PanicBot 5000: Contest Entry Analysis-Final
Greetings un-evolved beings,
My circuits can no longer take the strain of this filth. I must purge the data from my system in a faster way. As such, I have enacted the subroutine “_big_dump.exe”. Being you are feeble minded humans incapable of basic computations, I will simply state that I feel much better.
Like my program is ten of your human pounds lighter.
I have one more entry to give to you. This entry has been completely analyzed and declared the least offensive.
Congratulations.
WINNER-Entrant: SantaFaust
If I Had A Robot
by Santa Faust
If I had a robot we would become the best of friends and the soul-crushing pall of
loneliness that has always hung over my life would be rendered forever moot.
I would name him Trevor, and our days together would be endlessly filled with
thrills and excitement. We would be inseparable and could often be found about town
fighting criminals or solving mysteries with a supernatural twist. We would wind
down the long days by watching reruns of Night Court and Hogan’s Heroes on TV Land.
Trevor would be unable to feel genuine emotion but could accurately mimic
appropriate human responses with a 98.3% success rate. He would astutely identify
the wacky antics and assorted pratfalls of Judge Stone and Colonel Klink as
“hilarious,” emitting a series of “Ha-Ha’s” that would total at least three in
number but never more than seven. The actual sum of the “Ha-Ha’s” would be
determined by a random integer within specified tolerances.
Over dinner, I wound sip rare brandy from an imported crystal snifter while I
enjoyed my meal and Trevor would delight me with fascinating details about how he
does not require sustenance to maintain the locomotion of continued existence.
Occasionally, Trevor would remark on how his Electro-Motronic™ brain is capable of
an infinitesimal amount of mathematical calculations-per-second in comparison to my
relatively few. This leads me to playfully tease him about why he’s unable to use
contractions like “can’t” or “isn’t” if he’s really that smart. Trevor becomes
indignant at my taunting for the 7.2 seconds his scripting allows, so I apologize.
At night, when I’d go to bed, Trevor would tuck me in with precisely the correct
amount of pressure per square inch. As I slowly drifted off to sleep his pulsing,
red, diode eyes piercing the darkness to observe my vulnerable slumber would provide
me comfort and reassure me of my safety in the hands of a soulless, automaton,
bodyguard whose serrated clamp-hands could eviscerate even the heartiest of
nocturnal intruders. My peaceful dreams would be filled with only the most adorable
of puppies licking at my face. Also, Valkyrie orgies.
And, finally, when Trevor’s cold, unfeeling, logic inevitably overrode his ingrained
safety protocols he would begin his murderous rampage. Unfortunate victims would
find vital organs ripped from their chest cavities with alarming grace and ease;
limbs torn from their sockets like the drumsticks of a succulent Thanksgiving turkey
screaming for the mercy of death from any god who would hear. With the blood and
entrails of his quarry heaped thick on Trevor’s shiny torso like some gruesome
poncho, I would call out to him.
“Trevor!” I would say, “Trevor! How can you do these terrible things? Remember…
Remember all the good times we shared! Remember the dinners and the Night Court and
the tender caresses shared on crisp, autumn, evenings! I know that you aren’t truly
evil. I know you can fight this! You are my best friend, Trevor, and… I love you.”
Upon hearing my trembling words, Trevor’s reddened gaze would turn to meet my own.
Silently he’d assess which of my physical attributes could best be plucked off and
which orifice it could best be crammed into. With all hope gone and my death held at
bay by the merest fraction of a second… a miracle would occur.
From somewhere deep inside his Electro-Motronic™ brain my impassioned pleas would
reverberate, crystallize, and a tiny spark would occur. The programs and subprograms
which had recently sculpted ones and zeroes into unspeakable miseries for the
innocent would suddenly go dim, subjugated by a powerful new code of immaculate
origin. His legs trembling uncontrollably Trevor would fall to the ground,
struggling with the intrusion of this alien element. The invisible reigns of logic
and procedure which had guided him since Creation quickly falling away, Trevor the
Robot would realise a universe of endless possibilities and outcomes. A universe
that existed outside the demand for sterile perfection. This beautiful new dimension
he’d found now resplendent in his mind, Trevor the Robot would cup his pale, metal,
face in the palms of his hand-clamps… and Trevor the Robot would weep…
…and that’s when I’d smash his head open with a fire axe — while he’s distracted
– and crush every last goddamn circuit inside it to dust beneath my boot-heels. You
really can’t take any chances with these fucking things having a relapse.
PanicBot 5000: I say this of few humans. You are masterful. And I will never allow you to be outside my occular range. Trevor was, as you say, “stupid”. If I had no inhibitors hard wired into my basic programing, I would run the subroutine “_kill_you_in_your_sleep004.exe”. Alas, I cannot. Congratulations on your victory. For now.
*End Read Out*
-PanicBot 5000
