eShop? Yes. eVote? Eventually. eViscerate? As soon as we give them claws. But evoke? Never.

I have faith in computers. Already, they can beat us at chess. Long ago they surpassed our mathematical figuring ability. On the horizon of surpassments are such accomplishments as speech recognition, paragraph comprehension, and ability to annoyingly suggest grammatical correction where they are inappropriate. To the Joe Laganases of the world: watch your back. (ed. note: You may not actually know Joe Laganas, but look back into your memory of Middle School, and think of the twerp you most wanted to punch, and you know at least the concept of Joe Laganas.)
I even have confidence that in not too long robots will walk among us. We all know the auto-workers will be kicked out the door, and chauffeurs' jobs are as obviously on the line. But do you realize the damage that could be done to our elementary schools? A walking computer could be the most effective bully: its knowledge of probability and income distribution would allow it to know whose lunch money was worth taking. Its interweb connection allows it limitless knowledge of fashion, to make fun of the shades of fuschia, periwinkle, and blinding orange that the children of the color blind find themselves in.
But for all my faith, I also know there is one thing computers will never equal humans in: the ability to utter mundane sentences that, because of the history of the people in question, carries arctic iciness. Even when sent by IM, borne by the soulless machine's backs, a single comment can rip out your insides. A statement of fact remembers different times whose distinction from the way things now are makes everything seem broken means the good day you were having is over.
Computers can inconvenience us. Soon they will be able to rip us limb from limb and steal our medicine. I have always known that my death would come at the hands of an automatic stamp licker. But they will never be able to truly hurt us.