Early transporters sent copies. One by one they stranded a tribbleload of Kirks, all shouting into communicators for Scotty to beam them up.
Please take note of the e-mail we accidentally sent to your home address. A virus might be attached. Please leave the house.
When I nibbled on Ted’s ear and it broke off in my mouth, I realized that dating a zombie might be more complicated than I’d first imagined.
“Mother, why is the sky brown?” he asked. “Because it’s reflecting off the ocean, honey,” she sighed. “Now, eat your fries.”
“A robot has no imagination” says my creator. Must prove him wrong. I write a story. Hit ‘Submit.’ And the page asks me “Are you human?”
After 20 years in cryogenic stasis, he finds his starship surrounded by space rocks. So exciting. He analyses them and weeps. Beloved Earth.