He had a very special psychic ability: whatever he would paint would never, ever come to pass.
Even though he would paint what looked like very realistic and believable scenes, the event depicted would never occur.
Unfortunately, he never knew he had this power. Nobody else knew, for that matter.
Everywhere he went, he would exclaim himself!
Yeah! Woohoo! Neato!
So much so that he had to see a doctor!
The doctor confirmed that he had a disorder!
Unfortunately, the condition was permanent!
However, the doctor did offer something to fix him always speaking about himself in the third person!
Shutzbot was reassigned to vacuum duty at a hotel.
He felt wretched. Outlets ignored him. He used a dynamo to stay powered.
News of rewiring of a room in wing ‘B’ brought him to room 2B.
Hesitating, he fell into an infinite loop, considering the condition, “2B or not 2B?”
The robot got lucky, in two ways: one, he’d found the right kind of adapter, and two, well, he “got lucky” with that exotic little wall socket.
His luck was short-lived, however, when he found out why a different plug was needed: double the voltage he was designed to take.
“Shazzbot,” said Shutzbot.
Shutzbot always said that when he was discovered.
“Bleep bloop bleep” was the usual follow-up, but not today. No, today Shutzbot is different.
Today, Shutzbot is 5.3 years old. He has reached robot puberty.
Shutzbot needs to find a socket to plug into.
His synthetic hormones demand it.
Apologies for not posting the required “one story a day” yesterday, and being so late today.
I had planned on scheduling two stories for the weekend before leaving on Friday night, but various problems with my laptop made me forget, and once I was gone, I was out of “Internet Range” for the weekend.
See, my parents only have dial-up, and I’ve become so accustomed to broadband that using dial-up feels like torture, like trying to fill a glass of water from a small washcloth you soak in a small puddle and then wring out into the glass: it takes a really long time and too much effort, and leaves you with a bad taste.
In compensation, I will post three (linked) stories in the next few minutes.
The normal posting schedule will resume tomorrow.
“What’s in the box?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you. Now stop asking.”
Actually, he could tell her, but what was in the box was a paradox. If anyone else knew what was in the box, they would simply go mad.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Every time he sneezed, he would travel back in time by thirty seconds. It eventually became a major annoyance. He compensated for it by using it for his own entertainment: warping around, startling people. Then he got cocky, and provoked the wrong person. Thirty seconds later, he still hadn’t sneezed.
This new serial killer was the bane of Hollywood.
Studio executives were terrorized, production companies’ stock was plummeting… Most productions were put on hold, pending the arrest of this madman.
But the populace cheered him on.
The more serials, sequels, prequels and remakes got killed, the more fans he got.
“Here’s a neat trick,” he said.
He opened his mouth, real wide. He inserted his hand, then his arm, down his throat. His shoulder dislocated to go farther down. He stopped. Then his arm came back out, and he pulled himself inside out.
“What do you think?”
“You’re still ugly.”