lauantai 15. kesäkuuta 2013

Saga of the robotic mango-man. Part 2: A character joins the supporting cast.

For the previous part, click this...

Serial number 456805345 sat in a bench, in a village called Armpit. A nice, beautiful village, to be more precise. It had been two days, since its creation. It was clueless about what to do. Absolutely, profoundly, completely, utterly, dumbfoundly clueless.

Even if it didn`t admit it to itself. He`s a robot. He can`t feel. 

He didn`t admit THAT to him/itself, either. Damn, what a stubborn metal being.

Anyhoo, since he`s a robot, he couldn`t feel. Or wonder what to do with its life, since it would require feeling a some sort of existential crisis. Which should be obvious by now.

So, it simply sat there. Trying to decide whether to not do nothing, or do something.

After two more minutes, it came to the conclusion, that it might as well could do something. Because...well, what would it matter if it does?

It started walking around. It looked around. It saw a beauty salong. Goed inside.

It couldn`t smell anything, but if such a skill our protagonist would have, it woulda smelled:
- Rose scented hair spray products.
-Strawberyy, cucumber, banana, opossum poop, botox, sugar, piss and bug sauce facemasks.
-Solid iron, for invulnerable persons who want to have their skins cleansed.

But it could hear:
-This song on the radio.

It could also see (with a 5600000000 megapixel resolution) this:
-Eight comfy chairs. Four in a row, four in another one, lined half a feet away from two opposite walls.
-Eight of those big hair gizmos...what they`re called...? Hair dryer hoods. Two were broken because they were made with poor craftsmanship. 
-56 bottles full of chemicals, that were placed in plain sight.
-Just a little filthy white & pink tiled floor.
-Three flies.
-A barber. 40 year old man. Long brown hair, a beer belly, eye glasses, 1 meter 74 cents in height.
-Three clients. An 80 year old woman, a 45 year old woman and 23 year old man with artificial red hair. 
-Scissors, combs and stuff like that.
-Chocolate products.
-A Japanese 500 lbs woman, wearing a sleeveless black shirt, a stripey dress that covers her feet till her ankles, a watch, a bracelet in the other hand, miniscule earrings in her small ears with big ear lobes and pink lipstick. Her brown hair looked like a tower.
She asked from our dashing hero:

"Hello...what are you doing here?" She wasn`t all that surprised that she was talking to a robot, but was a bit surprised that she was talking to a robot in her work place, where robots were seldomly seen. 

"I have no idea."

"Then...why go here?"

"Well...I suppose I do have an idea then." Serial nro. said.

"What is it...?" Asked the Japanese, obese lady.

"I`m here to pass a few moments from my, possibly, hunreds of years lasting existence."

"I see. How would you like to spend them?" 
"Hm. Manicure."

The woman snorted. Then she recuperated.

"Oh. Do you have any money?"


He had took some from the outdoor lab where he was born, before going to the awaiting world.

"Sit right here then." She said.

Robot seated itself on a seat, next to a table. Put its seven hands to the table. 

"What color?"

"Orange color to half of the fingers and same for pink color." He said.


39 seconds went by. 

"There`s something unconventional about you." Said the very hard skinned being, whose story you`re reading.

"How come?" Said the well figured female.

"For a woman with such weight, your behavior is still very confident, and there are vague signs that imply that you`re not ashamed of your obesity." Bluntly said the robot.

For a tiny moment, the oriental dame was baffled. But she recuperated again.

"Well, yes. I can`t help being fat, so why not enjoy it? I`m different, I`m interesting." She said, justifying tone in her voice, a tone that would become a loud shriek if she would be pissed off.  

"You can`t help it? Do you have a problem with your hormones?"

"Aha." She said, still manicyring the robots finger appendages tips. Then, after roughly two minutes, she also said:
"You know, there`s something strange about you, too."

"No, there`s not."

"Yes, the-"


"..." Said the woman, without saying anything at all. Then she actually spoke these words:

"If you say so..." She didn`t believe 456805345, of course.

They were silent for a moment again.

"You feel, don`t you?" She bluntly said.

Robot was irred-I mean, "irred".

"No I don`t."

"I can clearly feel-"

"You feel wrong about me feeling, which I do not do."

"You know, at first I wasn`t sure, but now that you deny it so forcefully..."

"Bye bye." Said the robot. Two of its hands were colored up, so it payed roughly less than 1/3 of the prize (didn`t include a tip, for obvious reasons). Then it goed away.

 It walked in circles. It was pissed. Even if it didn`t wanna admit it. 

After two hours, it stopped being pissed, sat down to a filthy, old bus stop and fell in to a dream like state...

NEXT: A robots dream.

This story is licensed under creative commons ATTRIBUTION. 
Which means, that you can use the story in any way (for example, make it a part of your story continuum), distribute it in any way and if you really want, make money out of it. As long as you:

AttributionYou must give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. You may do so in any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses you or your use. 

(And in the case of this story, please, have there be some logic to the robots feelin processes. I have no idea why I wrote him like taht.)

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