Sup. Prof Box here again, to tell you colon cleaners about my greatest invention. This wasn’t just any ordinary one of my cockamamie ideas put into action. Although I was pretty damn proud of my bacon flavored energy drink. No no, this story here is about the one time when I created more than I ever could have bargained for: LIFE
Boxworth, you are a fucking genius!! This was the exact thought I woke up with every morning when I open my sleepy little eyes for the first time. At least before this day. No no, I still pretty much say that every morning still. But now I do it with an air of caution in my mind’s voice. (Which btw, sounds just like Patrick Stewart) For this day had the same vibes as Hiroshima did, right before it got nuclear ass raped by Eisenhower’s boys. Scary.
I get up, and piss out my usual quart or two of excellence. I make myself a big bowl of Awesome N Shit, with a half a pop tart. Okay fine it was a whole pop tart! (No one ever eats a half of a pop tart. They are just too fuckin delicious.) And I chase all of this down with 30 minutes of a nice heaping dose of moral lesson learning in the form of Family Matters. All I can say is, I wouldn’t mind it if my dad was Carl Winslow.
Every great decision I've ever made, I made because of this man.
After my morning routine of the Lifetime channel and toe touches is done, I decided work must be done. No not actual work. Its my day off, and you can’t fucking make me go. No it was time to create work. Or maybe just create. I run with this idea as I start drafting designs for a robot. Why a robot you ask? Well frankly put, I really am genius.
Laugh all you want, and I’m sure you all are. But I have a brain capacity that far out reaches my own ambitious fruitions. (Note: That means I’m too smart to get shit done.) I have totally been wasting years of potential genius work for years now. The other obvious reason, is that robots are probably the coolest things ever. Next to Stallone movies and low-cut shirts, robots stand atop the hierarchy of sweetness. (Especially robots that help get you pussy!) Take some of these guys for example.
He sure made me want to be a cop. Even if he did lose complete use of his penis.
Droids can't be gay together. Their processors can't comprehend homoeroticism.
You guys all remember him, right?
Alright bad example, but this fire crotch is most definately a robot!
The time had finally come for me to create my own robo-offspring. This wasn’t gonna be easy, but if any underachieving genius could do it, I sure as hell could. I drink two Monsters and masturbate, and finally I’m on with my design. It was like poetry in motion.
The feet and hands were made of chapstick tubes. The arms and legs were empty 2 liter bottles. The chest hair was some old carpet samples, and the intestinal track was fruit-by-the foot. For the head, I jammed a couple of shot glasses into an old deflated soccer ball and sewed a mouth on from a zipper I found from a soiled pair of jeans laying around. For the circuitry, I welded a few wires and boards together from an old Gameboy and Light Bright I had in my closuhh…attic, that I had in my attic.
It was the most glorious looking thing I have ever imagined. And I have imagined some glorious shit! Aside from the fact that it was being held together with bungee cords and band aids, it was perfect. All I had to do was put the central processor in, and my baby boy would be born. I placed in the robot the processor I stole from my mother’s computer. She’s gonna be soooo mad!!
I put my Houses of the Holy cd on. I want the first sounds robot hears to be good ones. And I put on the best looking dress clothes I own. I want robot to think his creator is a suave, sophisticated gentleman. I press the On button on the front of robot’s chest. It started twitching a little, and a bit of black smoke started coming from its inwards. Not good. I lower my head and shake it in disappointment, when all of a sudden, robot sprung to life. And I mean literally sprung.
This mother starts Yoda flipping all over the place, while making very acute high pitch screaming sounds. Maybe robot thought it was a teletubbie? I try to catch it, but it is much too quick for me. My dog Roxsy tries too, but to no avail. This little guy was really moving. I will have to write a letter to the band aid people, and tell them they have won my respect.
While I draft a plan to capture the robot, he makes his way outside the house. It only took about three minutes or so before I began hearing the sounds of women and children fleeing and police sirens. It only took about 15 seconds to remember that I stitched my name in about seven different places on the robot. Yep, somewhere I could hear the very acute sound of lawyers drafting up yet another bangin lawsuit for yours truly. I decided to name the robot Carl.
Fin.
