You are one of the least benightedly unintelligent life forms it has been my profound lack of pleasure not to be able to avoid meeting.
Life, loathe it or ignore it, you can't like it.
Pardon me for breathing, which I never do any way, so I don't know why I bother to say it. Oh God, I'm so depressed.
Life. Don't talk to me about Life.
I got very bored and depressed, so I went and plugged myself into an external computer feed. I talked to the computer at great length and explained my view of the Universe to it. It committed suicide.
I am at a rough estimate thirty billion times more intelligent than you.
I could calculate your chance of survival, but you wouldn't like it.
I'm just trying to die, period.
Oh, what's the use?
Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and they ask me to...
I think you ought to know I'm feeling very depressed.
It gives me a headache just trying to think down to your level.
Wearily on I go, pain and misery my only companions. And vast intelligence, of course. And infinite sorrow. I despise you all.
My capacity for happiness you could fit into a matchbox without taking out the matches first.
The first ten million years were the worst. And the second ten million, they were the worst too. The third ten million, I didn't enjoy at all. After that I went into a bit of a decline.
Oh, look. I appear to be lying at the bottom of a very deep, dark hole. That seems a familiar concept. What does it remind me of? Ah, I remember. Life.
I won't enjoy it.
I'm not getting you down at all, am I? I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down.
Why bother? What's the point? Nothing is worth getting involved in.
I've seen it. It's rubbish.
I'm lying face down in the dust. It's a very effective way of being wretched.
Would you like me to go and stick my head in a bucket of water? I've got one ready.
The best conversation I had was over forty million years ago. And that was with a coffee machine.
That would destroy the Universe in toto. Good idea, if you ask me.
