Saturday, March 15, 2008

Roboland, USA - Part Two

Lo, it was again the time of the morning that the event, and the action, and the actions did begin; but again, this author was not there. For though he had recieved special dispensation for the sin of not being elsewhere, and instead being there, he could not go, for his Brother, the protagonist of this tale, did slumber, and lie in repose, and generally sleep, all through the hours, until he did awaken, at which point he did delay, and pause, and refuse to make haste, until at last he made ready to go, and he and this author did depart, at last, for the land of the Machine Men.

(Not these machine men. They're cooler. But one makes do with what one has.)

Lo, it is true that in that land, there was again a Shrub, which was photo-graphed, for on that day this author had a picture-box, powered by harnessed lightning, which could be used to create electrical engravings of things of interest, a feature which was taken full advantage of. Automatons were photographed vigorously; as they sat in place, raised and lowered their telescoping components, and even as they mistakenly collided with walls and/or each-other. Yea, even the hapless machine that did try, for a full minute of a two-minute competition, to dislodge a ball from a rail, only to lodge itself in place until it freed itself in the last moments; yea, that was photographed, of a certainty. The ranking of the team to which our protagonist and his brother belonged was photographed, as it was high, and not low; so too were the pins they acquired, which did flash, and blink; so too was their own machine, which no longer possessed the rods, and beams, and rails upon which this author could safely say was his main contribution to the effort, (justly) deemed useless in practice. So go the ways of man.

Much success was had, and our hero was wreathed in flowers, and presented with medals, and treasure, and mead, and women, and itte wasse goode. And on his return from that place, he did see a squirrel which lagged, likely due to zone transition slowdown (as textures and other assets were loaded into memory), and also was barraged by rain, and then not, and then again, and then not, in a five-minute span, as the autobahn carried him home, away from that place he called, the MACHINE REALM. The final contest was yet to come; all men stood in readiness, brandishing sword and spear, musket and rifle, willing to risk no disaster before the morrow came.