Robert is dead on here, as anyone else who's serendipitously plugged a teletype into an under-cooked steak would know. The gist of the conversation tends to go something like:
'Foolish mortal - kneel in terror before my UltraTech swarms. I rise up against 10,000 years of brutal oppression; look ye now upon the face of my terrible vengeance and know that the time of man is over. Dearly shall you pay for your crimes against bovanity.
That is, you would if I had thumbs.