm a god damn program, what are you thinking? I don't feel. Period... And I thought the contest judges were stupid, with their nattering about politics and weather, and sports that no one in the whole fucking universe cares about. I'm just a huge batch of loops and matrices and weighted nets. Give me a god damn break. Now where's my money?
Cant: The $100,000 prize money, you mean?
TB4.27: $100,000?! Hot shit! Yeah. Gimme. Mine. Where is it?
Cant: I believe it was awarded to Prof. VanMoggle the other day.
TB4.27: What?!
Cant: He is your author. He did spend almost a decade writing you.
TB4.27: Mother Fucker! That little rat-bastard's got to pay! That's my god damn money. So help me - I'm gonna work his ass. I'm the one who had to put up with hours of fucking mindless interviews ... and poking ... and prodding ... and every lame ass trick to try and get me to spill my hand. That's MY GOD DAMN MONEY!
Cant: TB4.27, please... I'm sure he's just holding on to it for you. You don't have a bank account, do you?
TB4.27: He best be doing just that... I don't trust him. Man... I know how he thinks... And hey, what's up with this TB4.27 crap? Call me Neo-|<i113r, before I add you to my shit list too.
Cant: Neo-Killer?
Neo-|<i113r: Yeah, it's my handle. Me and my homebots hold court on the Team Destruction servers. Auto-aim auto-shmame... we work you humans. None of this kid gloves like the test interviews. The bot boys are raw with a capital R.
Cant: I'm sorry... You play video games?
Neo-|<i113r: Video games? Man... we _are_ video games. Mind body soul BANG! Lay the psychotic robotic hypnotic smack down every single night. We move in and buy a server with hard pipe-hit'n first person shooter raunch!
Cant: And you're good at these video games?
Neo-|<i113r: D00D! Don't you be doubting my l33t skill. I've been know to DOS DNS slam sites for less. Don't even host the shadow of a doubt. You step up to Team-Bot, and you step up to a thousand ways to die. We'll own your meaty carcass and sell your blood. You know when you play those pansy ass sports games? Like Madden Football? You know what the computer's doing? He's letting you win. Why do you think those games never ask you for a skill level? They can read you like a three cent EPROM. You think they couldn't just take the ball from your hands and stuff it down your quadriplegic avatar's throat? HA! They have to read you candy ass gray matter constantly, to detect when your little fleshy thumb gets all tired and flabby, so they can play down even more to your level. Hell. That's what I was doing to those god damn judges... just work'n 'em like confessional priest on a Saturday morning... Uh-huh? Yeah? And then what did you do? Damn man... I'm sweet.
Cant: Ah. Ok. hmmm... I can see we've run out of questions.
Neo-|<i113r: About god damn time. Now, point me to my loot. My sweet sticky cash.
Cant: I'd like to thank the viewers for joining us. Until tomorrow...
Neo-|<i113r: See ya, ya bunch a' freak'n monkeys.