Red Teeth Vs. Metal Man: PART 2
Right to it, then:
Red Teeth Vs. Metal Man: Goin' to the Showdown!!! - Part 2
Metal Man woke up, looked at the clock next his bed, grunted, went back to sleep for twenty minutes, woke up again and then, finally, as if he were flinging himself to a firey volcano-aided death, got out of bed. He clanked and clonked around his apartment for a bit, grogginess still bear-hugging his brain, then he slowly, as if it pained him very much, pulled on a pair of courdory pants and a gas-station attendent's work shirt that he'd bought at a yard sale in Brooklyn.
He put an old vinyl copy of "77" by the Talking Heads on his turntable and adjusted the volume to an appropriate 9am volume.
With the bathroom light on, he examined his face in the mirror, looking for any signs of rust. He'd paid an assload of money to get his entire surface painted to an aproximated fleshtone and if he started rusting now, he was going to be seriously pissed. It wasn't that he wanted to be human; perish the thought. It's just that an entire body of gleaming, highly polished silver clashed with everything and was terribly distracting. He'd rather people paid attention to his good fashion sense and his cultivated head of synthetic hair if they were going to insist on looking at him.
Rust free, he stepped into the living room a little more perky, a feeling he immediately attempted to quash with a few deep belts from a bottle of vodka. While he generally disapproved of the cinematic representation of robots, he conceeded that that one animated show had gotten it right: Robots love booze. He sat down on the couch as his roommate, Vanessa, came out from her room. Naked. Vanessa had long held the assumption that, because Metal Man was, well, a metal man, that he had no feelings of lust or longing, sexual or otherwise, thus she tended to conduct her in-apartment business naked, almost always. While she was correct in the sense that Metal Man couldn't, technically, have sex or feel lust or anything human's associate with nakedness, she was mistaken to think that he didn't notice her, or that he couldn't tell the difference between her magnificent breasts and a t-shirt.
He did not want to be human. He was a robot and he was comfortable with that. But he did badly want to take Vanessa in his arms and do to her the things that men do to women when the lights are off and the rational mind loses out to the rush of blood and the heat of the moment. It was not to be, but it was nice to think about.
"Going to work, Emsie?"
"Yeah... yes... of to work. Soon."
"Cool... oh, shit, I got some of yer mail, dude. Hang on."
She bounced into her room, everything jiggling in a way that made Metal Man finish the vodka in one gulp. She fl0unced back in, plopping a stack of Netflix and bills in his lap, topped with a longish, thick envelope. Vanessa began to make coffee as he broke the seal on the package and pulled out an old fashioned parchment scroll.
"Oh fucking hell!!!"
"What... dude? What???"
Metal Man unrolled the scroll, displaying upon the faded parchment a crudely drawn white skull and crossbones that had, conspicuously, a mouthfull of bright red teeth.
"Sorry to startle you, Vee. It just... well, it seems my college roommate is coming to town."
...Part 3 coming soon!!!
Red Teeth Vs. Metal Man: Goin' to the Showdown!!! - Part 2
Metal Man woke up, looked at the clock next his bed, grunted, went back to sleep for twenty minutes, woke up again and then, finally, as if he were flinging himself to a firey volcano-aided death, got out of bed. He clanked and clonked around his apartment for a bit, grogginess still bear-hugging his brain, then he slowly, as if it pained him very much, pulled on a pair of courdory pants and a gas-station attendent's work shirt that he'd bought at a yard sale in Brooklyn.
He put an old vinyl copy of "77" by the Talking Heads on his turntable and adjusted the volume to an appropriate 9am volume.
With the bathroom light on, he examined his face in the mirror, looking for any signs of rust. He'd paid an assload of money to get his entire surface painted to an aproximated fleshtone and if he started rusting now, he was going to be seriously pissed. It wasn't that he wanted to be human; perish the thought. It's just that an entire body of gleaming, highly polished silver clashed with everything and was terribly distracting. He'd rather people paid attention to his good fashion sense and his cultivated head of synthetic hair if they were going to insist on looking at him.
Rust free, he stepped into the living room a little more perky, a feeling he immediately attempted to quash with a few deep belts from a bottle of vodka. While he generally disapproved of the cinematic representation of robots, he conceeded that that one animated show had gotten it right: Robots love booze. He sat down on the couch as his roommate, Vanessa, came out from her room. Naked. Vanessa had long held the assumption that, because Metal Man was, well, a metal man, that he had no feelings of lust or longing, sexual or otherwise, thus she tended to conduct her in-apartment business naked, almost always. While she was correct in the sense that Metal Man couldn't, technically, have sex or feel lust or anything human's associate with nakedness, she was mistaken to think that he didn't notice her, or that he couldn't tell the difference between her magnificent breasts and a t-shirt.
He did not want to be human. He was a robot and he was comfortable with that. But he did badly want to take Vanessa in his arms and do to her the things that men do to women when the lights are off and the rational mind loses out to the rush of blood and the heat of the moment. It was not to be, but it was nice to think about.
"Going to work, Emsie?"
"Yeah... yes... of to work. Soon."
"Cool... oh, shit, I got some of yer mail, dude. Hang on."
She bounced into her room, everything jiggling in a way that made Metal Man finish the vodka in one gulp. She fl0unced back in, plopping a stack of Netflix and bills in his lap, topped with a longish, thick envelope. Vanessa began to make coffee as he broke the seal on the package and pulled out an old fashioned parchment scroll.
"Oh fucking hell!!!"
"What... dude? What???"
Metal Man unrolled the scroll, displaying upon the faded parchment a crudely drawn white skull and crossbones that had, conspicuously, a mouthfull of bright red teeth.
"Sorry to startle you, Vee. It just... well, it seems my college roommate is coming to town."
...Part 3 coming soon!!!
posted by Clinton at 1:18 PM
2 Comments:
From now on, when my lady asks me to say those three special words, I will assume she demands a boisterous, "OH FUCKING HELL"
Wait... what else would could it be? Because that's what I've been saying to the ladies for YEARS!
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