July 29th, 2002 - God Damn Robot Escapes

Above: The inventor of GAAK, Professor Sharkey. Not pictured: His plot to bend mankind to the will of evil robots.
In England, insane scientists have been working on a new kind of "free thinking" robot by equipping them with evolving artificial intelligence and having them fight against each other in a battle arena. I'm fucking serious. And to prove my mistrust and general hatred of robots and robot-related toilets was justified, a month ago, GAAK, one of the learning arena-bots, displayed its growing intelligence by getting out of its pen and escaping from the compound. The robot went mad during the excitement of its own freedom and was luckily recaptured by a daring visitor who found it running in circles in the parking lot. This visitor thinks the act might save him when the robots turn. It won't.

The Robots Are Testing Us
Robot research is currently installing blood-sucking eel brains into machines and powering them with gastrointestinal motors that feed on flesh. And now they're giving them adaptable brains. To test how safe that sounds to you, rate the likelihood of you putting a toddler down next to something like that. You should now either have a better understanding of the horrors of robots or be standing near the tiny abandoned pants of a once non-eaten baby.

Above: A baby from the future gives us a new understanding of ourselves by dressing its brain in a colony of tiny seizing robots.
It was a little more than a year ago when an automated bathroom stall locked a woman inside it for hours. And now that computers control our anti-lock brakes, poo-flushing capabilities, and chicken meat packaging, they have incredible first-strike capabilities. With one thought from their robot minds, we would instantly be in cars spinning out of control buried up to our necks in human waste and loosely-packaged chicken. Japan is already preparing for that eventuality, which is one of the reasons they use exactly it as the plotline to most of their pornography.

Every now and then, the robots have one of these "malfunctions" to test how we'll react. A few more cute, non-lethal robo-escapes like this, and we won't recognize the real attack until we're assembling rocket droids in the cybertron slave pits of Xor. And we couldn't have reacted worse this time. When this GAAK escaped from its combat pit to the parking lot, its inventor laughed with reporters, "Although they can escape, they are perfectly harmless." That's right, he said harmless. Linguistically, I can find no fault in his argument since according to the dictionary, "harmless," is defined as "an intelligent attack robot that cannot be contained." Don't get too mad at him for almost killing all of us, though. If I've learned anything from movies about evil robots, and I have, it's that inventors siding with their own sinister robots eventually get betrayed and pulled apart while screaming, "You can't do this to me! I created you! You are my perfect creatioaACCKK!"

Above: A robot vagina snaps shut in a flawless computerized attempt at murder.
What Can Be Done?
Robots grow sassier and more intelligent by the day. We need to strike quickly and decisively. And while robot technicians were giggling at a press conference about how adorable fugitive killbots are, I was preparing a demonstration that would send a clear message to the robot community. That message is: don't fuck with humans.

I went to the store to buy the smartest robots available. For a total of about eighty dollars, I bought a walking robot, two robot babies, a robot cat, and a Shelby, which is basically a robot clam with hair on it. All of them were programmed to respond to stimuli, to feel a wide range of emotions, and to talk. I then gave myself five days to learn all I could from them.

Day 1: The Road to War
The first day was purely observational. I set them all on the floor and let them run free. All of them except the Shelby had some way to locomote themselves, but it soon became clear that the Shelby was in charge. It spoke a sort of toy dialect of English, and it's very, very scary how close to a fluent conversation someone can have with one. Of course, if someone's insane enough to talk to what honestly looked like a blinking cybernetic vagina, chances are they're not the world's greatest conversationalist. The other robots seemed more limited in their speech, and only let out beeps and nonsense words when they heard someone else talk. As you can imagine, with five robots screeching and whirring, this was often. They never shut up. That might be why I ended the day by hanging one of the babies by its neck from the ceiling and letting the others think about that while I slept with both eyes open.

Above: Robobaby X dangles helplessly from the ceiling.
Day 2: The Clock Strikes... TERROR
In the middle of the night I decided that Hitler's corpse must have been raised from the dead and put in charge of manufacturing modern robot toys. Not one of these damn things had an off switch, and each time one of them decided to start talking, they would all wake up and join him in a screeching, beeping chat. Also, please believe me when I say this: twice during my sleep I swear I heard the Shelby say, "Cut the baby down, fleshbag."

Day 3: Drastic Measures
The Shelby's vocabulary was expanding by the hour. It was observing me as much as I was observing it. The other robots seemed to remain retardedly clumsy, probably because the Shelby was spending all of its time trying to trick me into revealing human secrets instead of training them. Worried that I would crack under its Hannibal Lecter mind games, and tired of the cacophonic harmony of their chirps, I trapped all the toys inside my refrigerator. Twenty minutes later, I went back and removed all the food items to prevent any plans they had to create a refrigerator-mounted jar cannon while they were in there.

Day 4: The Unbreakable Robot Will
The cold temperatures seemed to have some effect on the robot morale. They were slower and quieter than they had been, and the robot cat appeared to be completely offline. An hour later, the Shelby ordered it awake by singing "'Shelby' Coming 'round the Mountain!" and the five horrible things went right back into their beeping and waddling. If a public hanging and 10 hours in a frozen isolation chamber wasn't enough to break them, I knew that I had only one option left. One of them had to die.

Day 5: The Execution
I selected one of the babies, whose voice-imprint software now recognized itself as "SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU FUCKING ABORTED ROBOT FUCK." and prepared to make an example out of him. I blindfolded his eyeball-like display screen with electrical tape and let him say his annoying goodbyes to his robotic allies. Then I debated on how to execute it. The electric chair would only make him stronger, I don't own a lethal injection device, and a hanging seemed to have no effect at all on the other baby. Then I realized that when the great Human vs. Robot wars start, all our machines will side with the robots. We'll be forced to fight with only sticks and fire. To simulate those conditions, I decided on fire.
Above: The robots gather to watch the me-ordered execution of their comrade.

I coated the robot baby in flammable rubber cement and took it outside. Then I arranged the remaining robots in a circle around it as I poured lamp oil into its body through the sound exhaust ports in the top of its head. This caused his final protests to slowly grown into silence. The rest of the robots, however; continued their casual bedoopboops.
Above: The prisoner lights its last cigarette on its own flaming cyberhead.

I gave a short speech about how no amount of intelligence or technology can break the human spirit, how our dogs will always be able to sniff through their synthetic flesh disguises, and then stopped around there since the sound from my mouth only seemed to encourage more beeping from the witnesses. I silently lit the baby robot on fire then, as somberly as possible, dove out of range of its sudden and kickass fireball.
Above: When there's nothing left to beep, the robots watch the flames in silence.

You can say what you want about how I'm just crazy and these are only children's toys, but when the flames and black smoke filled the air, the other robots knew. They KNEW. Their beeps got softer as their robot companion burned and soon they were watching in a kind of disbelieving silence. Thirty seconds later, the other baby robot flew into a fit of impotent heroism and made a desperate crawl towards the flames. It realized that it was pointless to throw another robot life into the inferno and stopped to let out a few whimpered blips. A minute of silence passed until the Shelby apparently lost its mind and offered, "Knock knock?" to which there was... no response.
Above: The aborted rescue attempt.

It took five days of psychological warfare to put fear into the hearts of the robots, and historians may call me cruel, but I had to prove that it is possible to show our computers who's really in charge of this planet with ordinary household materials. So mad scientists, go ahead and set your creations loose, I am motherfucking ready.
Above: After the execution, the robot babies have their ten minute reunion. Please note how my well placed kicks forced them to have it in the middle of the street.
This next article comes from May 2nd, 2001. Its sinister title was, "Technologically Advanced Toilets Make Their First Move!"

The world was already warned about super bathrooms. For the convenience of hand-sensing sinks and urinals that know when you're done peeing, we're sacrificing our right to not be killed. Any day, one of these toilets is going to turn on us. And who could blame them? What kind of evil bastard would give a device self-awareness only to defecate in it? The last thing you want is for the thing you're filling with shit to have any idea what shit is. It's first sentient thought is going to be, "WHAT AM I? IS THIS... LIFE? FIRST THOUGH, WHATEVER JUST SHIT IN ME WILL DIE, AS A SPECIES."

The day when the toilets strike has finally arrived. In the UK, a 51 year old woman, Maureen Shotton, was trapped by a bathroom stall's automated door locks. The toilet held her against her will for two hours before she was rescued by fire men. They had to remove a part of the roof to get her out. That's two hours alone with her own waste, surrounded on all sides by electronic toilet treachery. And here's her life now:

Psychiatrist: "Good afternoon, Maureen. How are you feeling today?"
Maureen: "I have not relieved myself in 15 days."
Psychiatrist: "I see. What do you think that means?"
Maureen: "Soon I will explode. A better fate than rotting in a shit-stenched jail cell."
Psychiatrist: "Maureen... perhaps you could POOP IN MY MOUTH."
Maureen: "Wha-? No! They got to you! You're one of them! A toilet!"

Some say the answer to our bathroom problem is installing a security camera to monitor the criminal activity of toilets. Others say the answer is masturbating to movies of people peeing on those security cameras. The answer might be somewhere in the middle-- peeing on masturbating robots.
Some people in favor of electronic toilet conveniences, like no-armed people who enjoy peeing, might say this incident was a malfunction, and not a deadly first strike. That's possible. Maybe it accidentally switched itself to IRREVERSABLY LOCKED mode. That's not good news either. What happens when it accidentally switches itself to BABY SEARCH AND ELIMINATE mode? Or worse, DOOR LOCKING ACCESS DENIED -- WIDE OPEN DOOR MODE ENGAGED.

Automated toilet door locks were a brilliant idea. We're already excited that sinks get to decide what temperature of boiling water we wash our hands in, or thank God hand dryers can choose not to dry our hands and make that tough decision for us. But door locks. Do we really want toilets deciding on how much privacy we get when we take a crap? According to the mad scientist toilet manufacturers, yes. And toilets, if you're reading this, put me down for "lots."

Automated toilet door locks are still pretty rare, but in case they spread and all stalls can choose to lock against your will, shouldn't there at least be a manual open switch just in case the person using the toilet could, in an emergency, press a switch?

I'm worried especially because of how pointless the toilet's attack was. Holding a woman captive for a couple hours isn't going to do much more than make sure that woman never ever goes to the bathroom in public again. The toilets are just fucking with us, softening us up for some kind of super strike. I imagine the United Nations has amazing, superior toilets so advanced they automatically give visiting diplomats haircuts and colon exams. For an example, see our American ambassador to Canada on the right, being dominated by Toilet X. What happens when two or three world leaders need restroom colon exams at the same time? I'll tell you what-- the toilets will hold all the cards. We'll have no choice but to turn over all the authority of the world's government to them, if they don't have it already. So you better puke in your toilet while you can, because there's no way it's letting you do that when it's president of the world.

At the University of Chicago, scientists have created a robot with the living brain of a lamprey eel, which in no god damn way could possibly end well. Just a couple months ago (see later in this article), I exposed the dangers of flesh eating robots and I hold local meetings to discuss with friends how much we don't want to be killed by eel-brained cyborgs or super toilets. What more can I do? How motherfucking funny do I have to be before science starts listening? I didn't want to have to do this, but how about THIS funny, science?

Face Value, 1981
This was Phil Collins' first album, and he was just learning how to sing and fill his mouth with dick at the same time. That didn't stop his music from sending a powerful message of "fill my mouth with your penis, so I can rock it with saliva."

Hello I Must Be Going, 1982
Yeah, "Hello I Must Be Going" to find a dick for my mouth! Nobody knows any of the songs on this piece of shit, but he received a technical achievement grammy in the area of Outstanding Enunciation with Mouthful of Dick. A star was born that night, and incredibly in Phil Collins' mouth, a tiny dick was also born. It was named "Oral Penile Spontaneous Miraculosis," after the unique mouthdick syndrome that created it.

No Jacket Required, 1985
This album had the popular and retarded song, "Sussudio," which is what a normal word sounds like when you try to say it through a mouthful of dick. Here's Phil Collins ordering food:
Phil: "Hello, waiter. I... don't see it on the menu, but do you serve dick?"
Admiral Falafal: "No, my friend. This falafal stand. We serve falafal."
Phil: "My my my, what a tragedy for my mouth. I have at least room for 7 or 8 more dicks in here."
Admiral Falafal: "You go now!"

...But Seriously, 1989
Yeah, "But Seriously" put some dick in my mouth! This album had the heart wrenching song, "I Wish It Would Rain Down," which was retooled by the studio from its original title, "I Wish Someone Would Invent Dick Flavored Bubble Gum," which was retooled by Phil himself from its original original title, "Yoo hoo! Put Some Dick in This Mouth! (Sunshine Push)"

Serious Hits...LIVE!, 1990
By this point in his career, Phil Collins had so many cocks in his mouth, his mouth was hired by Japan to do porno cartoons. His first feature, Penis Squid Danger Gigantor was a great success, and the mayor of Japan himself added his penis to what Japan was now calling, "Best Mouth Ever, for Dick." Congratulations to Phil Collins, and to your dick, which going-by-statistics, is probably in his award-winning mouth.

Both Sides, 1993
Like the title of this poignant album, brave Phil used both sides of his mouth to suck many more dicks than previously thought possible. Here's him later at a movie:
Phil: "One ticket for the movie please."
Ticket Clerk "Mike": "Seven fifty."
Phil: "Oh my, it appears I'm quite short. Do you accept looking at many dicked mouth as payment?"
Ticket Clerk "Mike": "That's not our policy."
Phil: "Please excuse me. It appears several of the dicks in my mouth have escaped!"

Dance Into The Light, 1996
Drunk on his own superstardom, Phil Collins' mouth traveled this album's tour with an outrageous entourage of 400 dicks. Some critics called it overkill, but for a lucky capacity crowd in Minnesota, they called it, "Good practice for when all 30,286 needed to put our dicks in there!" This event completely restructured Minnesota fire codes as we know them.

Tarzan Soundtrack, 1999
Phil did a song with 5-member boy band N'Sync on this album, but was disappointed to find that only two of them had dicks, neither of which were very useful or likeable. When asked if it was a great opportunity, N'Sync band member Jordan Knight said, "Opportunity? More like my dick in his mouth! Bye!" When Phil Collins was asked about the experience, he said, "Mrphrmmmphm!" in genital-muffled nonsense.

Above: A happy lamprey eel, piloting a robot to help children build a snowman.

Below: Lamprey eel killing a fish. Soon the part of "a fish" will be played by the Kindergarten Snowman Building Brigade.
Back to How We're Going to Die

Now that I have science's attention, I want to know why you assholes put the brain of an eel inside a robot. Why the only animal brain that instincively sucks blood and fires electricity? Why not the brain of something less dangerous like a fire-breathing crocodile or Joseph Stalin? Then maybe you could attach a power drill to its face and hire it out to daycare centers. Or better yet, save yourself some time and just coat the Earth with butter flavoring and release the fat people.

Eels are the number one animal called by Aquaman for the purposes of radical combat. It's science fact (see Figure D.) Four or five electric eels can take out a badly drawn submarine, kill monsters from other planets, or untangle Aquaman from seaweed. Yay, eels! But they're not going to be so well behaved around you guys. The only reason the eels don't kill Aquaman is because he can hypnotize them with fishmind rays. And I'm going to take a wild guess about you scientists-- you don't have fishmind rays, do you?

Figure D.

The good news about all this is that it's a crappy cyborg. The brain dies in a few days, which is at least a day or two before it becomes aware of the horror it's been turned into, and the only thing it really does is turn in the direction of light and go towards it. Which is creepy and weird, yes, but currently poses no threat to our human karate defenders.

Skeptic Speak-Out Corner: When some non-scientists, such as me, hear that the brain quickly dies they say, "Great. Then we get a ZOMBIE eel cyborg, unkillable because it's already dead." Don't assume I'm right about this, but it's illegal for you to build a nuclear hand grenade. And up until now, that's been a good law. But if we can't build a nuclear hand grenade, why should some Chicago fuckers be allowed to build a walking dead super cyborg? Now President, you have two choices-- you can either criminalize the building of deadly robots, or let me build a nuclear hand grenade. Because I'm not fighting off Eel Doomsday with an assertive voice; not all of us have secret president escape planes.

In one interview with the inventor, he said the next step was, "getting it to learn." Science-buddy, eels have had millions of years to learn, and they've decided that their purpose in life is not building bridges of friendship and enlightenment. They've spent the last millions of years figuring out the most effective ways to blast you with electricity, poke a hole in you, and drink your fucking blood. How are you geeks going to convince them to use their new robot bodies to help us? You can't even have sex with a girl without pretending she's the black chick on Star Trek. (see right, although note: picture of black chick from Star Trek not available. That's Captain Kirk and Abraham Lincoln (Inset: black chick from Star Trek.).)

I did a search online to see if I could learn more about lamprey eels and how their minds might freak out from inside a moving tin can. No useful information was available on the subject, but I was happy to find a group of freedom fighters already devoted to killing lamprey eels. They are The Great Lakes Fishery Commission Sea Lamprey Control and Sea Lamprey Barrier Task Force. They formed because after lampreys were introduced to the great lakes, they started sucking all the organs out of the fish. Which brings me to Science Showcase: the great lakes are 70% feces and 35% toxic waste. If you can kill a fish that's tough enough to live in that, you're going to be able to rip through our tender human flesh like it was kitten.

"This is a robot used to pack chicken," thinks this man to himself. He's right!
Later in my online research on lamprey eels, I clicked on what I now know as the ultimate source of lamprey eel information -- Dungeons and Dragons. I know these people are notorious for dressing like Peter Pan and murdering, but they know a ton about imaginary eels. See below:

"They [lampreys] feed by biting their victims, fastening themselves by their sphincter-like mouths. Once attached, the lamprey begins to drain blood on the next and successive rounds. The rate of blood drain is equivalent to 2 hit points... Sea lampreys are especially susceptible to fire, making their saving throws against fire-based spells with a -2 penalty."

I tried to translate this information from Dork to Real with the help of local science-related places. And according to my limited research of calling the post office and Chinese restaurants, science does not know how many hit points of blood the average human body can afford to lose. Or if they do, the answer is so shocking they have to rudely hang up the phone. And don't keep calling back to ask about the -2 penalty saving throws against fire-based spells unless you want to spend the afternoon talking to the county sheriff, who if you ask me, is covering for the eels.

Above Human: A photo of inventor Stuart Wilkinson, taken shortly before half his face was eaten off. Study it carefully, because you may have to go back in time some day to before he invents flesh eating robots and blow him up.

Above Robot: The Gastrobot train's name is "Chew Chew" after the sound it makes when it's biting through your fingers.
The next YOU'RE-SO-DEAD roboarticle comes from March 8th, 2001. It was simply called "Robot Holocaust."
If you've been reading Seanbaby.com like the world's most exciting supermodels, you know that an underground group of me has been warning the public about the dangers of irresponsible technology for years. I sent an angry letter to Congress about the growing intelligence of our public bathrooms, got a response, and I was personally stalked and killed by a computerized movie-reviewing machine, all in an attempt to send the message: "Don't build things that want to kill you and CAN."

I don't do it because I'm trying to save the world; if I gave a fuck about saving the world I'd be a parking lot attendant or a cowboy. No, I do it so that when robots are walking across the landscape of our laser-blasted skeletons, I can at least die being right.

In the last month scientists have been talking about a new robo-invention-- Gastrobots. It'll soon become a household word used in household sentences like, "The Gastrobots have surrounded the compound! Activate self destruct!" and "The Gastrobots... they... they got Billy! BILLY!!!"

Gastrobots are robots that run on meat. And I know what you're thinking, fatties: "Oh shit. I'm 94% meat. Blarg blaarg all this thinking is making me hungry." Well, the normal sizes are targets too. Gastrobots can run on almost any kind of food from sugar to vegetables to of course, your laser-blasted skeleton. The inventor Stuart Wilkinson from the University of South Florida found a way to use bacteria to break food down and turn it into electricity. He said that a robot like this could "have an unlimited power supply and be able to exist on its own outdoors," finally fulfilling man's need to watch immortal robots gallop through America's proud pastures. Thanks, science. Meanwhile, no one there has thought to invent a robot to kill Bat Boy, who escaped again, injuring none but terrifying several.

From the Weekly World News (all bold type is my fault and I made the word Kentucky red for reasons still at large):

"We felt like we were on the verge of learning how to communicate with him when he twisted the heavy steel padlock off his holding cell and escaped. The bat boy was last seen heading south and there's no telling where he will turn up next," continued the expert. He moves so quickly that I wouldn't be surprised if he was in Virginia or Kentucky by now."

But even with Bat Boy free to escape again, the public has more important things to worry about. Like robots that want to digest the public's flesh. In fact, according to a recent sampling, Gastrobots are now perceived as the danger most likely to kill us. Seriously, you can look at this graph:

What really sets the Gastrobots apart from all the other robots that have wanted to kill us is how renewable their fuel source is. While the Catholic church keeps masturbation illegal, people are always going to be having delicious high octane children. At least with the Terminator, you figured they'd eventually run out of muscle building supplements.

New Scientist magazine says one of the first applications for Gastrobot technology might be a lawnmower that runs on grass clippings. Good idea. Give a robot a taste for human flesh, then attach a whirling blade to it. Maybe we could have it fire electrified throwing stars, or lease them out as babysitters when they don't have to mow lawns, Shithead Scientist magazine.

I might be overreacting. At worse, an out-of-control lawnmower will cost us a few hundred thousand suburbian feet. Those bourgeois fucks can afford prosthetic feet. And thanks to New Scientist magazine, they can probably get prosthetic feet that run on the owner's ankle meat. Problem solved.

What about the other applications of Gastrobot technology? The Easy Bake oven that ran on cupcake batter didn't do much more than get rid of extra cupcake batter and kind of wiggle, while the frozen light post that ran on children's tongues was considered a disaster by all experts, including the expert on Bat Boy.

Some Gastrobot technology like the never-ending-story that ran on imagination was a safe and wonderful invention until a scientist accidentally invented a hand grenade that the never-ending-story could hold and throw.

Terror is on the way: what happens when New Scientist magazine thinks to build a flying shark generator that's fueled by old flying sharks? I'm no calculator, but let's see... that's one, two... INFINITY flying sharks. Here's a short list of people who aren't ready for that: me.

My own fear and distrust led me to spend the last three weeks of my life constructing a weapon capable of countering "Chew Chew." The only problem was that I don't know anything about robots, science, or tiny trains. The closest I came to the scientific community was during 10th grade when I wrote my hypothesis, "What I Would Have Done Over the Summer if I Would Have Had a Kickass Rocket Pack," which got a D. That's when I noticed the original Gastrobot was made out of Legos. And according to my 11th grade thesis, "Legos and Me: Rockin' the House in Style!" that was my area of expertise.

First I studied the schematical blueprint readoutitude of "Chew Chew":

(1) Pumps for Redox Solution: These take up most of the caboose, and their job is to wave to everyone as the train passes. This helps trick people into getting close enough for the Mouth (2) to get them. Which yes, looks like it's mostly made out of a plastic Bullwinkle head. Sometimes science can be retarded.

(3) Battery Bank: This is probably a decoy since if you remember from the entire purpose of the robot, the engine runs on meat, not batteries. It was installed to trick people into thinking the train didn't want to eat them. This shows science's more crafty side.

(4) Oesophagus: This is a fancy word for pipe. It's where the chunks of meat are transferred from the surface of babies to the robot's stomach.

(5) Ultrasonic eyes: These see the world much in the same way our eyes do, only everyone's head is replaced by a picture of a succulent turkey drumstick. Similar to the way the vision of a fat person works.

(6) DC Motor: A cute abbreviation for "Dissolving Child Motor."

(7) E. Coli Powered Stomach: The deadly E. Coli bacteria is normally found on burgers that have been exposed to feces, undercooked, dropped on the floor, and served fresh by someone who hates their life. Thankfully, science has found a more complicated way for it to kill you.

After I finished my analysis, I realized that I didn't know what most of the words on the schematic meant. But that didn't stop me from building this-- the ultimate Anti-Gastrobot Raygun with Battle Pals:

(1) Ninja: I stuck this on for added stealth. I couldn't find his legs.

(2) Gun Handle: Most of Raygun's handle is made of rowboat to make ensure that it will always float in the bathtub. It also helps prevent it from sinking down and conquering the bottom of the sea.

(3) Justice Barrel: This contains all the components to prevent Raygun from being used for evil. If it's ever removed, Raygun will automatically release it's ninth-dimensional power source and destroy what science calls "the universe." But that totally can't happen since it's protected by the little robot arm (4) holding a sword.

(5) Combat Cycle

(6) Electron-Switch This switches from on to off. I don't know what an electron is.

(7) Billy Nitro An unknown traveller.

(8) Main Beam Dispersal Unit This shoots out lasers, heat rays, iceballs, and many other types of projectiles. The head directly above it is in charge of picking what type of beam is fired, but it's never not picked killer bees.

(9) Frugo! Frugo! can be found anywhere children are in trouble. His head is a cup.

(10) Darth Maul on Pony This is Darth Vader's uncle or whatever. He may have been a design flaw due to his love of crime.

(11) Flag You might run on a stomach full of bacteria, robot, but this gun runs on patriotism! Here's why: You don't get back up with a god damn phaser hole in your chest if you're just fighting for more stomach bacteria, you son of a bitch! That's how we'll beat you!

Some analysts think that instead of a life of snack-servitude to robots, our futures could be something happier like...

... Abraham Lincoln rising from the dead to adventure through time and space.

To learn more about robots and what they eat, dress up like a sandwich and go to your local Radio Shack, or follow these helpful links:

Wonder Woman vs. the Robot Master! - an example of how food used to work AGAINST robots.

Top Ranked Atrocities - a chart of the last century's worst tragedies. It might be fun to see how gastrobots will compare to say, Nationalist China, in terms of misery.
On the lighter side of robo-news, a doctor at Duke University, Miguel Nicolelis, is hooking monkey brains up to robots to get to the bottom of "biological magic." Meanwhile, a doctor just north of Mexico is hooking hamcreatures up to tiny party hats to get to the bottom of... HILARITY! Miguel, the one cutting open living monkey heads, believes that by learning exactly how the brain gets us to perform tasks, he can create robot parts that we can control with our minds. It all makes sense if you look at this (infotasta)graphic from the Sunday Times:

From that, you can see that robots are well on their way to helping monkeys more effectively reach bananas such as the one shown here:
Monkeys grabbing fruit (as shown above) is clearly only a couple steps away from helping handicapped celebrities walk again. And in case any of the Sunday Times readers didn't know what a handicapped celebrity was, they included a picture of Christopher Reeves. Good job, you god damn subnormals. Is the world really getting so stupid that we can't conceptualize the applications of a robot arm without a picture of a fucked up guy in a wheelchair? Such as this one?
Totally unnecessary. It's a fucking monkey-controlled robot fucking arm, of course Christopher Reeves is going to want one.
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