We never tire of robots. At first they’re genial sorts, warning Will Robinson to watch out for some interstellar muppet that coming his way. But humans, being the inquisitive sort, can never leave well enough alone. We’re not going to be happy until squads of four-legged death automatons are hunting us to extinction, farting leaf-blower noise the whole time.
I just reread that last paragraph, and I’m sorry, but I totally want to be hunted by a squad of four-legged death automatons. I can’t help myself.