From: friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark "Crimson" Friedman)
Subject: It's Just a Show: Did someone say servos? [part 01/01]
Originator: friedman@adena.cis.ohio-state.edu
Organization: NAIVE - New And Improved Virtual Environment
Date: Fri, 14 Aug 1992 02:22:44 GMT

In the not too distant future: next Sunday, A.D...

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	Not at all unlike the opening line of many a popular joke of
the day, two robots walked into a bar.  In this particular instance,
the bar happened to be an establishment called "Chatsubo".

	One of the robots was a spindly yellowish creation, about
stomach-high to a human, and almost bird-like with it's large beakish
mouth.  On its head was some kind of rigid wire netting, possibly
antenne of a sort, and in its head two beady, spherical eyeballs
danced around.  Its lanky legs had propelled it to a bar stool, and
the thin arms managed to lift its companion up on to the bartop with a
great deal of effort.

	This other robot was a squat, knee-high, husky unit that
seemed to be supported on what appeared to be a hoverskirt.  Its main
body was colored fire-engine red.  Two seemingly vestigial arms stuck
out from the cylindrical barrel of a torso.  The head was a particular
peculiarity: the silver jaws of the mouth worked similar to those of a
crescent-wrench, and the "skull" was a simple glass sphere topped with
a little red disk.

	Ratz waved the junior bartender off and decided to serve the
two curiosities himself.  "What can I get for you two?"

	"You know how to make a Killer Shrew?"  the bird-bot replied.
Ratz shook his head in the negative.  "I'll have a splunkie, then.
Mango."

	"And a creme splunkie for myself, sir," the husky one added.

	The bartender shrugged: he didn't get much call for fast food
refreshments (let alone non-alcoholic ones), but he happened to have
adequate ingredients on hand and was incredibly intrigued by the
automatons.  "Two splunkies, one creme one mango, coming up."  He
shook his head in amusement as he started mixing them.  "So, what's
your story, fellas?  Everyone has a story in here, and I suppose two
bodily AIs could tell quite the tale..."

	"Well, I'm glad you asked!" the red robot said.

	The other continued, "We were made to watch bad movies with
our creator, who was subjected to cruel experiments by two mad
scientists.  It's all in the name of science, of course."

	And back to the first bot.  "You see, they'd send him cheesy
movies, the worst they could find.  And then he'd have to sit and
watch them all and they'd monitor his mind."

	Ratz nodded, unsure of whether to believe it.  "So where did
this all take place?"

	"Up in the Satellite of Love!  We were trapped up in an
orbiting capsule for a long time.  Take it, Tom!"

	"Thanks, Crow," the husky bot replied and then addressed Ratz,
"You see, our friend and creator, Joel Robinson, worked at Gizmonic
Institute as a sanitation engineer: just another face in a red
jumpsuit.  He did a good job cleaning up the place, but for some
unknown reason his bosses, the afforementioned mad scientists, didn't
like him so they shot him into space."
	
	Ratz shook his head.  "Harsh realm."  He pushed the splunkies
forward, complete with bendy-straws.  "So what ever happened to this
Joel?"

	Tom said, "Well, people would wonder about how he ate and
breathed and other science facts.  But he'd just tell people that they
should really just relax and that he'd be okay."

	"But he eventually died," Crow mumbled.

	The bartender frowned.  "Sorry for bringing it up."

	"No, that's okay.  He was only human, and he was pretty old
when it happened.  The air recycler on the ship went bad, so he
eventually ran out of oxygen."

	"Actually, he took it quite well, since he knew it was going
to happen," Tom talked while looking off into nothingness (as far as
an onlooker could determine on a creature with no visible eyes).
"It's kinda funny how he joked up until the very end.  Even his 'last
words' were hillarious!  Do it, Crow, with the voice..."

	Crow posed dramatically and recited in a raspy voice, "By this
time my lungs were *aching* for air!"  He bowed and then took a large
slurp from his splunkie.

	Ratz shook his head and shrugged, "I don't get it."

	Tom nodded. "Guess you had to be there.  It's sort of an
inside joke and all.  It's a Lloyd Bridges quote, old twentieth
century actor.  We've become quite the experts on pre-2000 2-d visual
entertainment media."  He took his turn slurping his own splunkie.

	His pal took up the conversation.  "That's why we're in town.
Some entertainment execs want to shoot a turn of the century film
retrospective and we've been called in to help."

	"So you're autonomous now?  Turing lets you do whatever you
want?"  Ratz was puzzled.

	"Oh, yeah!" Tom piped out.  "Joel programmed us with Freewill
and all, and we dated from way back before Turing even existed, so
we're not under their jurisdiction."

	"And now we work as consultants and trideo critics.  First
Joel died, and then the head mad scientist, Dr. Clayton Forrester,
passed away from old age.  Finally, his flunky, Frank, brought us down
to Earth and let us go when Gizmonic went under.  Not a bad guy for a
mad scientist, eh Tom?"

	"Yup."

	Ratz chuckled.  "That's one of the *best* stories I've ever
heard, guys.  Thanks for telling me."

	Crow nodded, "Hey, we were literally *made* to talk!"  He
noticed a group of Lonny's girls walk by and called out after them,
"Come on--keep 'em comin'!  Monkey love pile on me!"

	"It's spankin' time!"  Tom looked up at a clock, "Oh, the
chronometer on the wall says we gotta go, Crow."  He spoke to the
crowd, waving his little arms, "Good night, everybody!  Enjoy the
buffet!"

	Ratz walked around the bar and placed Tom back on the floor.
"Splunkies are on the house.  Just come back and tell me another story
some time, okay?"  He smiled broadly.

	"Certainly!  We'll be in touch."  Crow saluted and made
towards the door with Tom.

	On the way out Tom overheard a snippet of conversation from a
group of people standing around a large exo-suit and called out, "Did
someone say servos?  That's my name, don't wear it out!  Tom Servo's
the name, bein' cool's the game..."

	"Yeah, and Jerry Mathers as the Beaver!" Crow wisecracked.
The two exited the bar and looked around the street.  "Hey, maybe we
can stop at a Stuckey's and get a salted nut roll!"

	"Ooooh!  I *love* those things!"

=====================================================================

Crow, Tom Servo, and the lot belong to Best Brains, Inc., but I really
don't think they'll mind...  :-)

Comments welcome to the address in the sig.

						- Crimson

-- 
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former   "Beat poets,    "If you put a hungry ferret in your
 about King Crimson."       not children."  trousers, he'll run around..."
 - Robert Fripp, 5/11/90    - anonymous     - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)