Right now you’re starting to question the plausibility of this whole story. Don’t. Just groove out with it like a tasty Color Me Badd song. Groove robot, groove. And let it be a melodic lesson to you that drinking twenty cans of gasoline, while invigorating, can also be very dangerous.
So I show up at the talent show in Suburb-town, Indiana, where the robo-child lives. Suburb-town is nice, full of bushes, trees, and hidden terror. What? That’s right, hidden fucking terror. The auditorium was packed full of white humans, with a few black humans peppering the pun-filled seats. They all stared at me, and why not? I am one million feet tall. I sat down as best I could, crushing seven humans in the process.
And then he took the stage, my robo-son, under the human name Robert Dellensworth. He stood about six feet tall, towering over the sitar he was about to play “Hey Now–You’re an All-Star” by Smash Mouth on. I could tell that doctors had done their best to fully cover his metal with human skin, but to no avail. He was hideous, and I heard some little girls snickering at him as he began to play.
Their snickering quickly turned to cries for help, as I used them as human darts to dispose of my son Robert. I could stand the agony no longer. Some heroic humans tried to stop me but failed as miserably as a group of Navajo trying to stop drinking. Snap! I dashed out of the auditorium, into the Suburb-town night, and out of my robo-son’s life (and death) forever. I can’t even believe I just told all of you this. I’m so embarrassed.
