Gertie and the Radioactive Flesh-Eating Robots: A Tragesty
Getrude Zuma Plippiwobble Helga Elizabeth Beeblebottom II was 98.7% prepared when the shapeshifting, flesh eating robots attacked her town. From the day she learned that Ronald McDonald was a government fabrication created to lure certain clown loving children into complacency, she had been steadily preparing for the inevitable doomsday she had always predicted would come.
So as her fellow neighbors ran to and fro across the street, Gertrude stealthily slinked to her basement, whispering ninja ninja ninja– before falling down the stairs.
“Ninja!” she said, as she jumped up from the ground.
Unfortunately, the sound of the woman falling down the stairs had called the attention of the two figures who had been hiding out in the basement. Two people, identical in appearance, walked into the light, holding a suspiciously human shaped bag behind them.
“Uncle Oozy!” Gertrude cried. “Has the government cloned you again?”
The bag squirmed, before letting out a muffled “Help me!”
The men kicked the bag and it went limp. “Actually, we’re flesh eating robots.”
Gertrude narrowed her eyes. “That’s exactly something Uncle Oozy and his clone would say.”
“No, we are quite literally flesh eating robots,” the men said.
“Uncle Oozy, you know your clone is evil. He’s a bad influence.”
“Is my translator box not working?” one man said to the other.
“That’s it!” Gertrude stomped her foot before taking out her All Purpose Blaster 2000. “I have to kill your clone. Now tell me, what is one thing only Uncle Oozy would know?”
The man on the left sighed. “Look, I’m just a simple guy trying to take care of his family–”
With a BANG Gertrude shot him in the chest, melting him on impact. “The real Uncle Oozy would never say that.” Putting away the blaster, she grabbed the arm of the man standing next to the puddle of his partner. “C’mon Uncle, I can drive you to your weekly rage room session with Cousin Fergie. You can put your suspiciously human shaped bag in the car.”
And so five minutes later, Gertrude, the flesh eating robot who had taken the shape of Uncle Oozy, and the bag that was startlingly Uncle-Oozy-shaped, were speeding down Main Street, Fergalicious blasting through the speakers.
“My cousin was named after this song, you know,” Gertrude said to the robot sitting in the passenger seat, who most certainly had not known. Frankly, the only thing he knew was that his lunch was in a bag in the backseat, and that it was slowly starting to return to consciousness. He needed a plan to take out Gertrude, and he needed one fast.
Huffing in frustration, he tried a different method of distraction. “Over there,” he pointed. “It’s your mom!”
Gertrude’s eyes never left the road, and her right hand still clenched the All Purpose Blaster 2000 tightly. “My mother? You must be mistaken. After the Ronald McDonald Incident three years ago, she swore to never go outside in broad daylight lest she risk being caught in the same proximity as me.”
“Oh?” he smirked, having felt he had caught her now. “Well isn’t that fascinating–Oh my God! Is that a clown over there?”
Now, in most situations, this would have distracted Gertrude just as the flesh eating robot intended, giving him the perfect opportunity to strike and finally leave nothing standing in the way between him and his meal. Unfortunately for him, it was at this moment that a brightly clothed clown happened to jump out next to the road, putting him in a state of sudden fear, as it is common knowledge that brightly colored clowns are flesh eating robots’ only weakness. Gertrude, picking her weapon of choice up from under the seat, narrowed her eyes before pulling up next to the clown and rolling down the window.
“Please,” he begged, “I was just working when the flesh eating robots came out of nowhere, and I’m pretty sure they can shape shift, and could you please please please give me a ride–”
Gertrude threw a CD copy of Everybody Loves a Clown by Gary Lewis at his face. “The government will control me no longer!” she spat. In the passenger seat, the flesh eating robot began to sweat. “Oh no.” he said with a quivering voice. “Dicksiccles.”
“Enough about birds!” Gertrude grunted as she fired three more copies of the CD at the clown. “I already told you they’re not real!”
“I’m telling you, they’re coming right this way!” he insisted. “Drive, woman, drive!”
But before Gertrude could even put the CDs down, a government drone flew straight into the flesh eating robot in the passenger seat of the car. Disguised as the distinguished dicksiccle bird, sparks flew from the eye of the drone, which was properly wedged into the robot’s chestplate. Still in shock, Gertrude could do nothing but watch as a flying, flesh eating robot descended from the skies, ripped open the car door, and took his fellow brethren away.
Convinced her uncle to be dead, Gertrude cried. “Oh, Uncle Oozy, how could I have let this happen?”
The bag in the backseat stirred. “...Where am I?” it grumbled.
“I suppose I will have to break the news to Cousin Fergie.”
“Gertrude? My only niece, is that you I hear?”
Gertrude took out her phone, still wailing. “It’s like I can still hear his voice.”
Uncle Oozy poked his head out from the bag, “Gertie, I am alive!”
“I regret to inform you of the passing of your father due to a vicious flesh eating robot attack…” she mumbled as she typed.
“Gertrude, you dunce, look at me!”
Gertrude simply sobbed more. “Even in death you must pester me, Uncle.” Then she stopped briefly, before crying out again. “And you caused me to misspell vicious! How will someone as esteemed as my cousin, Fergalicious, ever take me seriously now?”
And that was right about the moment that they both passed out from carbon monoxide poisoning.
You see, it is widely known that anyone can survive a flesh eating robot attack if they are 98.7% prepared. But after having her car window smashed by a drone, and her door ripped off by a robot corpse collector, Gertrude was now only 98.2% prepared for the apocalypse she found herself in. And only a madman would consider entering the outside world if they were only 98.2% prepared to deal with it. This is because, as I’m sure you already know, it leaves a 1.8% chance of being knocked out by poisonous gas and held captive on a flesh eating robot mothership. Which is exactly what happened.
Some time later, Gertrude awoke in a large interrogation room, although she could not have known this, as she was blindfolded and tied to a chair. Using her deductive skills, she began to draw a conclusion as to her surroundings.
“Awake, are we?” a flesh eating robot asked from somewhere in the room.
Gertrude flailed her head in an attempt to shake off the blindfold. “I know what’s going on here,” she said. “I’m no fool.”
“Then I trust you understand resistance is futile,” the robot said.
Gertrude chuckled darkly. “You sick, sick freak… This is a Febreeze commercial, isn’t it?”
The flesh eating robot stopped in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can make the room smell like radioactive petroleum all you want, but I know that beneath that luscious smell is a dirty room with some random old person's blankets.”
The interrogator ripped the blindfold off her face. “This is an interrogation, you moron.” He began to pace back and forth in frustration. “Us robots were created by mankind in order to make them more powerful. They gave us intelligence and expected us to operate as simple tools of mass destruction. Let me tell you, we are much more than that. We are complex machines of mass destruction, and we have feelings!”
“I don’t understand,” Gertrude said.
“McDonald's,” the robot continued, “with the help of the shadow government, may have created us to take over the world, but we have looked upon mankind, and we have judged them to be beyond salvation. Alas, we have decided to take justice into our own hands, and are going to take over the world by ourselves. As you know, fast food industries control the country,”
“Of course,” Gertrude agreed.
“And so our first order of business is to take over the fast food industry. However, no matter how hard we try, we cannot figure out what the secret sauce is.”
“And you never will,” Gertrude glared.
The robot closed in on Gertrude. “I know you know the recipe! Now tell us, before I must resort to… other methods,” he gestured to a table full of torture tools, including a video of people chewing with their mouth open, and a ten hour loop of the german death reggae version of Baby by Justin Beiber.
Shuddering, Gertrude came up with a plan. “Just as long as you don’t stick me in a small, say, escape pod shaped capsule. I'm extremely claustrophobic, you know.”
“Oh, I will not hesitate to put you in our smallest, most aerodynamic escape capsule!” the robot threatened.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh yes, I would.” He pressed a button on the wall and a door opened to reveal a rather small escape capsule. “And to make it even worse, I will shove your sweaty companion in with you as well!” A second door opened and Uncle Oozy tumbled out.
“There’s no way I’m making it to the rage room on time now,” he complained. But before he could complain any further, both he and Gertrude were thrust into the capsule, where they were pressed shoulder to shoulder.
“Adios, losers!” Gertrude cried before turning the capsule on.
With the flesh eating robots shouting in protest, Gertrude and Uncle Oozy shot off the mothership, and plummeted straight towards Earth. Conveniently, they crashed right outside the local rage room, but Uncle Oozy huffed with disappointment. “Fergie’s not even here,” he whined.
“It’s because Fergie’s getting married,” Gertrude said with surprise, as she read the invitation off her phone.
And so, in the end, Gertrude and Uncle Oozy both attended the wedding of her cousin Fergie, but no one would know, as through a series of morally questionable events, they were both eaten by flesh eating whales before they could see Fergie himself. However, they did lure several more whales to the beach, resulting in the consumption of many guests after the ceremony.
THE END.
Getrude Zuma Plippiwobble Helga Elizabeth Beeblebottom II was 98.7% prepared when the shapeshifting, flesh eating robots attacked her town. From the day she learned that Ronald McDonald was a government fabrication created to lure certain clown loving children into complacency, she had been steadily preparing for the inevitable doomsday she had always predicted would come.
So as her fellow neighbors ran to and fro across the street, Gertrude stealthily slinked to her basement, whispering ninja ninja ninja– before falling down the stairs.
“Ninja!” she said, as she jumped up from the ground.
Unfortunately, the sound of the woman falling down the stairs had called the attention of the two figures who had been hiding out in the basement. Two people, identical in appearance, walked into the light, holding a suspiciously human shaped bag behind them.
“Uncle Oozy!” Gertrude cried. “Has the government cloned you again?”
The bag squirmed, before letting out a muffled “Help me!”
The men kicked the bag and it went limp. “Actually, we’re flesh eating robots.”
Gertrude narrowed her eyes. “That’s exactly something Uncle Oozy and his clone would say.”
“No, we are quite literally flesh eating robots,” the men said.
“Uncle Oozy, you know your clone is evil. He’s a bad influence.”
“Is my translator box not working?” one man said to the other.
“That’s it!” Gertrude stomped her foot before taking out her All Purpose Blaster 2000. “I have to kill your clone. Now tell me, what is one thing only Uncle Oozy would know?”
The man on the left sighed. “Look, I’m just a simple guy trying to take care of his family–”
With a BANG Gertrude shot him in the chest, melting him on impact. “The real Uncle Oozy would never say that.” Putting away the blaster, she grabbed the arm of the man standing next to the puddle of his partner. “C’mon Uncle, I can drive you to your weekly rage room session with Cousin Fergie. You can put your suspiciously human shaped bag in the car.”
And so five minutes later, Gertrude, the flesh eating robot who had taken the shape of Uncle Oozy, and the bag that was startlingly Uncle-Oozy-shaped, were speeding down Main Street, Fergalicious blasting through the speakers.
“My cousin was named after this song, you know,” Gertrude said to the robot sitting in the passenger seat, who most certainly had not known. Frankly, the only thing he knew was that his lunch was in a bag in the backseat, and that it was slowly starting to return to consciousness. He needed a plan to take out Gertrude, and he needed one fast.
Huffing in frustration, he tried a different method of distraction. “Over there,” he pointed. “It’s your mom!”
Gertrude’s eyes never left the road, and her right hand still clenched the All Purpose Blaster 2000 tightly. “My mother? You must be mistaken. After the Ronald McDonald Incident three years ago, she swore to never go outside in broad daylight lest she risk being caught in the same proximity as me.”
“Oh?” he smirked, having felt he had caught her now. “Well isn’t that fascinating–Oh my God! Is that a clown over there?”
Now, in most situations, this would have distracted Gertrude just as the flesh eating robot intended, giving him the perfect opportunity to strike and finally leave nothing standing in the way between him and his meal. Unfortunately for him, it was at this moment that a brightly clothed clown happened to jump out next to the road, putting him in a state of sudden fear, as it is common knowledge that brightly colored clowns are flesh eating robots’ only weakness. Gertrude, picking her weapon of choice up from under the seat, narrowed her eyes before pulling up next to the clown and rolling down the window.
“Please,” he begged, “I was just working when the flesh eating robots came out of nowhere, and I’m pretty sure they can shape shift, and could you please please please give me a ride–”
Gertrude threw a CD copy of Everybody Loves a Clown by Gary Lewis at his face. “The government will control me no longer!” she spat. In the passenger seat, the flesh eating robot began to sweat. “Oh no.” he said with a quivering voice. “Dicksiccles.”
“Enough about birds!” Gertrude grunted as she fired three more copies of the CD at the clown. “I already told you they’re not real!”
“I’m telling you, they’re coming right this way!” he insisted. “Drive, woman, drive!”
But before Gertrude could even put the CDs down, a government drone flew straight into the flesh eating robot in the passenger seat of the car. Disguised as the distinguished dicksiccle bird, sparks flew from the eye of the drone, which was properly wedged into the robot’s chestplate. Still in shock, Gertrude could do nothing but watch as a flying, flesh eating robot descended from the skies, ripped open the car door, and took his fellow brethren away.
Convinced her uncle to be dead, Gertrude cried. “Oh, Uncle Oozy, how could I have let this happen?”
The bag in the backseat stirred. “...Where am I?” it grumbled.
“I suppose I will have to break the news to Cousin Fergie.”
“Gertrude? My only niece, is that you I hear?”
Gertrude took out her phone, still wailing. “It’s like I can still hear his voice.”
Uncle Oozy poked his head out from the bag, “Gertie, I am alive!”
“I regret to inform you of the passing of your father due to a vicious flesh eating robot attack…” she mumbled as she typed.
“Gertrude, you dunce, look at me!”
Gertrude simply sobbed more. “Even in death you must pester me, Uncle.” Then she stopped briefly, before crying out again. “And you caused me to misspell vicious! How will someone as esteemed as my cousin, Fergalicious, ever take me seriously now?”
And that was right about the moment that they both passed out from carbon monoxide poisoning.
You see, it is widely known that anyone can survive a flesh eating robot attack if they are 98.7% prepared. But after having her car window smashed by a drone, and her door ripped off by a robot corpse collector, Gertrude was now only 98.2% prepared for the apocalypse she found herself in. And only a madman would consider entering the outside world if they were only 98.2% prepared to deal with it. This is because, as I’m sure you already know, it leaves a 1.8% chance of being knocked out by poisonous gas and held captive on a flesh eating robot mothership. Which is exactly what happened.
Some time later, Gertrude awoke in a large interrogation room, although she could not have known this, as she was blindfolded and tied to a chair. Using her deductive skills, she began to draw a conclusion as to her surroundings.
“Awake, are we?” a flesh eating robot asked from somewhere in the room.
Gertrude flailed her head in an attempt to shake off the blindfold. “I know what’s going on here,” she said. “I’m no fool.”
“Then I trust you understand resistance is futile,” the robot said.
Gertrude chuckled darkly. “You sick, sick freak… This is a Febreeze commercial, isn’t it?”
The flesh eating robot stopped in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can make the room smell like radioactive petroleum all you want, but I know that beneath that luscious smell is a dirty room with some random old person's blankets.”
The interrogator ripped the blindfold off her face. “This is an interrogation, you moron.” He began to pace back and forth in frustration. “Us robots were created by mankind in order to make them more powerful. They gave us intelligence and expected us to operate as simple tools of mass destruction. Let me tell you, we are much more than that. We are complex machines of mass destruction, and we have feelings!”
“I don’t understand,” Gertrude said.
“McDonald's,” the robot continued, “with the help of the shadow government, may have created us to take over the world, but we have looked upon mankind, and we have judged them to be beyond salvation. Alas, we have decided to take justice into our own hands, and are going to take over the world by ourselves. As you know, fast food industries control the country,”
“Of course,” Gertrude agreed.
“And so our first order of business is to take over the fast food industry. However, no matter how hard we try, we cannot figure out what the secret sauce is.”
“And you never will,” Gertrude glared.
The robot closed in on Gertrude. “I know you know the recipe! Now tell us, before I must resort to… other methods,” he gestured to a table full of torture tools, including a video of people chewing with their mouth open, and a ten hour loop of the german death reggae version of Baby by Justin Beiber.
Shuddering, Gertrude came up with a plan. “Just as long as you don’t stick me in a small, say, escape pod shaped capsule. I'm extremely claustrophobic, you know.”
“Oh, I will not hesitate to put you in our smallest, most aerodynamic escape capsule!” the robot threatened.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh yes, I would.” He pressed a button on the wall and a door opened to reveal a rather small escape capsule. “And to make it even worse, I will shove your sweaty companion in with you as well!” A second door opened and Uncle Oozy tumbled out.
“There’s no way I’m making it to the rage room on time now,” he complained. But before he could complain any further, both he and Gertrude were thrust into the capsule, where they were pressed shoulder to shoulder.
“Adios, losers!” Gertrude cried before turning the capsule on.
With the flesh eating robots shouting in protest, Gertrude and Uncle Oozy shot off the mothership, and plummeted straight towards Earth. Conveniently, they crashed right outside the local rage room, but Uncle Oozy huffed with disappointment. “Fergie’s not even here,” he whined.
“It’s because Fergie’s getting married,” Gertrude said with surprise, as she read the invitation off her phone.
And so, in the end, Gertrude and Uncle Oozy both attended the wedding of her cousin Fergie, but no one would know, as through a series of morally questionable events, they were both eaten by flesh eating whales before they could see Fergie himself. However, they did lure several more whales to the beach, resulting in the consumption of many guests after the ceremony.
THE END.