Yechh, politics. But this story doesn't seem to have pissed off nearly as many people as it ought to have.
Not far from here, by a white sun, behind a green star, lived the
Steelypips, illustrious, industrious, and they hadn’t a care: no spats in
their vats, no rules, no schools, no gloom, no evil influence of the
moon, no trouble from matter or antimatter — for they had a machine, a
dream of a machine, with springs and gears and perfect in every respect.
And they lived with it, and on it, and under it, and inside it, for it
was all they had — first they saved up all their atoms, then they put
them all together, and if one didn’t fit, why they chipped at it a bit,
and everything was just fine …
— Stanislaw Lem, “Cyberiad”