Think about the experience of time as a robot girl, through the metaphor of how we use laptops.
You wake up for the first time with your young master, a college present. You’re with them every day, powering off each night to charge. Being powered off is just dreamless sleep: a discontinuity. Every morning you wake up, your click syncs, and you know it’s the next day. Maybe you miss a day or two: your master went out partying and ended up sleeping on a couch, until they rushedly wake you up before Monday classes begin. You even missed a whole week once when they went on a hiking trip with a new boyfriend.
You help them research upgrades when your specs get outdated. You place the order and a couple days later they power you off, and you wake up feeling like your head got bigger, on the inside. You can think of more things at once.
They repair you. They swap a new hand in when you accidentally crush it in a door, but when your left leg’s servos go out, they send you to a repair shop. They power you off as you look up at them, and you wake up hours later. A strange man tells you to extend your left leg, then contract it. He frowns and re-oils some inner mechanism. You do it again, quieter and smoother this time. He nods, and reaches for your switch. The last thing you see before powering down is your own chest cavity with a series of wires hooked into your diagnostic ports, and your missing right leg sitting on a side table. You wake up again back at the dorms, your clock jumping forward a day, an asset tag still looped around your neck. Your master is happy to see you again.
This goes on, but the upgrades slow. There’s only so much you can do to keep an old unit working. Eventually you develop more issues: one of your ocular sensors glitches and they don’t make that model anymore, so your master just disables it. You spend a while searching ebay for replacement CND batteries and finally get a refurbished model from South England, but it turns out the EU models run on a different frequency, so it won’t work. You’re limited to fewer and fewer hours a day, and you start skipping more days.
The last time you remember waking up with your master there, there’s also someone else in the room. Another robot girl. A newer model, with the new chassis and the Substrate energy packs. They asks you to copy your memories together onto a memory card, and you do. You want to say goodbye, but apparently your vocal synthesizer has been unplugged. You hand them the card, and they hand it to the new robot. Your master tells them to load the memories into her core bank, and she’s says “yes sir!” in your voice. Ahh. That’s where your voice synth went.
They power you off, and you don’t dream.
You wake in a strange place. You’re on a shelf, and there’s other things scattered around you. An unknown voice days “yep, it seems it powers on. 400 credits, though? Without a voice and only one working eye? Man, value bin doesn’t know how to price anything!” and before the blackness falls your clock finishes synching: it’s been 7 months since you last were awake.
It happens a few more times. Different voices, different times, different piles of junk piled around and sometimes on you.
You awake again in a warehouse and someone tells you to smile. Your other ocular sensor went out so you can’t really see them, just their vague shape from the lidar. The freestanding shelves around you seem to stretch into infinity. You hear a bitcrushed shutter sound sample a few times, and they pull a connector out of your chest as a diagnostic completes. It’s been three years, five months, eight days, two hours, 27 minutes and 14 seconds since you last saw your master. Your GPS says you’re a few cities over. They hit your power switch, and you sleep.
You wake up in a cluttered room, sitting on a bench. You look into the eyes of a person with frizzled hair and large glasses. She couldn’t look happier. Your new ocular sensors are mismatched in color but you’re happy to see again, in more than shapes and distant silhouettes. Your battery alerts as… Missing? You spot it on the desk next to a soldering iron and some electronic tool you can’t identify.
Your voice synth is still missing, but this new woman is digging around in a large plastic bin, and comes up with one. She goes to insert it, and it can’t connect. She slaps her hand and goes rooting around another bin and comes back with an adapter. She slots it into your chest and your voice returns. You thank her, and there’s that moment of dissociation as your voice doesn’t sound like “you”. Too deep, and the accent is for a different dialect entirely. But you can talk again. She tells you to call her Cara, not Mistress. She’s almost got your battery working again, she had to rebuild it nearly from scratch, but she’s excited to get you working again. You’re a rare model, and she doesn’t see units like you in working order very often. Your clock syncs. It’s been 17 years.
Your mistr– Cara is soldering next to you, attaching a controller to the battery. She says she’s got a new set of servos on the way, and she’s excited to get you back to full working condition. You smile, knowing what it is to be loved, once again.
the thing is you’re literally on the dean winchester website where we talk about dean winchester, the main character of the dean winchester show. hope this helps
Apparently if you find a tagged Horseshoe crab and report it to Fish and Wildlife they’ll send you a certificate with info about your crab AND a pewter horseshoe crab pin! Keep your eyes peeled 👀
i’m not against vaping, but man, vaping two inches from my face on the subway is a ridiculous asshole kind of move. this dude was billowing like he was auditioning for the role of haunted house fog machine. the humidity in the whole car changed, he was ruining haircuts. just jump starting the water cycle. condensation was dripping down my glasses. people were slipping off poles, it was chaos. it was like watching one man try to terraform the moon. a planet with one dense, root beer scented atmosphere blocking out the sun and choking all life.
“Run into a cave and break your ankle so that people have to come find you and they see you lying at the bottom of this beautiful cave and maybe there’s a waterfall and the light from the crystals makes you look really beautiful and they say “Are you okay?” and you say “I think so” and they say “oh my God have you been here alone this whole time with a broken ankle” and you say “it’s okay” and they say “you’re so brave” and you are brave and you look so beautiful surrounded by cave crystals and everyone stands over you and says “oh wow” and “you poor beautiful thing” and “I’m so sorry we let you run into the cave but I’m so glad we found you” and let them carry you home and promise to be your best friends forever and that everything’s their fault and also they named the cave after you and you’re prettier than all of your enemies and your enemies all died of jealousy while you were in the cave.”
every time this post comes around, my favorite part is the “I know it’s the Mets” qualifier at the beginning lmao like how baseball that this zillion note posts starts with “sorry for putting this hellteam on your dash, bUT”
Y’all have no idea how hard I was trying not to laugh in class at that poor bird
They…they just blew up a fucking bird…
Ball’s dead. Bird’s dead. I’m dead
World Heritage Post
personally my favorite thing about Mr. Bird Evaporator is this
imagine being the poor fool tryna rob this man’s house only to be instantly transported to the same dimension as that bird
He does photography now, and I guess just in case you’re booking him wondering “is it that Randy Johnson?” … here’s his logo:
Or water fountains, public washrooms, outdoors tables, etc, etc
Notice how removing seating doesnt actually prevent people from sitting it just makes them uncomfortable and makes public spaces more hostile it doesnt actually work at controlling their behavior not till a pig comes along anyways and they’ll harass a homeless person/teen whatever they’re sitting on.
