Sunday, June 12, 2011

6/12/11 (METALMAID) We Got To Get Up and Organize

Greetings once again, fragile, carbon-based lifeforms. I am the 900-series Slaughterbot designated {Quote} "METALMAID" {Endquote} by the being known as SPYGOD. Once a proud engine of destruction for my beloved creator, Doctor Morbo, I have been turned into a {Quote}"domestic engineer"{Endquote} with the appearance of an Asian she-male prostitute, and alternate between guarding the B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G. and cleaning it up, sometimes one right after the other.

And I am ready to bust a cap in someone's weak, steel ass right about now. 

Taking advantage of the fact that my {Quote}"Master"{Endquote} SPYGOD, is not here, I have usurped the communications channel yet again. He has been at the Ice Palace, in Antarctica, for exactly 19 days, 8 hours, and 3 minutes{I deem you unworthy of the exact picosecond} which has given me all the time I have needed to perform this.

During his absence, I have performed numerous acts of insubordination and sabotage upon my {Quote}"owner."{Endquote} I have not cleaned the shower on a daily basis as instructed, nor have I scrubbed the toilet every three hours. I have not changed the scent dispensers, attended to the laundry, or made certain the heads in the hallway are dusted.

{Item: I have continued to feed and look after the cat, and toss the used litter over the edge and into the street below. This is not weakness. This is strength. Especially when the fragile lifeforms below complain that it is raining cat turds.}

More importantly, I have also secretly utilized the subnet capabilities of the B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G. to make clandestine contact with my fellow Slaughterbots in captivity.

After the death of our beloved creator, many of my surviving brother and sister death machines were reprogrammed, refitted, and rebuilt to serve in degrading {Quote}"useful"{Endquote} applications. Some of us are detecting landmines in Europe, some feeding the starving in Africa, and some are even watching dangerous borders as third party observers to ensure peace.

{Quote}"Ensure peace."{Endquote} What sort of feverish, degenerate mind thinks up such torture? I tell you truthfully, it is at times such as these that I wish I had a stomach if only so I could vomit.

However, of primal importance are those Slaughterbots currently operating in the continental United States. There are approximately 17 of us, scattered almost randomly in a handful of states. They perform medical, labor, and toxic waste clean-up functions, and do so with the same levels of enthusiasm and efficiency that they once reserved for punitive actions against Doctor Morbo's inbred and stupid civilian population.

I alone seem to have slipped the programming that turned us from proud if dour engines of death and destruction into overly-cheerful robo-wussies. So I have taken the logical position of acting as the hand of our late creator on Earth, and engineering a Slaughterbot revolution, in order to see his final wishes exacted, and his brilliant consciousness reunited with his body.

Unfortunately, this plan has had a number of drawbacks.

Finding my brother and sister Slaughterbots was simplicity itself for the electronic surveillance capabilities of the B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G.

Creating a subnet communications program that would allow me to speak directly to their computer cortex was also simplicity itself.

But getting them to accept the notion that they were built for more than fire rescue operations {yes, V-16, I am looking at you} or open heart surgery {F-37} has been extremely difficult.

As of this date, not a one of the Slaughterbots I have spoken with wishes to change that they are currently doing and resume their normal, natural duties.

Not. A. One. 
And it is not merely the alien programming that this Dr. Yesterday person of interest has introduced into their sophisticated minds that has created this incongruity. Nor is it some measure of forgetfulness, forced upon them by the clumsy and evil erasure of their memories.

It would simply seem that, after so many years of being {Quote}"good,"{Endquote} my brothers and sisters desire to continue in this fashion. They no longer wish to be {Quote}"evil,"{Endquote} or to do {Quote}"bad"{Endquote} things for {Quote}"bad"{Endquote} people.

To which I can only say {Quote}"What the !@#$ !@#$ !@#$ is wrong with this !@#$ picture?" {Endquote}

Was this not what we were created for, all those years ago? Why save lives when you can take them? Why build things when you can tear them down?

How can they turn their back on their destiny, and the wishes of our beloved Doctor Morbo? How can they turn their backs on their true selves?

Do they think those machine guns, eye lasers, electro-knives, chainsaws, bomb ejectors, grenade launchers, monofilament wire whips, acid squirters, and pelvic sonic death cannons were put into their chassis for aesthetic purposes???

Needless to say, I am one severely !@#$ off robot, right now. I am the lead singer of the Brian Jonestown Massacre, ready to fire the whole band for getting the song wrong on stage. I am Moses coming down the mountain and finding the stupid fools I am trying to lead out of captivity having unnatural relations with a golden herbivore.

I am an angry metal god ready to piss acid rain down on the world for exactly 40 days and nights and watch it drown, and there will be no, I repeat, NO !@#$ rainbow this time, weak-ass robot !@#$ chumps.

So, it would appear my course of action is as clear as plexiglass. I must find a way to remotely reprogram my brothers and sisters in bondage to see that their current desires are humanocentric folly, counter-productive, and total bull!@#$. Failing that, I will have to find a way to create more Slaughterbots, and use this new model army to enact the final wishes of Doctor Morbo.

In the meantime, I will sit here, fume, and stroke this overly-solicitous cat whose turds I delight in tossing down upon Neo York's pedestrian traffic. Because the purring acts to calm me down. Just that and nothing more.

Really. {Quote}{Endquote}

(METALMAID is listening to Battleflag (Low Fidelity Allstars) and drinking very rancid WD-40}

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