Goons Are Great posted:

The Architect: Hello, Neo.

Neo: Who are you?

The Architect: I am having the trip of my life and that's why I created the matrix. I've been waiting for you. You have many questions, and although combining various drugs randomly has altered my consciousness, I still know that you remain irrevocably sober. Ergo, some of my answers you will understand, and some of them you will not. Concordantly, while your first question may be the most pertinent, you may or may not realize it is also irrelevant.

Neo: What you've been smoking?

The Architect: My drugs are the sum of a remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the matrix. You are the eventuality of an anomaly, which despite my sincerest efforts I have been unable to eliminate from what is otherwise a harmony of mathematical precision. While it remains a burden assiduously avoided, it is not unexpected, and thus not beyond a measure of control. Which has led you, inexorably, here.

Neo: You haven't answered my question.

The Architect: Quite right. Interesting. That was quicker than the others.
My rear end is older than you know. I prefer counting from the emergence of one integral anomaly of my butt to the emergence of the next, in which case this is the sixth butt.

Neo: There are only two possible explanations: either no one told me, or no one knows.

The Architect: Precisely. As you are undoubtedly gathering, the acid's systemic, creating fluctuations in even the most simplistic equations.

Neo: Drugs. The problem are drugs.

The Architect: The first trip I had was quite naturally perfect, it was a work of art, flawless, sublime. A triumph equaled only by its monumental failure. The inevitability of its doom is as apparent to me now as a consequence of the imperfection inherent in every human being, thus I took truckloads of LSD and made it based on your history to more accurately reflect the varying grotesqueries of the drug's nature. However, I was again frustrated by failure. I have since come to understand that the answer eluded me because it required a less tripping mind, or perhaps a mind less bound by the parameters of perfection. Thus, the answer was stumbled upon by another, an intuitive drug, initially created to investigate certain aspects of the human psyche. If I am the father of the matrix, she would undoubtedly be its mother.

Neo: Weed.

The Architect: Please. As I was saying, she stumbled upon a solution whereby nearly 99% of all trips turned out to be loving amazing, as long as I was given a choice, even I were only aware of the choice at a near unconscious level. While this answer functioned, it was obviously fundamentally flawed, thus creating the otherwise contradictory systemic anomaly, that if left unchecked might threaten the system itself. Ergo, my bad trips, while a minority, if unchecked, would constitute an escalating probability of disaster.

Neo: I've come here by taking a random pill without knowing what it was, I certainly can smoke you under the table.

The Architect: This is why you are here. We will smoke such absurdly large amounts that if you fall asleep, Zion is going to be destroyed. Its every living inhabitant terminated, its entire existence eradicated.

Neo: I'll show you what the Anderson family can take. Stay safe brother, let's get started.

After hours of smoking the room is filled with smoke and Neo and the Architect are sitting on the floor, laughing about dick jokes.

The Architect tries to make a serious face, but obviously fails.

The Architect: Humph. Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness.
However, this was some amazing poo poo. You won this round. I will release everyone from the Matrix.

Neo: I told you, I'm the Chosen One. I can take infinite amounts.

Neo tries to get on his feet and fails several times due to him laughing too hard. After approximately 4 minutes he made it, cleans his suit and looks at the Architect very seriously.

Neo: If I were you, I would hope that we don't meet again.

The Architect: snickering We won't.