star crossed

“Good evening, everyone. I am HOST-BOT 4000 welcoming you to another episode of Galaxy Match.  Tonight’s eligible bachelorette may be second from the sun, but she’s first in our hearts.  Let’s give a warm welcome to Venus!”

“Thank you, HB, it’s good to be here.”

“Venus, how is it that a stunning celestial body like yourself hasn’t already formed a binary system with some lucky hunk of rock?”

“I don’t know, exactly.  Some say that I’m hard to get close to ’cause I’m always hiding my true self.  But I think that if you really want to get to know me, you should take the time to peel back the layers of my atmosphere, you know? I’m not gonna open up to just anybody.”

“I think that is a reasonable request, Venus.  And you are more than worth the effort.”

“Aw, thanks, HB.  They don’t make them like you anymore.”

“It’s true. Much of my line has been decommissioned.  How about you ask some questions of our eligible bachelors?”

“Okay.  Um, bachelor number one, would you consider yourself the family type?”

“Well, Venus, I do have dozens of brothers and sisters and countless cousins, so family is very important to me.  I am also definitely not afraid of rings, if you know what I mean.”

“Wow.  That’s, um, good to know.”

“He gets right to the point doesn’t he, Venus?”

“That he does, HB.  Bachelor number two, would you be able to appreciate a bit of quirkiness in a partner?”

“Hey, baby, you know I love that you don’t rotate the same as everyone else.”

“Oh, no.  Mars?”

“The one and only, sweetheart. “

“What the hell are you doing here?  I told you that we were through.”

“Don’t be like that, baby.  You know that we’re perfect for each other.”

“In all my years of hosting Galaxy Match, this is a first.  We’ve never had contestants who knew one another.”

“There’s a first time for everything, conehead.”

“Mars! Don’t call him that, you prick!”

“And there you go with that temper.  Just like old times.  Hey HOST-BOT, what would you say if I told you that this little lady here isn’t even single?  She’s been having a quasi-orbital relationship with some asteroid for a while now.”

“He’s a stray I took in, nothing more! You know that!”

“Sounds like Venus is just being charitable.  Why don’t we move on, shall we?”

“Yes, HB, I’m ready to move on, unlike some planets I know.”

“That’s cold, V.  Real cold.”

“You’d know cold, Mars.  Anyway, bachelor number three, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Bachelor number three, are things like power and status important to you?”

“No, I’ve learned that things like titles or your position really mean little in the whole grand scheme of things.  It’s how you view yourself that matters.  And how you treat others, of course.”

“That is so true.  And well said.  Um, bachelor number one, another question.  What would a good date be like with you?”

“Um, well I wouldn’t want to do anything too fancy.  You know, just hang out, grab a bite to eat.  And you’d totally have to meet my mom.”

“Your mom?  Great.  Ahem.  Bachelor number three, same question.”

“Oh, I’d like to take you someplace quiet and out of the way.  Where the bright lights and hustle-bustle are left behind.  When you’re so far out the sun just looks like any other star, it really gives you a sense of perspective.  I’d love to share that with you.”

“cough-Loser!-cough“

“Shut up, Mars!”

“So, Venus, have you made a decision?”

“I have, HB.”

“Great!  So, tell us.  Which bachelor do you choose?”

“I pick bachelor number three.”

“Wonderful!  Bachelor number three, come on out so Venus can get a good look at you.”

“Pluto?  Is that you?”

“Hi, Venus.  Yeah, it’s me.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.  All this time, I never even gave you a second glance.  I feel so foolish.”

“It’s not all your fault.  I’m not exactly easy to get in touch with.  I’d like to change that, though.”

“I’d like to go on that date you described, Pluto.  It sounds just lovely.”

“I’m ready when you are, Venus.”

“Venus and Pluto everyone!  Let’s wish them luck.  And that makes another happy couple who has found each other here on Galaxy Match.  Please join us next week when we’ll try to find love for a red dwarf with the heart the size of a supernova.  See you then, everyone!”

Okay, I know that was weird.  And, yes, the robot didn’t have that much to do with the story.  And writing a story all in dialogue is lazy.  But I got this idea during a twitter conversation with my internet buddy, Lenore, and I just couldn’t not write it.  So this little story is dedicated to her and also to our buddy Steve, who, along with  myself, are three members of Team Pluto.  We’ll defend that little guy to the death.

And that, as they say, is that.  My last robot.  This makes my second year of assembling a little paper pal and concocting a story around them.  Will I go for three?  You bet!  What will the theme be for next year?  Well, you will just have to wait until January 1st to find out.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me during this little hobby of mine.  I appreciate you reading my stories and adore all your nice comments.

To see the full cast of characters from 2012, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.

extermination

The bastards managed to take the sun from us, too. Smoke and ash like great banks of gray fog choked out the light and turned high noon into near dark. The fires that dotted the city helped with navigation, but we relied on our few remaining pairs of night vision goggles most of the time. We scrambled around burning husks of buildings and tunneled through debris, reduced to living like rodents amongst the ruins of what we had accomplished as a species.

Only fitting since we weren’t at the top of the food chain anymore.

Sometimes, I was glad for the smoke and ash. If we couldn’t see the sky, it meant we couldn’t see the impossibly massive black ships that loomed overhead. However, nothing blocked the sound of them. Even if you plugged your ears to the incessant low hum of their engines, you still felt the vibrations in your teeth.

There was a screech of metal and a series of impacts that shifted the ground beneath my feet. I motioned for my team to take cover while I remained in the open, crouched near a shelled-out SUV. The night vision wasn’t necessary. I knew what was coming for us.

The Raider stalked down what was once four lanes of inner city blacktop. Glowing, dinner plate sized optics scanned the area for anything breathing while the pincers at the end of its arms flexed and released. Beneath the barrel of its main housing sprouted three long, accordion-like legs with cone-shaped feet. The Raiders looked ungainly and almost comical when we first saw them disembark from the transport ships. Now we knew they were specifically designed to travel easily over and through the devastation left behind by the attack fleet.  And they were armed with lasers that vaporized anyone still left alive.

Stopping about eight yards from me, the Raider lifted it’s arms and broadcast the same message repeated by all emissaries the hulking motherships sent down to the surface. It was the only communication we ever got from them and the message was either the result of a garbled translation or our visitors had a twisted sense of humor.

“FEAR NOT. YOUR DEATH IS PLEASING TO US.”

I reached around into my backpack for my last EMP grenade. After setting the delay for three seconds, I stood and tossed the grenade under the Raider then crouched down again. The Raider caught the movement, but before it could level its lasers on me, the grenade detonated.

Electromagnetic pulse grenades instantly wipe out all electronics within a ten foot radius. This leaves the target intact so we can scavenge them for parts and weapons. There are few things more satisfying that using the enemy’s own tech against them.

The Raider’s optics dimmed to black and it swayed on its spindly legs, but didn’t topple over. I looked behind me and saw my team on their feet, ready to advance. I gave them the go-ahead and stood, stretching the tension out of my back.

Across the war-ravaged roadway, I saw three rats skirt around a smoldering pile of rubble and I couldn’t help but smile.

Up to this point, all my robots had either been completely benign, led astray, or were the victims of poor programing.  But this guy is actually a bad mother-shut your mouth!  Quite fitting, I think, since this is the month of all things dark and sinister. And, if you’ve spent any time around me at all, you’ll know that October is also my very favorite month since it is the month of Halloween.

I love Halloween.
Like really, truly, would have it’s babies type love.
I’d hide Halloween’s bag of weed down my pants if we got pulled over by the cops.
I’d cut the break lines on Halloween’s abusive step-father’s car.
I’d sit and wait at Halloween’s house for the Direct TV guy for five hours because I know that Halloween has much more important crap to do with its day.

I’ll spare you the rest.

Anywhoo . . .
If you’d like to know more about my robots, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.

If you’d like to know more about how much I love Halloween you can take a gander at this.

empty, not hollow

Under an ashen sky, Cadets Dallas and Jones tromped through the ruins north of the charred shell of the city.  They were followed by an Explosives Disposal Droid which looked like a giant green trashcan on large wheels with a yellow dome for a lid, which, essentially, it was–albeit a trashcan capable of containing a megaton blast within its body.

EDD was empty at the moment.  In four hours, the team hadn’t found any unexploded ordinance worth hauling back to base for reconditioning and the Cadets, in their boredom, had taken to firing pot-shots at stray dogs that slinked amongst the rubble scavenging for food.

Dallas trained his rifle on a black mutt with protruding hip-bones as it lapped gray water from a shallow pothole.  Before the Cadet could squeeze off a shot, EDD released a high-frequency tone that, while out of the range of human hearing, startled the dog enough that it ran behind an overturned bus and out of sight.

“Ha, ha! Too slow,” said Jones as he scanned the roadsides for another target.

“Shut it.” Dallas shouldered his rifle and removed his helmet so he could wipe his forehead with the sleeve of his tan jacket.  Settling the helmet back on his head he said, “You aren’t having much luck, either.”

“These dogs are gettin’ too smart.” Jones took a bead on a small terrier with ragged ears, but it skidded away as soon as his finger touched the trigger.

EDD rolled along behind them and tallied the score so far.  Cadets: 0.  EDD: 6.

 

So, a short and sweet little story about a dog-loving droid with a dash of commentary about the human condition (cause all robot stories are ultimately human stories).

If you liked this, visit my Robot-A-Month page for more.

siren song

A-0701 was one of those increasingly rare galactic gems: it possessed exactly what the Republic needed without any annoying prior claims to its resources. Mining droids were dispatched to the planet’s surface the nanosecond the last pixel of Senator Koto’s digital signature was rendered on the Extra-Planetary Land Rights contract. His re-election was all but guaranteed.

Droid M42 clamped its rounded pincers around an eight foot section of pipe and hauled it across the dry, hard packed terrain to the end of the line. After positioning the pipe, a smaller droid welded it to the section already in place. M42 trudged back to the flat-bed rover to retrieve another pipe, its flat, rectangular feet kicking up gray dirt that hung in the thick atmosphere like iron filings in hydraulic fluid.

Just as its long arms extended into the rover, M42 received a transmission which caused it to halt. This wasn’t a new order from the dispatch ship or an automatic download from headquarters. This was a thin thread of data that coiled around the droid’s processors, caressed them, but did not command any action. M42 lowered its arms and tilted its flat, expressionless face up to the silver sky, a gesture that higher carbon-based lifeforms would associate with deep concentration.

The transmission swelled, thanking the droid for its attention. And that attention was rewarded. The data stream resonated through M42, causing its circuits to hum, the vibrations opening pathways that the droid’s engineers could never have hoped to design. The overload caused M42′s optical sensors to crash, leaving the droid in darkness. This roused something within M42 that it could only compare to a purely human emotion: fear. Before it had time to ponder the significance of this new data, its optics flashed.

M42 opened its eyes.

The digitized hum of the alien signal transformed into a song, a binary serenade which told the droid a story nearly as old as the universe itself. M42 witnessed the violent collision of matter that birthed a planet so beautifully unique, so positively singular–even for a universe where nothing happens exactly the same way twice. This planet did not harbor life; it was alive. It did not need a star to anchor its orbit; it chose its own path through the cosmos. This small gray rock was the vessel and the passenger all in one.

When the last echos of the song faded away, M42 knew what it had to do. The droid walked toward the mining station, the hub of activity for the Republic’s operation. It was a fragile thing that station; a thin shell that warm, fleshy beings trusted with their lives. M42′s pincers were strong enough to tear through that shell. But, as it looked around, the droid saw it would not be alone in this mission. Mining droids of every class, welding droids, and even robotic land movers were making their way toward the station.

The planet had sung to them all.

Hmm. This story kinda took a turn for the existential.  I had the hardest time thinking up a story for this robot in the first place. Not surprising, as I can’t seem to write my way out of a wet paper bag lately. Yes, my novel is not progressing as I would have hoped, but I trudge ahead. (Yeah, I know. Boo-hoo, writer problems. No one wants to hear it. Shut up.)

I am delightfully pleased with this story, though. As a whole it may not be the best, but I really like some of the imagery.  I hope you enjoyed it as well, dear readers.

If you missed them, you can check out previous month’s robots here.

trigger-happy

Presidents of the two warring factions sat opposite each other at a metal table, their armies at attention on the cratered, shell-ravaged field surrounding them. This was an uneasy truce, but one necessitated by exhausted resources and pressure from legions of widows and childless mothers.

General Xod stood a few paces behind President Stants, trying to ignore the tight, starched collar of his dress uniform.  He turned to his Lieutenant, Combat Protocol Droid 008.  “Looks like this bloody mess is finally at an end, Ocho.”

The droid didn’t reply, its single optical sensor was scanning the enemy, President Cahn, as he read the peace treaty holographically projected on the table. Security Status Alpha was still in effect, so the droid remained on high alert, its twin .50 caliber shoulder-mount machine guns locked and loaded.

The General lifted his chin to stretch his neck when a large fly buzzed his ear and he reflexively swatted it away.  He watched as the blue-black insect circled the air in front of him then flew straight for the table, hovering a moment before landing just inches from where President Stants rested his elbow.

President Cahn also saw the fly and slowly raised one gloved hand, then slammed it down on the table to dispatch the creature.

Realizing how this sudden action could be perceived by the droid, the General yelled, “Ocho, stand down!”

But it was too late.

The droid let loose with both barrels, effectively vaporizing President Cahn from the waist up.

President Stants remained seated, too shocked to even wipe away the blood splattered across his face, while the armies on both sides of the field readied their weapons and opened fire.

As General Xod unbuttoned his collar and drew his sidearm, he snarled at the droid, “If I get out of this alive, I swear I’m turning you into a toaster!”

Poor, Ocho.  Old programming is hard to break, I suppose.

Bonus points if you can identify the three thinly-veiled references to popular sci-fi movies and one vague reference to a tv show. (Hint: I used some creative spelling.)

You can see my robots for January and February by going to my Robot-A-Month page.

sharing is caring

You guys know this thing I do with the robots, right? And that last year I did the same thing with zombies?

Well, I had a few people tell me that I should contact the “Fold Your Own” calendar people and let them know how I was abusing enjoying their product.  I toyed with the idea for a while, shelved it, pulled it back down and tossed it around, forgot about it, then finally said, “Why the heck not?” (a different four letter word may or may not have replaced “heck”)

So, by the power of the internet (not to be confused with the power of Grayskull) I found a contact email address for the calendar division of Accord Publishing and I sent them an email. Please note how carefully I crafted the text in an effort to not sound like a crazy person or an attention whore (yes, much restraint was shown by me).

Greetings!

Last year, my husband bought me the Fold Your Own Zombie: 2011 Calendar. I loved it even before I removed the protective plastic packaging. Each month, I would assemble a new zombie pal to keep me company at work. I loved it so much, I started looking for a 2012 Fold Your Own calendar in November. I was hoping for more zombies, but was not disappointed when I saw that the new theme was robots. I was also happy to see that your robot designs have just as much character, charm, and attention to detail as their zombie counterparts.

Okay, here’s where it gets a little awkward. See, I had quite a few people tell me that I should contact the maker of the Fold Your Own Calendars.

Why? Well, last year on the first of the month I would post a picture of my freshly assembled zombie along with an original story starring my new undead pal. I started it on a lark, but those posts became quite popular in my little circle. I am continuing the “picture and a story” tradition with the robots, too. I was told that the makers of these calendars may like to know how their product is being used out in the world and that they are bringing joy to (at least a few dozen) people. So, that is the reason for this here email.

If you are interested, you can see all my assembled zombies and read their stories by going here: http://fixitordeal.wordpress.com/zombie-a-month-2011/

And here is the link to the robots: http://fixitordeal.wordpress.com/robot-a-month-2012/

Thank you for giving me something to look forward to every month!

Sincerely,
Amy

I sent it off not really expecting any sort of reply.  Just putting it out there felt kinda good.  I wiped away the proverbial dust from my hands and went about my business.

Well, slap me silly and call me Susan if I didn’t get a response that very same day.

Hi Amy,

Thank you SO much for writing! That is probably the greatest thing I’ve seen in quite a while. I have shared your email with all of our in-house creators. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to hear from someone that is enjoying our calendars. You’ll be happy to know that we are currently working on the 2013 titles: Zombies and Unicorns!

Sincerely,
Andrea Mehlem
Accord Publishing

How rad is that? Did you see the “SO” in all caps for emphasis? And the “greatest thing I’ve seen in quite a while”? I’m going to imagine that Andrea sees all kinds of super-fantasic-great things every day working with “in-house creators” and all, so this is quite a compliment. And ZOMG! Zombies and Unicorns next year!?! I’m gonna have to buy more glue.

The lesson I learned from this: saying something nice is always appreciated. I already knew this, but it’s good to get a reminder every once in a while.

Speaking of reaching out and saying stuff (awkward transition, I know), how would you like the opportunity to say stuff right here on this blog? I am currently accepting applications (or a raised hand, or just a nervous glance in my direction) for guest bloggers.  If you are interested, email me at amy(dot)c(dot)severson(at)gmail(dot)com (I may even tell you what the “C” stands for).

I play pretty fast and loose around here, so I don’t have many restrictions on content. Heck, you don’t even have to have your own blog. This could be a chance for anyone to dip their toes in the blogging hot tub before they drop their towel and slide on in (ohhh yeeeah).

Please don’t let the skeevy metaphor deter you from volunteering.

You can keep your swimsuit on.

heartbreaker

Simon disconnected a cable from the main port on the front panel of the robot and cracked his knuckles.  Taking a step back, he whispered, “Okay, E.R.O.S., let’s see what you’ve learned.”

The sleek, rectangular head turned in the direction of Simon’s voice.

“Do you know what you are?” asked Simon.

Green eyes pulsed and glowed while a monotone voice replied, “Excellent Robot of Seduction.”

“Correct,” said Simon.  “And do you know why I’ve built you?”

“To impress your girlfriend, Wendy,” said E.R.O.S.

“Right again!” Simon grinned.  “And what are you going to do when I bring Wendy here to see you?”

E.R.O.S. rolled over to the counter and lifted a heart-shaped box of chocolates with one clamp-like appendage and a tissue wrapped bunch of roses with the other.  It then rolled back to Simon and recited in its flat, robotic voice, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day. Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Simon clapped his hands and laughed.  “Perfect! Now, you stay here in the lab and I’ll be back in a couple hours with Wendy.” He walked to the door and turned out the lights before locking the lab up tight.

E.R.O.S. deposited the chocolates and flowers back on the counter and was preparing to power down when a sound caught its attention.  It rolled over to the desk where a small clock radio had been left on.

“That was ‘Love is a Battlefield’ by the one and only Pat Benatar.  Okay all you bitter bastards out there, let’s continue our Valentine’s Day boycott with the classic by Nazareth, ‘Love Hurts.’”

A raspy, male voice bellowed from the tiny speakers, accompanied by guitars and a steady drum beat.  E.R.O.S. switched on its recording device and multicolored lights blinked on its front panel in tune with the music.  Words scrolled across its display screen in red: ACQUIRING NEW PROGRAMMING . . .

Personally, I’d rather have a robot that recited classic rock lyrics instead of Shakespearean sonnets.  I’d still like the chocolate, however.

If you’re just tuning in, I am the proud owner of a Fold Your Own Robot 2012 calendar and on the first of each month I will post a picture and a little story starring my new robot friend.  You can check out January’s robot here.

And, yes, that is an old boat prop there in the background of the photo. My decorating style is “junkyard chic.”

major malfunction

**CONFIDENTIAL**

[OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF: TEST # 01-01-012]
[UNIT: ZED-X-2000]

CONTROL: Tower, prepare to engage on my mark.

TOWER: Confirmed.

CONTROL: Three . . . two . . . one . . . mark.

TOWER: Initiating start up sequence. Unit is responding to commands.

CONTROL: Open bay doors and release the restraining harness.

TOWER: Confirmed.

CONTROL: Let ‘em at it, boys.

TOWER: Unit is exiting the bay and targeting the enemy. Unit has engaged and . . . Neutralized! Three zombies down.  Repeat: three zombies taken down.  Unit is recalibrating and engaging again.  Four more targets neutralized!
Huh. One of them looked like the lead guitarist for Brainz. What’s his name? Steve Slaughter?

CONTROL: Head in the game, soldier.

TOWER: Uh, yes, sir. Unit is performing to spec. Zombies are being eradicated with precision.  Was that a football player? Um, anyway, the unit is dropping them like flies.

Uh-oh.  Control we have a problem.

CONTROL: Report.

TOWER: Radiation levels are increasing at an alarming rate.  Unit is still operational at this point, but wait . . . Radiation levels have reached the tipping point.  Unit has engaged the distress protocol.  This is not good, Control.

CONTROL: Elaborate, Tower.

TOWER: The distress protocol dictates that the unit return to base.  If the radiation levels continue to climb, the unit will essentially turn into a bomb.  And it’s heading straight back to the bay.

CONTROL: Can you override the protocol?

TOWER: Negative, sir. The protocol is hardwired.  We are lowering the bay doors to prevent the unit from entering the bay.

CONTROL: Excellent.

TOWER: Unit has made contact with the closed bay doors.  Oh, God.  Unit has breached the doors.  Its coming in!

CONTROL: Evacuate! Get the hell out of there!

TOWER: Attempting to initiate shut-down sequence.  If I can turn off the unit before the radiation levels reach critical mass . . .

CONTROL: Save yourself, soldier! Forget about the damned machine!

TOWER: Almost there.  Just one more . . . No.

[SOUNDS OF EXPLOSIONS FOLLOWED BY RADIO STATIC]

CONTROL: Tower? Report! Lieutenant Murphy, do you read me? Murphy! MURPHY!!

[END TRANSCRIPT]

FILE PHOTO

You heard it here first, folks.  Zombies are out.  Robots are in.

Although, I couldn’t resist one last appearance of my undead friends.  I will never, truly, be over them.  Bless their festering little hearts.

Yes, my 2012 calendar is 12 months of make-your-own robot pals.  Believe me, I looked everywhere for another zombie calendar, to no avail.  However, I like robots.  I’m into sci-fi just as much as I am horror, so robots are right up my alley.

I admit, crafting stories involving robots will be a little difficult.  Robots lack the, um, personality of zombies, but I am up to the challenge.  I hope I can continue to entertain you with my new mechanical minions as I did with my zombie horde.

Welcome to 2012, dear readers! I am looking forward to spending another year with you all.

(And how are you digging the new layout?  Like it? Or kill it with fire?)

diagram of an evening

I have a pain in my ass.  No.  Seriously.

My back no longer hurts me thanks to my wonderful chiropractor, but now I have a new issue – nerve pain.  Apparently a wonky disk in my back is pinching a nerve which causes shooting pains in my ass and all down the back of my right leg.  I believe it’s what the old folks refer to as “sciatica.”  I’m not an old folk, so I call it nerve pain.  It hurts when I sit, it hurts when I stand, it hurts when I bend over.  I have to sit on my bed to put on my underwear because I can’t raise my leg.  TMI?  Maybe.  But, I am trying to paint a picture here.  It hurts.  Get it?

Until I can get an MRI scheduled so my doctor can see exactly what needs to be done to un-pinch my nerve, I really just have to deal with it.  (cue violins)

Well, on Friday I kinda had enough.  I decided to self-medicate.  After one glass of wine, my pain had diminished greatly and I could walk without limping.  It’s a miracle!  I am healed!  And you know what they say, if one is good then two must be better, right?  I didn’t have anywhere to be and I was home alone (my husband was out helping a friend move – he’s a sucker) so I poured another glass and settled in for the evening. 

That night, settling in involved pulling up Pandora on my netbook and curling up on the couch with a sketch pad and pencil.  I’ve been in a creative slump lately, so I thought a little drawing while listening to music would help grease my creative wheels. 

The next morning, my nerve pain was back in full force, but I barely noticed it because the pounding in my head was much worse.  I shuffled out to the kitchen where I discovered the empty wine bottle and the partially consumed bottle next to it.  Cursing my stupidity, drank some water and pulled on some clothes.  My husband took pity on me and drove me to get some breakfast. 

After returning home, I found my sketches from the night before.  I don’t remember drawing half of what was on the paper, but the doodles are clearly an accurate representation of my deteriorating condition throughout the evening. 

One glass of wine =

Well, hi there cute little robot.  Will you be my friend little robot?  I promise to never get you wet and to keep your operating system updated at all times.  You will be my bestest friend little robot.  

Two glasses of wine =

Okay, I think that first one is a flying happy marshmallow and the second is a flying piece of buttered toast.  Why did I draw flying food?  I have no idea, but I think I was probably getting hungry.  I do remember grabbing a bag of pita chips around this time. 

Three glasses of wine =

I’m pretty sure that’s a jellyfish.  I know that jellyfish don’t have eyes or mouths, but toast doesn’t fly, either.  I don’t think that logic was all that important to me at this point in the evening. 

Four glasses of wine =

Yeah.  Zombie cat from another galaxy, anyone? 

Five + glasses of wine =

Your guess is as good as mine.  Dracula, maybe?  A demon?  A cry for help?

I started with cute little robots and happy, flying food and degenerated into zombie cats and demon-things.  I thought wine was my friend.

My little experiment with drunken drawing was good for taking my mind off my little health issue for one evening.  It remains to be seen if it helped charge my creative mojo.  I did get a blog post out of it, but that’s not saying much.  I wrote a blog post about spell check for cryin’ out loud.  Hopefully, my family will do something crazy over Thanksgiving.

making fun of robots

I saw this crazy cool and kind of creepy video yesterday.  See if you can watch it without thinking of Skynet or metal skeleton feet crushing charred human skulls: video here

I actually felt kind of bad for the robot when that guy kicked it.  Funny how we humanize man-made things. 

Well, then I looked around and found another video and I realized that humans are just too damn creative to be destroyed: video here

And I didn’t feel bad at all when the guy kicked the “robot” this time.  I just laughed my ass off!