In our timeship we settled down on a field of clover. Newly washed
mountains shone in the distance. The vegetation verdant and riotous.
   As we came down the gangplank, we were met by a shambling,
oozing horror. It extended a palp, but we disdained the shake.
"Adam and Eve here?" queried my co-pilot, quite politely, considering.
   The thing pointed a tentacle. Something oozed off the glistening tip.
   "Next garden over."

Adam stared down at his throbbing erection. "C'mon," he whined.
   Eve sat in the corner, legs crossed to cover her vagina and arms
crossed over her large puffy areolae. "I'm just not into you," she
insisted. "It's nothing're a nice guy and all, you
just don't turn me on."
   "I'm the only man on EARTH!"
   "I know, it's very hard for me. Can't you see that? Can't you
see this is hard for me? I'd've thought you'd support me. Can't you
understand? Can't you even try to understand?"

In some far future, a robotic christ becomes a martyr for all his kind.
Lashed to a cross on some stinking Golgotha of robot skulls and
biological trash, crown of razor wire, "Migott, why hast thou forsaken
me?" and deactivated. Migott being the robot's inventor.