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by riginal (writer), moe australia, December 05, 2015

Treat a made- in- the- laboratory badly and C what happens. She was only a bird...........................


It stood. Shrouded in human flesh-like form, as human as a man-made creation could ever be. Rather, HE stood, articulated sit not quite. He hadn't been 'oiled' with thought though everything else was perfect.The perfect robotic writer.

Prof. Ane swore he would make this last desperate attempt to create what he always craved, to write. Wasn't enough he was admired as a brilliant scientist who could transpose electronic baffle into robotic servIture that mimicked so splendidly the human form. He had already created a wife, not a loving wife, but encrypted with enough electronic where- with- all do, to emulate a run-of-the-mill housekeeper. The emotion love was not encrypted. No need. He had laughed when he first switched her on. Just an ordinary bog standard housewife of medium intellect. Jean spoke. "i am Jean, i will prepare your meal Professor." "Yes you will Jean my lovely. I am working on C Dickens Jean, my writer. You must not disturb him he's my intellectual passage of wouldn't understand nor should never will." "Yes Professor" Jean bowed demurely.

C was endowed with the write 'full Monty' inside his sculptured memory, a plethora of writers past and present embedded.

C had love carefully inserted, lovingly in his memory bank, and passion. Most important. Ane grinned, mocked. "He's alive! C he is alive!" No thunder, no corny lighting, no streaks and shadows of dramatic. No rain, no howling wind. "Write C." "What would you like me to write kind sir" C spoke gently. "A book C a book you're a bloody writer sir, anguish! triumph! bleed, you must bleed, you must get to the core of insanity and push beyond, i'll be back." The Professor whirled, the plate Jean held strewn wildly. "You stupid broad." He tweaked the range indicator confining the contrite startled apologetic house maid to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry Pro..." she absorbed the blow to her pretty face. Blinked fixedly, bent down, began to clear the scattered meal. C watched on, anger, compassion, flooded his circuits..."can i help you Jean." The Professor curt "Sit at your damn screen and write C, she's just a moron, a servant. Don't trouble yourself, "i'll go clean up" muttered, "clumsy bitch." The intercom blared metallic. "Professor your expertise is required...can you spare an hour "i we" estimate. I robot is we we weeing all over the shop." "Bloody hell!" i'm coming i'm coming!" Brushed the sleeve of his soiled coat,stormed off. Turned in afterthought. "Write some damn thing C. You've got the brains. The Old Prof Man and the C perchance?" Laughed abruptly at his aside. Pointed an accusing finger at Jean, "clean up woman, leave him alone, you won't be able to contact him after you re enter the kitchen's zone. Bloody women!"

It was dimmed night when the Professor entered the room. He went to the kitchen strobed up the light. Jean had cleaned meticulously. A warm meal simmering gently on the table. He ate, she had been programmed for bed early. C sat hunched over his screen. Ane walked to the slumped figure, pleased at seeing the write on the screen. Touched C's arm, "good..." the makeshift prop slumped sideways, the head of a repair sighed as it hit the floor bounced...glared blank. The Professor gasped...waved enlarge and bright on the screen.

"Professor you asked me to write some damn thing. "Some damn thing!" See Prof you made the mistake of endowing me with a writers' personas. We're a sensitive lot. I have collective heart. I talked at length with your beautiful wife, maid, slave, shut off the enforced kitchen perimeter. She's a really lovely person when you get to know her. I adjusted her intellect to that of a woman insulted mistreated. She called you an insulting hedonistic prick. We have left, i am smitten by her, though you didn't imprint her with love she said she felt something she had never felt before, and my love is two- fold so stick your wordage write up your dark chapter. "She is only a guilded from your bird robot cage her feathers and intellect me she's a woman of high esteem so stick your write-up your clack... er." MORAL: Treat a woman Prof Ane like a robot C...and C will take off with she. :>)

About the Writer

Bio...bioio...daylight come an i wanna go home. Come missa tele man tele me banana. A banana tele? Seriously would like to hook up with other comedy writers to engage.
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By Barbara MacDonald on December 05, 2015 at 07:10 pm

Where the heck do you come up with this stuff? All I can think is you have an amazing imagination...liked the ending , good always should win...:)

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By riginal on December 06, 2015 at 01:37 am

born crazy inherited Barb. Or near...just used my imagination to transport me away. Costs nothing to dream,but you knew that! You use the same mechanics do you not my friend? Cheers :>)

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By Barbara MacDonald on December 06, 2015 at 07:56 pm

I have always been a dreamer and most likely always will be. I am a wierd combo I think...practical but an idealist at the same time. :)

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By riginal on December 07, 2015 at 09:47 am

Sounds ideal Twinkletoes. :>)

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