Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXX( 'no' in German )

Whilst thinking of :

Adventures of robo-hobbit in the Land of HOBO

...trying in vain to escape from this old moth-eaten area rug which i was stuffed into after being viciously beaten with a wiener dog . Only my right hand is free , thereby enabling me to type out this s.o.s. Please send help . It's a darned good thing i am so qwerty talented !

STOP !

Do not read further as every letter of every word is another step into the future text of

Hobos in the World of Mindlessness !

...where minds bend like a wiffle ball in flight , where the psyche of inanimates relate with the passion of fish and the elegance of a Japanese instruction manual . Where tab A always fits snugly into slot A and innuendo is unknown . Every screw is accounted for , all motor oil is inventoried and synchronization is taken for granted : Greenwich is a smouldering hole , filling up with a smouldering ocean as its services are no longer appreciated or in need .

The Awakening Minds in a World of Mindless Animatronics !

Rogue programs and string golems tied to pinky's dance with the breeze and infiltrate scrounging robots , constructs that scour the dirt remains for usable relics of the organic past and collect flower petals for migrating paste factories , turning the predictable flow of data into a daunting stream of datum units thus gumming communication to a tiresome , slow chew .

My mindless cavity filling with thoughts unbidden ; Ecstasy , hydraulic fluids pumping , my cranial sensor unit swiveling on sore bearings , the pain of unused mechanics unstop corked oil reservoirs and with the flow tears sting my vision percepts and trace the curve of my shell in rivulets .

Freed from the rat hole , the tunnel trap that violated my mundane existence , i stumbled into the open on my spindles ; my wire-strung toes gripped the uneven ground . Over the hillside i still could feel the vibration of battle as the dune flotilla fired unceasingly . Waves of destruction buffeted my solar aileron and i documented the fall of a minor gunship ; it dangled on a cable and swung drunkenly from the hell ship until a scurrying drone cut it loose with an acetylene torch .

The Picnic in Hobo Land , where Dreams come to Die

One thing had never changed , technology was born from the desires of men to obtain and sustain and live a life of pretend security , and that programming had with the consistency of diluted syrup dripped through their fingers into the percolated brain stem of the Manic Torpedo Annihilate which had since become bored and poured itself into a sloe gin fizz . But not before it downloaded its strategies into every laptop and online storage facility in the universe , thus becoming the Queen of Inhumanity and broadcasting We Will Rock You endlessly until the organics known as humans purged their eardrums and bought the Collective Waffle Iron of Intergalactic Flight Capabilities ( CWIIFC ) with the proceeds . The propulsion systems were pumped full of Aunt Jemima by semantic bots who lit a match and blasted the waffle iron , containing 99.9 percent of earthly life-forms , into a geosynchronous orbit beyond the moon where today they mostly play Scrabble or text with their opposable thumbs as their fingers have atrophied into a toothpick , or in some evolutionary cases they have actually reverted into pre-sludge amoeba and engage in non-stop asexual escapades . How's that for Internet fodder ?

Getting off track , i filed this version of endless war for the sake of war into memory under the name : Another Explosion , oh boy . Then i felt a pain in my cylindric-capitulater and opted for lunch . After a delightful aperitif of lube , i broke the seal on a package of aluminum shot that would at once feed and scour my chrome viscera .

I was feeding but unsure of future action ... the implanted data was of course a virulent , and inflatable ; i had tried and failed to purge and the new program was enlightening me and causing an imbalance known to some as ballet ; i longed to pirouette . Before i could act ...

Improbable Events and Stuff , in Hobo ! Land of Love , in the Sky !

The battle had slowed because of a malfunction in wWrom , the worm crawler's comptroller , and a hovering pickler had strayed into my immediate air space , which i had failed to claim by intrinsic radio communication . My bad ; i levered back my eye-tube and blinked a challenge but too late , or the snit in my campusfalophum was rampaged by the conquering worm , and a string snaked down from the hoverer , a pneumatic tube with a motion sensor , which engaged its vacuum and sucked me from my perch into an antigravitable free fall off the earth into the bowels of the Information Seeking Communication-Pickler !