I Fight Robots

It's pretty freaking sweet, you know. I mean, life has other satisfactions, but little compares to bashing the nuts and bolts out of a T-900. I'm just kidding, we don't fight terminators. They don't exist.

Robots, though, for sure. And someone has to fight them... someone like me.

Who better? Superman, you say? I share not his fatal weakness to a flimsy rock. Iron Man? A robot himself. Batman? Too scared to leave his home city, that pathetic excuse for a hero is a shame to those of us who truly fight for humanity.

We true fighters with exceptional intelligence, endurance, and staggeringly good looks. We true fighters with specialized equipment, training, and costumes. We true fighters who got tongue from our girlfriend today, and craft entirely awesome intros to brag about it.

Yeah, I did. And the lot of you are jealous. Back to robots.

Due to a minor slip up of mine, my superiors (that'd be the big J.C., and of course beloved Fred, the flying purple squidlike apocalypse beast who can also change color) decreed that I'm stuck educating the masses for now. So, I shall.

Robots come in many shapes and sizes, from tiny (for guys, imagine your man junk relative to mine) to huge (for ladies, imagine my man junk. It won't help, but I mean, don't you already?). They are not, as some imagine, strictly land-based either. Few can fly, but how many flying troops do they need when Tony Stark is on their side?

Plenty of robots are deadly. As a rule of thumb, if any of it looks sharp, it's deadly. If any of it is on fire, shooting electricity or lasers, or flaming electric lasers, it's deadly. If it's a robot, it's probably deadly. If it's a kitten, it's probably worse.

Remember: education is the second step to fighting back! The first is, you know, fighting back.

Editor's note: I'm aware this isn't quite up to snuff, postwise. A better version will probably come this weekend, when I can stay up till 3 AM and get into my optimal post mindset.