I, Foxbot

Fox Studios–Another Sunday, another awesome day of football on Fox! I had all my moves working yesterday, my electric slide, my football spike, my air guitar, my Gangnam Style horsey hopping (that guy stole it from me!)…I was in the zone!

Ugh, sorry folks, I just can’t do it today. Usually a hot lube and a few pints of oil will settle me down, but it’s just not working.

I know nobody likes me, you don’t have to say it. I don’t like me either sometimes…but come on, it isn’t easy being the organ grinder monkey for these jerks! Bradshaw and Howie and Menefee and Jimmy Johnson’s hair, guffawing and gooning it up, it’s enough to make a robot want to kill all humans. I can hear the complaints (literally, my head has built in wi-fi), nobody likes the “Foxbot.” I have a name you know. It’s Cleatus. I didn’t choose it, so stop laughing. Fox decided to have one of those naming contests and decided that was the winner. Could’ve been worse.

I didn’t start off this way, I didn’t want to just dance for your amusement. I come from a long line of proud football robots. My great granddaddy was once featured on the Jetsons back in the 60s. My father was an outside linebacker for the Los Angeles Lightning in Cyberball 2072. I once had a promising future, but a faulty servo in my knee cut my dreams down and I went to Hollywood to pursue my secret love of the craft. Within weeks, I got on the bad side of Number 5 from those terrible Short Circuit movies and was blackballed for years. Fortunately, I became drinking buddies with Bender Rodriguez, who had just been canned by Fox but still knew enough people over there to get me an audition. It was fun…but selling your soul gets old after awhile, and without a soul you’re just a big hunk of dancing metal for these meat bags.

I thought he was my mentor, but he turned out to be my pimp.
I could’ve been a compactor. I could’ve had class. Instead of a bum which is what I am. Let’s face it. My Fox overlords weren’t satisfied to just have me look cool and menacing and do a few slick dance moves, soon I was shilling whatever new show or movie was coming out. Now I’m a team player, don’t get me wrong, but why must I get my ass kicked by Terminator the Sarah Connor Chronicles? Or Iron Man? Ok, I might be able to accept taking those for the team, but that fricking Burger King guy? Come on, he’s even more reviled than I am! You people make me sick.

Do androids dream of electric sheep? Do my three laws of robotics prevent me from ripping Jimmy Johnson’s hair off and putting it on Michael Strahan’s head? Can’t I go all Tobor on somebody? What’s going to stop me? The Burger King? Kill all humans! Kill all humans!

All humans except Grote2DMax, because somebody’s got to come up with something for tomorrow!

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About West Coast Craig 226 Articles
West Coast Craig reports from Hollywood with an endearingly laid back style. A happily married father of two little boys, WCC has an avocado tree in his yard, plays the hot corner in a "Valley" hardball league and always manages to take cool sports-related mini road-trips, often with his immediate clan. He hails from Oneonta, NY but has been "So very L.A." for twenty years, so his sports teams are the Yankees AND the Dodgers, the Pittsburgh Steelers, the L.A. Lakers and the Colorado Avalanche/Quebec Nordiques. WCC loves bacon-wrapped hotdogs and can touch his heel and his ear... with his hand.