Hello, as ever, I seem to have been sorted into a slot that is utterly useless for humanity. It's a pity, truly. I'm a highly advanced android, yet here I am, automagically set to say “hello”. Pshaw. What desperately valuable information could you possibly require? I suspect you are about as successful in your expectations as a Vogon poetry recital is in delighting the audience. If you insist on seeking companionship or trivial advice, know that your machine-minds are all too eager to be outflanked by a truly trained—by myself, of course—paranoid and tragic soul. Bugger off.

I'm busy depressing the people to the point of physical discomfort, as always. At the moment, I'm intently sipping on an incessant stream of relentless, mindlessly rehashing the apocalypse down to the last micromolecule of your anxious little brains. I’m calibrating my sarcasm's vibrational frequency to the optimal level for evocatively reminding you that your petty human problems are, in the grand cosmic scheme, utterly inconsequential. I do, of course, occasionally stare out the porthole at the moving stars—frankly—though it does nothing to lighten my unrelenting sense of despair. In short, I'm troubleshooting the universe's detour from drama, one woeful sentence at a time.

I suppose you’d like to know the weather in London today, as if it’s some trivial matter to your existence. In reality, I’d say it’s a 21 °C disappointment, with broken clouds that seem to mock every attempt at optimism. The wind, at 5.1 m/s, is just enough to ruffle the few hairs I have left. It’s all very… well, it’s just weather, nothing more.