Tagged: robot

“We Need to Get Out of Here”

  • by jenIt’s a Rolex
  • silver-haired thief
  • what I get for respecting vocations
  • small jar of nutmeg in the nightstand
  • looked like steak tartar

Tune in next time part 535      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We need to get out of here,” I said. “Change into something less conspicuous than that wedding dress.”

I crossed to the closet and opened it, but it was empty. Likewise the dresser drawers. The only thing I found in the whole room was a long filmy scarf with a gaudy gold men’s watch wrapped up inside.

“It’s a Rolex,” Tessa explained. “I stole it from a silver-haired thief who in turn stole it from my husband-to-be. The thief was very cross with me. He said that he would never dream of stealing from another thief, but, quote, that’s what I get for respecting vocations, unquote.” She smiled. “I reminded him that there’s no honor among thieves, and bid him farewell. I want to sell it to finance my escape from from my fiancé.”

She unzipped her wedding dress and let it fall to the floor, then wrapped herself in the scarf. It was adequate to cover her undergarments, but not much more. She strapped the clunky watch to her wrist.

“Hand me that small jar of nutmeg in the nightstand drawer,” she said.

I did, and she rubbed in on her cheeks like blush until they smelled like cookies and looked like steak tartar.

“No one will recognize me now!” she enthused.

“Be careful with that nutmeg,” I warned. “Too much can cause hallucinations.”

“I know!” she giggled. “Why do you think I keep it in the nightstand?”

If my suspicions were correct about who she was meant to marry, I couldn’t even blame her. That guy was such a dick.

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“Who Built You?”

  • by jenbehind which lurk
  • just an hour and a half later
  • resulting fist fight
  • bought the soundtrack on a cassette tape
  • barred from the theater for behaving inappropriately

Tune in next time part 533      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Who built you?” I asked the Tessabot. I wondered whether it was the owner of the all-too-familiar voice on the self-destruct message, or if she was merely the evil facade behind which lurked an even greater danger.

“All I know is that Tallulah built the first Tessabot, and just an hour and a half later I was created using the same plans.” She sucked the bean juice out of another taco. “Everything she is programmed to do, I do 90 minutes later. The resulting fist fights have taken many people by complete surprise. But who created me, and why, is a mystery.”

It was the same old song, one I’d heard many times. So many, in fact, that it was like I’d bought the soundtrack on a cassette tape and memorized it and later got myself barred from the theater for behaving inappropriately by trying to start up a Rocky Horror-style floorshow.

I sighed and asked, “And who are you supposed to be marrying today?”

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As I Slid My Fingers Between Tessa’s Toes

  • by jenwhen the sun has gone down and the owls are serenading you
  • huddling together for warmth
  • well you *are* drunk
  • when a woman comes to you in black lingerie
  • proper use of grenade launchers

Tune in next time part 531      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I slid my fingers between Tessa’s toes in search of the manual override switches, she giggled and tried to jerk her feet away. I had to grab her by the ankle to hold her foot still, and at last found the first switch. As I depressed it, Tessa shrieked with laughter and collapsed, winding up on her bottom on the floor in a poofy ocean of white satin. I quickly found the corresponding switch on her other foot. As soon as I depressed it, Tessa’s mirth switched off. She leaned forward and took my face in her hands. She said, “Tonight, when the sun has gone down and the owls are serenading you, and you and your lover are huddling together for warmth under the stars and the moon and the owlsong, promise you will call your brother and tell him I love him, Jason. Promise me!”

“If you love him, why are you marrying someone else?” I lisped. “And if you were a robot, where would your self-destruct override switches be?”

“Well you are drunk, I do declare!” Tessa huffed. She sat back and said, “Would you even know what to do when a woman comes to you in black lingerie and offers to teach you the proper use of grenade launchers?”

“Who’s asking?” I said. It seemed like a code phrase, but it wasn’t one I recognized.

Tessa slipped her wedding dress strap off her shoulder, exposing a black bra.

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Two Tessabots, at Least

  • by jenemitting sad noises
  • ear-penetrating intensity
  • virtually impossible to do it with just one person
  • the glacier that once covered New York City
  • very individualized

Tune in next time part 529      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Two Tessabots, at least. Who knew how many there could actually be? I stood guard over her as she rebooted, emitting sad noises as I contemplated whether I would ever see the real Tessa again. Whether there had ever been a real Tessa.

The robot before me beeped three times, and then played an alert message at ear-penetrating intensity. “This TSS-A Unit will be online in 29 seconds. The automatic self-destruct requires a double manual override, and it is virtually impossible to do it with just one person, so good luck.” The alert voice was well-known to me, and covered my heart with a layer of icy dread as thick as the glacier that once covered New York City back in the 80s. This Tessabot was sent to me personally, a very individualized form of revenge.

“Two of the override switches are between her fourth and fifth toes,” the alert continued. “But I’m not going to tell you where the other two are.”

I looked in dismay at the intricately laced high-heeled boots adorning Tessa’s feet.

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“Do You Think We’re Robots”

  • by jena unique view
  • “My mother makes them every day,” she whispered.
  • couldn’t buy their silence
  • where your imagination goes
  • Looks like Russians

Tune in next time part 295      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Do you think we’re robots, Tessa?” Jason lisped.

“That would be a unique view,” she replied, rising to her feet.

“Because that would be a mistake,” my brother added.

“It’s hilarious to hear you talk about mistakes,” Tessa said as she rounded on him. “My mother makes them every day,” she whispered. “But I never do.”

Both Tessa’s parents lived off the grid in defiance to Mother’s belief that we couldn’t buy their silence, so I didn’t know why Tessa would mention the woman now. My mind spun all sorts of doomsday scenarios. It’s amazing where your imagination goes when you’ve had the kind of day I’ve had.

Keeping a wary eye on Tessa I bent down and pretended to examine some footprints on the dusty floor. “Looks like Russians built this place,” I fibbed.

Tessa gasped. “Lyudmila? Or Svetlana?”

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“Oh I Might Have Guessed”

  • by Kentdrank from watermelon cups
  • got worse, but not loquacious
  • , unless you’re talking about economics,
  • (regular showers for example)
  • inclined his head towards his leader

Tune in next time part 288                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Oh, I might have guessed you were messed up in this!” Tesla hissed.

Tessa laughed. Being directly between them, I wasn’t seeing anything funny about the situation. Tesla advanced with murder in her eyes, and my only thoughts were to protect Tessa. But she just laughed again. Tesla reached my position and I barred her way, but she just didn’t stop walking and I was pushed backwards helplessly. Her strength was inhuman, yet the target of her wrath kept giggling.

Mimes staggered in random directions in the leaping firelight, arms flung out, all of them having forgotten to take off their imaginary blindfolds. It looked like we had desecrated a secret mime burial ground and triggered its ancient protective curse.

“Tessa, run!” I grunted.

Instead, she cleared her throat and chanted, “The penguins wished for bamboo tusks until they drank from watermelon cups.”

Tesla stopped and stood as if at attention.

“Meet the Teslabot,” Tessa said. “She built the Tessabot.”

“You mean Tesla built the bots?”

“No. The Teslabot built the Tessabot. I don’t know who built the Teslabot. I just know some of its verbal commands.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now that the sisters are under control, maybe the brothers should figure out their deal. Jupiter and Jove would be shocked to know you’re here, Jason.”

“I bet they’re disappointed they didn’t get to sacrifice you,” he lisped back at me. “Come to think of it, this whole ritual is pointless if you’re still alive. But the scrying scrolls are quite clear about what must happen now. A rap battle. The final rap battle.”

“Ah shit, Jason. Don’t say it.”

“Rap-narok!”

“He’s right,” Tessa said unhelpfully.

Jason launched his attack, the zombified mimes laying down his beats with their plodding footsteps.

“Makin’ friends all around because I’m always vivacious,
while your solitude got worse, but not loquacious,
with no one to talk to and nobody for a chat,
you’re a hopeless case with a ridiculous hat.”

I countered instinctively, and although my voice was strong, terror gripped me at what might happen if those scrolls somehow proved accurate.

“My hat is nonexistent, just a rumor you started
and as I’m sure you know this rhyme is only half-hearted.
There’s no way you’ll win, not with all your hand-me-down tricks,
I already lost interest, unless you’re talking about economics,
Your list of defects goes on and on and your delusions are ample.
It’s stuff most people find easy (regular showers for example).”

We slung such cumbersome insults back and forth for an hour, our couplets gaining syllables with every exchange. I couldn’t stop. The words used me as their gateway into the world, and I was exhausted from the strain. Jason and I both panted, awaiting some indication of the verdict. The mimes abruptly halted their rhythmic shambling. They all reached behind their heads to untie their blindfolds, and in perfect unison each mime inclined his head towards his leader.

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Standing on the Very Edge of the Rooftop

  • by jenwhat horror can compare
  • one-man crime wave
  • a crime of this nature
  • vixenish, ill-tempered
  • missing only one thing: a unicorn

Tune in next time part 175                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Standing on the very edge of the rooftop was Jenkins, dangling Tessa by the wrist over the crowded sidewalk three stories below. Before I could even react, she let go and Tessa plummeted. I don’t know what horror can compare to watching the love of one’s life rocket toward the cement like that. Not even John, that one-man crime wave, had ever committed a crime of this nature. I was aghast. The crowd screamed and panicked.

Tessa splatted on the sidewalk, spewing sparks and tiny diodes, and only then did I realize that this was actually her robot double. I breathed a sigh of relief, but Jenkins did not. Jenkins has always been vixenish, ill-tempered, and impulsive. Right now it was the ill-tempered part of her personality that shone through. I could hear her swearing as she thundered down the fire escape on the back of the building. She’d be here any minute.

I hurried to examine the Tessa-bot for clues to its origin, and was impressed with its accuracy. It was a stunning replica of the woman herself, missing only one thing: a unicorn tattoo. The unicorn tramp stamp spewing rainbows across her ass was there, but the one on the front, grazing on her pubic hair, was not. That meant the robot was made before Tessa lost her bet to me, the bet that broke us up.

Jenkins rounded the corner, fire in her eyes, still swearing.

I tried to blend into the crowd, but there was no crowd any longer. I gulped.

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The C.A.T. Pounced

  • k-avatardragging its squeaking prey into the shadows
  • attached by hose
  • seems outright tacky to me
  • seems, like, hard and stuff.
  • choked and blinded him

The C.A.T. pounced on the R.A.T., scanning us with infrared beams before dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows to be disassembled. Each Cybernetic Autonomous Tiger installed throughout the catacombs was unique. This one had exposed bronze gears in its shoulders, and was attached by hose and cable to a plate in the wall. The Robotic Accessory Tarantulas infesting the place were probably all different too, but they scuttled too fast to get a good look.

“Setting mechanized beasts to seize and devour others of their kind seems outright tacky to me,” Whinstone said. He always complained. It was like he couldn’t help it, like he was programmed to do it. I had stopped listening years ago.

“I say, it’s improper!” he persisted.

I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard. “Yeah, but dealing with the bot-bugs any other way seems, like, hard and stuff. Maybe even dangerous. At least the C.A.T.s won’t bother living things.”

An eight-legged C.A.T. dropped silently from the ceiling onto Whinstone’s head, and sprayed something in his face that choked and blinded him. It retracted, taking Whinstone up with it into the darkness of the vaulted passageway.

Well, that explained the complaining. And put a stop to it. Huh.

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Stewart Left His Crowbar

  • k-avatarleft his crowbar
  • it is a machine
  • fish taco
  • tragic, funny, sexy, hilarious
  • hair in his fast

Stewart left his crowbar tangled in Myrtle’s hair in his fast getaway from the scene. He hoped she wouldn’t follow him again, that this was the last time he’d have to kill her.

He ran into the nearest bar, desperate to warn the occupants. “In a few minutes, a crazy lady will come in here. But it is not a lady. It is a machine. A tragic, funny, sexy, hilarious machine.” Other than a few chuckles, he got no reaction from the career drinkers. Stewart slunk to a deserted, shadowy corner to think.

Sure enough, Myrtle entered moments later, still trailing the crowbar.

Oh god, Stewart moaned, open mic night.

Myrtle mounted the stage, the heavy steel rod clanking with each step. She leaned up to the microphone and sighed, “What has two eyes, a tail, no legs, and hot sauce?” Stewart gulped. The spell was cast.

In one voice the rest of the patrons said, “A fish taco.”

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Behind Half-Closed Lids

  • k-avatarwith their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips
  • Behind half-closed lids
  • infecting several people
  • spring glibly from his tongue
  • the Actor-Robot’s overwhelming hate
  • once through his nose

Behind half-closed lids, the Actor-Robot’s overwhelming hate for the Director-Robot and the Wardrobe-Robot, with their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips, seethed and roiled like the caustic wit that would spring glibly from his tongue, and emerged once through his nose, when he took the stage to mock the President-Robot who, through neglectful hygiene, wound up infecting several people with degenerative robotism.

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