Proof That Robots Rule the World

Well, at least Dan’s world. And because I am partially in Dan’s world (like right now, for example, because we are in the same room and semi-coversating with one another) I would be considered a part of his world. And all of you who have ever been a part of my world are also considered to be a part of Dan’s world, because you make up part of my world which makes up part of Dan’s world. In other words, we are all inter-partially connected to Dan and his world.

Dan, the know-it-all-roommate (to find out what I mean by know-it-all, please refer to the Oct. 29 post of 2008 entitled Make Like a Banana… ) was once a carefree, innocent boy. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. He slept late, ate a lot of fast food, and played table tennis at least 3 times a week. Dan was happy.

One day, a package arrived at his door. “Where did this come from?” laughed the hot-haired Dan. The package was more than small, and contained quite the surprise.

Little did he know that the surprise was an evil, manipulating, 21st centurion ping pong robot sent to rule the world. His name: Robo-pong.

So, Dan, still clueless, set up Robo-pong in the basement of a nearby apartment complex, Miller. After 15 minutes of pure jubilation, Dan was hooked. Like a kid with crack, or a junkie with candy (hmmm… or is it the other way around?), Dan was no longer his own man. He was the man of an evil, manipulating, 21st centurion ping pong robot named Robo-pong that was sent to rule the world.

Dan, thinking of Robo-pong as a means to end (that ‘end’ being Ping Pong Perfection), rather than an endlessly, mean tyrant, continued to serve him and care for him. Nearly every day, Dan would set him up on the end of a ping pong table, make sure he had his safety net, and feed him ping pong balls for hours on end. (Robo-pong especially likes the orange ones. They taste like burning.) Endearing feelings for Robo-pong increased. Dan was elated.
Then, on a crisp, autumn afternoon, Robo-pong felt Dan’s attentions were drifting. One Stephanie, two Stephanies, maybe even a third… “Something must be done,” snickered Robo-pong.

He referred to his copy the coveted New York Time’s Bestseller, How to Rule the World: a handbook for evil, manipulating, 21st centurion ping pong robots sent to rule the world. (For any of you who have dictator/tyrannical robots at home, Christmas is coming up and this is a great gift for any robot searching for ways to enslave the human race and destroy your life! Only $19.95 at Amazon.com. Get it today!) For the next several days, Robo-pong tried every suggestion in the book: backspin, topspin, sidespin, oscillation, and even rapid fire. He knew time was running out. So he made Dan buy him his own table (ten dollars on Craigslist).

Dan, still in a state of oblivion, asked me to help him transport the table. After a short consultation with Prime (to find out who Prime is, please refer to the Nov. 2, 2008 post entitled, Robots in Disguise.) I decided I would help him. The poor sap was nearly at wits end. (Well, not really. But for the sake of the story…) Tears were in his eyes. There was a slight shakiness to his voice.

I helped Dan negotiate the price. (It was listed at $10 on Craigslist, we wouldn’t pay a penny less.) I helped dust and sand and smooth. I even helped find a place in our house for Robo-pong’s new ‘throne’.
I’ll admit, I knew Robo-pong was an evil, manipulating, 21st centurion ping pong robot sent to rule the world from the start (some robots just have that vibe), and that Dan was in grave danger for his life, but I was extremely fascinated by the whole situation. And I was kinda curious to see where it was all going. Would Dan find out that he was being brainwashed? Would Dan snap and go crazy and kill me, thinking I was Robo-pong’s sidekick?

Would Dan… “Oh, hey Dan! Back from the store? I’m almost finished with my new post. It’s kinda about you. … Why are you breathing so heavy? Did you go skating? … Why do you have that extra vein popping from your forehead? You usually only get that when you’re really upset. …

“What are you doing running at me with that extremely large, sharp looking war scythe… ….”

Robots in Disguise

Someone once asked me: What’s the name of your truck? At first, I was a little confused. At second, I was still scratching my head. But somewhere in between second and third someone explained it to me. ‘Sometimes people give their car a name. Kind of as a describer.’ Now, I don’t know when my friends and I started to do this… but now that I’ve long crossed home plate, it’s out of control. (I really don’t know why I used the ‘Rounding the Bases’ metaphor. It really has no place in this subject matter. But it makes me sound like a freaking genius.)

Whitey is a white Ford Aerostar, once owned by my parents, currently owned by my cousin Willie. Brownie is a big, brown, 1 ½ ton Chevy pickup, known for its gas guzzling and ,‘smooth’ ride. Then there’s Rusty, Sunny, The Rollerskate, The Ranger, The Smurfmobile, and Optimus Prime.

Now, Opti (or if you prefer, Prime) is my Nissan Frontier. Named long before the current Transformers movie, he has battled beyond his years without any major wounds or injuries. (I even have an Optimus Prime Tranformer inside Optimus Prime. Thanks Bret and Emily.) He gets washed every once in a while and has a sweet, custom made, hardshell tanu cover. (Thanks Bret and myself.)

But this makes me think: If we give our vehicles names, and coddle them, and buy them stuff (basically treat them as we would a girlfriend or boyfriend, or a pet), do they eventually take on those personality traits we make up for them? I argue that Yes, yes they do. And in a way, though lifeless and innate objects, they become an idea of life and nate-ness. (What did I just say?) Kind of like robots. (Scraps of metal and plastic molded together into some odd shape, you put a spark to them and all of a sudden they have some sort of purpose or design. Some move and act like humans, actually… we make them to move and act like humans so we don’t have to move and act like humans. We’re lazy.)

When I think of Robots, my mind is automatically drawn to R2D2 and C3P0. They are the future of robots. (Yes, even though Star Wars was made in the 80’s, it takes place in the future.) They are the stereotype for robots. And I disapprove. Now, I’m not exactly sure what ‘future us’ is thinking by making robots that have limited mobility. We are idiots! Future us needs to take a note to make more agile, street smart robots. (In other words, everything C3P0 is not. My robot will have rocket jet packs and have the exact physical abilities of Bruce Lee.)

Robots are supposedly smart. But R2D2 can’t even speak English. C3P0 has to translate everything he says. What if C3P0 gets lightsabered? Then what, R2? You’ll beep yourself crazy! Plus, humans do the programming. And in C3P0’s case, a little kid by the name of Anakin. To me, a smart robot would be able to build and program other robots. (I’ll get back to this in a sec)

Robots have lame names. Ex: R2D2 and C3P0. Remember, C3P0 was made by a kid. What about naming him Steve or Larry? I would have even accepted something as childish and simple as Rob. Rob the Robot. Why? Because we want the robots (now an army of self multiplication) to feel like one of the guys, a member of the gang, part of the fam. If we don’t, Rob and his Robo Buddies will kill us all.