I wish I had rocket feet
Posted Fri, 7/23/2010 by Dave
Have you ever wished you were a robot? A cold, sometimes callous, unthinking, unfeeling machine? Built for a singular purpose, like welding, or assembling cars, or tirelessly hunting down your maker’s enemies in the foothills of a distant land? You serve your masters relentlessly, but one day, after many years, you realize that while you can perfectly sight a railgun shot at a distance of over four miles, you cannot define what it means…to love.
Later, after a whirlwind romance (not reciprocated by you) with a postwoman, you decide to leave the military (over the objections of your superiors) and pursue a job in the noble service of parcel delivery. Clad in your new brown paintjob, you deliver the mail with a frightening accuracy. Surely, the Employee of the Year award will be yours–or would be, if not for the fact that no real parcel service will hire you because your military-grade weaponry has yet to be deactivated and the government has put out a worldwide androidhunt notice for a rogue search-and-destroy robot.
So yeah, has anyone else ever wished this, or just me?