The robot is going to reject your plea for Earth Beer. In front of the 7-Eleven-38W6D4-X, awash in the light of a blue neon sign for “Ice Cold Gorpla Urine,” you get teary eyed.

“I didn’t want to put this on you, errand bot, but I guess I have no choice. You see, I have a rare humanoid condition called ‘micro-pox.’ There are tiny bumps growing on my internal organs, and if I don’t kill them with poisonous Earth Beer right now,” you breath deeply, readying for the kill, “I may never see my beloved toaster oven again.”

The android takes a moment to process what you told it.

“I am sorry for your tragic medical condition. Protecting life is a subcategory of my prime directive, so I will acquire the Earth Beer you need.”

You wipe a deceitful tear from your eye, hide a chuckle as sobbing, and transfer the credits to the android. A few minutes later, it returns with your beer.

“I hope this will do,” the robot says, handing you several packets of Earth Beer-a-Rita Powder Mix. You return to your friends disappointed, until Weezler explains that you can get buzzed as hell by snorting the powder, and it doesn’t usually kill you. Yay, the night is saved!

THE END