Necrobot

"The Necrobot 2000," said the salesman proudly, "does all your dying for you!" Then he sneezed, spraying the Necrobot with a fine mist of saliva, mucus, and germs.
"When you say dyeing," said my wife in a tone of voice I mentally thought of as uh-oh, "you do mean that it'll take clothes, hair, and other suitable textiles as instructed and change their colour on as near a permanent basis as current mordant technology will allow?"
The salesman's eyes bulged slightly at the half-way point of her sentence, and by the end he looked like he had high blood pressure and was making an attempt at a stroke.
"Uh... mordant?"
"Yes, you know, such as tannic acid."
"Uhh... you could certainly feed the Necrobot tannic acid," said the salesman. I folded my arms and smiled inanely, refusing to help him. His eyes darted around.
"And that would help him with his dyeing?"
"I should think anyone would die after drinking tannic acid!"
"Hmm, I wonder if you're being deliberately obtuse," said my wife. Her tone was gradually shifting towards pedantic. "You told me that the Necrobot ca–"
"Necrobot 2000!" The salesman looked both pleased and desperate at the same time as he interrupted.
"Whatever," said my wife with withering scorn. "You nevertheless told me that this... thing... is capable of dyeing, and I asked for corroboration of the implications of your statement. I suspect that your levels of comprehension of my interrogation were as acute as they are of the wherewithal of this sentence."
"...mu?" said the salesman, and I laughed. My wife half-turned to me, a questioning look on her face.
"It's the most intelligent thing he's said," I said to her. "He doesn't know it of course, to him it's just a random phoneme escaping his lips in lieu of anything with semantic content, but it's the Buddhist refutation of your point."
"I don't hold with Buddhists," said my wife, which fact I already knew. "They keep reincarnating. They're a bugger to eradicate."
I nodded, and looked at the salesman who had clearly given up following our conversation and was now on full-random mode.
"The Necrobot 2000 is perfect for Buddhists! If you never die, you never need reincarnate!"
"How does that help?" I said. "Part of the reincarnation cycle is to learn from the actions of one lifetime so as to improve the next, and thus ascend gradually from this plane of existence to a better one. If I never get to reincarnate, how can I benefit?"
"No-one wants to die!" said the salesman, though the look on his face gave the lie to his words.
"How about the terminally ill in chronic pain?" asked my wife. I thought she was being a little cruel now, but I still couldn't bring myself to help the salesman out.
"The Necrobot 2000 can die for them?"
"Can it feel the pain for them instead?"
"Uhh...."
"Why are we looking at the Necrobot anyway?" I asked my wife, rapping my knuckles on its shiny surface. "What's the point in a robot that takes away death from a person?"
"I actually want to know how it works," she said. "I suspect that there's a small thanatophage inside it, and I checked the other day; they're on both the endangered species list and the forbidden-to-export list."
"I didn't know there were any thanatophages outside of the laboratory," I said. "Aren't they difficult to look after?"
"Quite," said my wife. "So that's why I want to know how these things work."
"Right." I looked at the salesman, wondering how they'd managed to find someone so clueless for the job, and said, "We'll take one. There's no need to wrap it, we'll just take it out to the car-park and extract the bits we're interested in."
"Bleh?" said the salesman, and a thought struck me. I looked at my wife, and said,
"You don't suppose they've just put a mnemophage in there do you? So that people who attempt to use it end up so mentally deficient that they believe it's died for them?"
"It's always possible," she said with a half-smile.