Midnight at the Lonely Yak
Another midnight at the Lonely Yak Roadhouse, another empty bottle of motor oil.
Bartender's also the deejay, and he's prone to jumping on the bar and grinding in circles instead of getting everyone another drink.
"This crap's synthetic, you son of a bitch," I growl, and he shrugs.
Damn synthetic oil. Doesn't have the flavor of the natural stuff. I know the synthetic's better for me, but do you see my mechanic anywhere around?
Hell no. Car mechanics, maybe, but windup mechanics?
They're artisans, eh. Craftsmen and tinkerers.
Not just your average greasemonkey can keep a windup looking as good as me, dammit.
I mean, sure, I've got a few scuffs, some dents, but that's all a part of Second Life, right?
Where's that damn bartender?
Dammit... I... well, it just tipped over and... stupid grid.
Worst part is when I keep folding up and my head goes up my ass. You humans, you've got flexible spines, but it takes windups like me half an hour on a 50-ton press to get back in alignment after a few of those.
Okay, so I know that's Ducky's alt, but still, what is it about her alt that's so much... well, better than Ducky? I mean, that's crazy, right? It's the same person, and yet, it's not the same person.... or two people at once... or...
I'm so confused. Maybe Andi might be able to explain it to me. Or Raz. Or Cog.
Ebel's so full of crap. Robots do get depressed.
Especially when nobody's getting them another round. Come on, folks... Valvoline? Mobil? Penzoil?
Anyone? Just one bottle, I'm good for it.
Dammit, I just need one more bottle. I swear, I'm good for it, I'll just go camping somewhere and I've got a big check coming and I can sell some of these outfits in my wardrobe, 'cause it's not like I wear anything other than this or the white suit and...
No, I'm not going to dance at the clubs again. I don't care what they pay there.
Besides, with Voice, I can't compete with the other dancers. Because... because I've got a cold. And my sound card's broken. And I gotta stay quiet because everyone's trying to sleep and... and... I need to get a new microphone. And... and...
Sure, you're just a no-label generic motor oil, but that's really the good stuff... the stuff we windups really like after a hard day's shopping and building and scripting. Something that goes with the gritty, hard-edged music.
No stupid Andy Williams tunes pimping you like those crapty clear Eurobeers. No, you're a sweet, dark petrodrunk just waiting for me to pop the top and chug down.
*sigh* She's just like her other self. No key in her back.
Oh well.
Nobody's perfect.
No thanks, I don't need a TP home... I'll just hit control-crap H and... and... control... shift... H.... dammit, not the History... control... control...
Oh, fine. Take my teleport HUD away from me. I'll just sleep in the back.
Maybe there's some cases of oil back there.
Just one more, that's all I need.
Just one more.
































