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The robots are after me!
The robots were after me again today.
Of course, they pretend to be children,
but I'm on to their little secret.
When I see one of them on the street
I throw them to the ground <whump>
and smash their little heads against
the pavement <smak> <smak> <smak>
until <kinsch> they <krunch> break
open. I haven't been wrong yet;
they were robots, every last one of them.
They get their orders through the television.
No, not when it's turned on. That would be
much too simple. All too obvious.
'Ever notice how strangely "children" act
when they're around a TV that *isn't* turned
on? They run around. They get into trouble.
They break things. They SPY and REPORT to their
inhuman MASTERS. But, just turn on the television,
and the little android terrors stop right in
their tracks. Yessir, they sit down quietly and
stare at the flickering screen, drooling a bit
every now and then. That wonderful tube is the
only sure protection we have, while it's on, that is.
Turn it off, and its the instrument of our demise.
So, they're after me now. I know about their
weakness. They grab at me with their wet, sticky
hands. They cry. They shriek. They spit. They
run and tell their "parents" about me.
But I'm safe. I've got a little pocket TV;
I carry it with me all the time. I wave it
in their wretched pink fiberglass faces and
laugh.
And I don't ever turn it off.
mister X
whups <krinch> another one
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