Robot Apocalypse Watch, Volume 14

"But Randy," you say, "do we really have to worry about robots? I mean, it’s not like it would ever be in their best interests to destroy humanity, right?"


From Fox News:

A Maryland company under contract to the Pentagon is working on a steam-powered robot that would fuel itself by gobbling up whatever organic material it can find — grass, wood, old furniture, even dead bodies.

Robotic Technology Inc.’s Energetically Autonomous Tactical Robot — that’s right, "EATR" — "can find, ingest, and extract energy from biomass in the environment (and other organically-based energy sources), as well as use conventional and alternative fuels (such as gasoline, heavy fuel, kerosene, diesel, propane, coal, cooking oil, and solar) when suitable," reads the company’s Web site.

That "biomass" and "other organically-based energy sources" wouldn’t necessarily be limited to plant material — animal and human corpses contain plenty of energy, and they’d be plentiful in a war zone. [bold added for scary emphasis]

Ah, yes! So now, in addition to angering our creations with our constant abuse, we can now give them a real reason to destroy us all — for FOOD. "Hey, Z4D9, I’m hungry. Let’s go make a war zone."

(Robotic Technology Inc.’s nice touch is that the robot is steam-powered. Hurray. Not just robots — STEAM PUNK robots.)

Sorry, Wrong Zombie

My brother Howard is down in Provo playing an all-nighter role-playing game, where instead of controlling swords-and-sorcery-type characters, your character is yourself. And the day is today. And the 4th of July crowds… have all turned into zombies.

I suggested it might be fun if I showed up at midnight or 1 AM, when folks are kinda loopy and tired, and started moaning and banging/clawing on the door. Howard would be in on it; he could text me and let me know if it would be worthwhile on his end.

Alas, by the time 10:00 rolled around, I was too tired, so I texted him that I wouldn’t be coming, in three short words:

No zombie randy

The reply I got was


It was at this time that I realized I still have Howard’s OLD mobile number in my cell. (I thought I deleted it. Guess not.)

I could’ve texted back "wrong number, my bad," but what fun would that be? This way, somebody has a little bit more mystery in their life.

I’m glad I didn’t write "No randy-zombie," though. I mean, you get that message, and you’re glad there are no randy zombies, but now you have new fodder for nightmares.

(And what if there WAS a zombie near the person I mis-texted? What if they were waiting inside their house, and their friend went out to see if all the zombies had been dispatched, and then they got that message? "Oh, I guess it’s safe to go outsiAHHHH!" Man, I’ll feel pretty bad if that happened.)