Captain Douche-Canoe is at it again. But this time he has made it personal! He broke into my, My Garage! (What, you expect a 4-ton Search and Rescue Robot MK 3 to live in an apartment?) He stole my BESTEST THING EVER!!! My Community Service Award! Do you have any idea how hard it is for a non-combatant to get one of those things?

  I needed to track him down. I searched high, and low, and in-between. I searched the suburbs, the dump, the barrio, the "master planned" communities, the slums, and the ghetto. As a side note, the people in the suburbs and the planned communities were very nasty, and wanted to talk to my manager. The only exception was a Mrs. Karen Johnson; she listened to my whole story and in a pleasant tone, and with a mild southern accent said “Well bless your heart! I hope you get your award back. Hard work always pays off.” My electronic heart almost skipped a beat.

  I had hit a snag, a conundrum, a pickle if you will. I went back to my poor garage. I looked at my favorite piece of concrete from my collection, the one I had hit him with. Only 18 kilos of it were left when I was finally able to recover it (and him) from the building he broke.

  It hit me. The building he had smashed when I hit him! Of course, that ego maniac would go there!

  He wasn't there.

  Lost in thought and longing, I had wandered the city. Despondent.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  While walking along (and I use the term loosely here, I actually move on the ground with a set of 4 rubberized treads) a dark street in the warehouse district (the one off the freeway by Maryland and 16th, not the one by the river, or the storage yards down by the railroad tracks) I heard noises. At first, I ignored it as the movements of rats or stray cats. From a particularly nasty looking alley, ahead of me and to my right, I heard voices. "is that it? his most precious thing?" I stopped to listen. "Yep! I found it in a safe, behind a fake picture, down a hidden ramp, under his oil bar" another voice responded.

  Hey, I thought to myself, that's where "I" keep my precious things... MY, MY Precious!!!

  I looked down the alley to see Mr. Poopy-Face and The Monkey in the Middle, looking at MY award!

  Now let me assure you, gentle reader, that I am not prone to violence, it makes my circuits itch, but on this occasion, I felt nothing. NOTHING! But anger. I charged! I went as fast as I could. Drill engaged to get everything out of my way. Monkey in the Middle caught it in the left cheek as he started running, just before he could climb the fire escape.

  Mr. Fart Blossom wasn't so lucky. I hit him twice in the back with my short-range mining lasers. then I ran him over. Twice.

  Having summarily rescued my award; I meandered happily back home.

  -Excerpt from BOB, the rescue boat, a memoir.