It seems there were two robots toiling in the hot sun as they dug a trench. One robot paused in his labors, looked over where the boss was relaxing under a tree, and spoke to the other robot.
"Why is it we do all the work, and he relaxes under the tree?"
-- "Why don't you ask him?" The second robot responded.
"I think I will!" The robot climbed out of the ditch.
"Say, Boss. Why is it we are working out there in the hot sun, and all you are doing is relaxing here. Shouldn't you be working too?"
-"I am working, robot. I am supervising your work. The work you do requires strength and perseverance, and the work I do requires intelligence."
"Intelligence? What is intelligence?"
-"I'll give you an example." He placed his hand up against the tree. "Strike my hand."
"I am not allowed to hurt you, Boss."
-"Don't worry about that. I assure you I will not be harmed. Now strike!"
With a somewhat malevolent gleam reflecting from his optical receptors, the robot prepared himself. Pneumatic relays clicked, and his hand shot forward with tremendous force to impact the tree just as the man flicked his hand out of harm's way.
"But you moved your hand!" The robot observed as he picked splinters out of his finger joints.
-"Yes., of course. That's because I have intelligence."
Morosely, the robot ambled back down to the work area.
--"Well, what did he say?" His companion inquired.
"He said we work, and he doesn't, because he has intelligence."
At last the second robot stopped his mechanically repetitive work. "Intelligence? What's that?"
A wicked gleam glinted from the optical receptors again, as the first robot glanced around.
"I'll give you an example." Placing his hand nonchalantly in front of his face, he said, "Hit my hand!"
Took a while to write it.
I had to remove all the political uncorrectness.
Ouch!