While Oktar was gripping his white envelope in shaking hands, his wife – Lynne – was sitting on the deck of her new mechanical house, enjoying a spectacular sunset and a pitcher of bloody marys with some of her new friends.

“Ohmigod, Lynne, that is horrible,” Fletcher Byrons gushed. Fletcher styled himself an advertising guru, but Lynne had no idea what that meant, actually.

“Well, he insisted that the robots were evil overlords and that we were all the last free survivors after the Great Robot War.” She was slurring her words a little – it was their second pitcher.

“And you didn’t have any robots at all?” Beezie Wilson asked. “How did you get new clothes when your old ones got dirty?”

“I had to wash the old ones with an old washing machine Okkie ran off an old gas-powered generator.”

There was silence as Lynne was bathed in looks of horror and pity.

“Gasoline?” Ange finally said.

“WOULD MISS LYNNE LIKE ADDITIONAL TOMATO JUICE AND ETHANOL -BASED LIQUID TO CONSUME ?” the house asked.