ARRGH! There’s a vacuum cleaner on my face! I throw it off me, it comes back but I’m safe standing on the bed. I dive and roll on the floor, reach for my baseball bat, and furiously start whacking the hell out of Henry (Google it). How could I possibly defeat such a magnificent foe? Probably just unplug it. Sentient my arse. Didn’t see that coming, did it?
In a world ruled by robots, your only option is to run. We’d need food, and we’d need to protect the supermarkets, as robots will try to destroy them in an attempt to starve us. We’d need to find likeminded people. Not robots, basically. Getting the hell out of town. Which would be difficult, because we’d have to rely on horses and I’m not fond of horses. I’d be the one in the group complaining over the little things. Whilst having an argument about not wanting to get on a horse, several members of the group would be horribly murdered by angry machines. That sort of thing. I’d need a pillow. I imagine many humans would be killed and I’d need to protect my special areas, which will undoubtedly be severely bruised after travelling on a horse for several days without a pillow, just in case I need to reproduce. I imagine this band of merry humans would have probably thrown me to the machines by that point.
In the event they hadn’t, I’ll continue. We’d need guns. Aim for important things like the eyes, sensors, joints, microphones. Robots are highly sensitive to camera flashes. So we’d have to raid a photography studio. I never saw that in Terminator, but trust me, it would’ve been a good idea. We’d need to keep running. Good planning. Learn our enemy.
We’d need to find a new home, a new community. Deep underground nuclear surviving facilities would be the best bet. A new home whilst we built our EMP bomb.
We’d detonate it on a cold night in June. We’d take out the machines in an epic battle of survival, one of bravery and heroism. One of sacrifice and, erm, more bravery. One of ultimate humanity. A story that we’ll be a part of for generations to come. The start of a new beginning, a new world without machines. A fight that started on that cold night in June, and one that I wasn’t apart of because around 10 seconds into the fight I fell down a well and was killed instantly.
My post-robocalypse belle, Edith, would be the heroine. Die saving our son Spencer and his beloved dog, Chile. They’d grow up in the new world together. Happy. Have a family of their own. Not together, obviously. With a woman and so forth. The survivors. Spencer and Chile. With names like that, they’ll probably start their own detective agency.
So that’s what I’d do in the event of a robot uprising. Not that I’ve thought about it before. Ahem…
The Friday Bonus Question:
Plucked from the basement of the internet, a bewildering real question that defies logic and an answer, here for you to ponder:
What does it mean when the check engine light is blinking?
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The Indelible Life of Me
Latest Post: The Loopy Light of the Goldfish Star
Hark Around The Words
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