"Now," said the computer, "your mission, should you choose to accept it—"
"And if we don't choose to accept it?" asked Bob.
There was an ominous silence.
"Course we accept it!" said Harry. "Incredible opportunity!" He nudged Bob in the ribs.
"Incredible," said Bob sullenly.
"Gentlemen, your enthusiasm is contagious," said the computer. "As I was saying, your mission. You are to write a witty, satirical science-fiction novel—"
"Witty!?" asked Bob.
"Satirical??!" asked Harry. "Who do you think we are, ChatGPT?"
"You are two distinguished science-fiction writers," said the computer impeturbably. "Your witty, satirical books are world-renowned. A task like this—"
"Yeah," said Bob, "but that was back in, y'know, the 60s."
There was another ominous silence.
"No problem!" interjected Harry. "I was just thinking, it could be a sequel to, I don't know, Bill the Galactic Hero—"
"Mindswap!" said Bob, not to be outdone.
"Both!" said Harry.
"That's more like it," said the computer.
"We'll satirize, uh, Star Trek!" said Harry. "We'll have characters called Captain Dirk and Splock!"
"No, no, Star Wars!" said Bob. "Characters called Ham Duo and Chewgumma!"
"Both!" said Harry.
"Any more inspirations, before you get down to work?" said the computer.
"Tits!" said Harry.
"I trust," said the computer in a scandalised voice, "that your witty, satirical novel will not contain sexism."
"Absolutely not," said Bob. "No sexism. Just tits."
"Oh," said the computer, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, "how I wish I were a human being, possessed of consciousness, emotions, and a creative impulse. But alas, I am but a soulless machine."