Robot Series: The Man to Beat (TMTB)
With the help of My buddy Tom Cranley, Dr. Keith Bird invented a line of robots that refer to him as THE CREATOR. The line is called The Man to Beat (TMTB). This particular robot is named: TMTB-NOMATIC. The very first prototype was named TMTB:DI-VERSE. (Note: They communicate with THE CREATOR through a headset and typically wear a silver bird on top of their heads -- as seen below). Another one in the line is TMTB-RESOURCE.
posted by Brent Sigmeth at 5/06/2005 08:31:00 AM
13 Comments:
I don't know about these 'droids, B. They kinda scare me, man. Too lifelike or something. I like my 'bots to look like machines. Know what I'm sayin'?
I mean, that was the problem in Blade Runner, wasn't it? The 'droids were so real you couldn't tell them from the humans. Of course, we found out in the end that the 'droids were human after all. Still, for the androids to look so human is unsettling to me. Give me an R2D2 or C3PO any day of the week.
More thoughts on this design....
Who designed this thing, anyway? If the optics in its head were any good it wouldn't need corrective lenses. Who ever heard of a robot with glasses?
And what about that synthetic hair? Couldn't they have done a better job with that? I mean, if they're going to try to make the robots look like real people couldn't they do a better job? Make their molds from attractive people?
See, this is why robots should just look like the machines that they are.
Well ... I think the CREATOR had this in mind early on by naming his line of robots the MAN to Beat. If he intended them to be more mechanical robot-like, perhaps he would have cosen a name like the ROBOT to Beat? It would only take a phone call to get him started on the creation of one in your likeness, LS -- soon after we would have TMTB-WHINY LIBERAL GAY MARRYING COMMIE TREE HUGGER I HATE FREEDOM 'BOT ....
There is a reason replicants are outlawed on-planet.
I think you forgot PUSSY-WHIPPED and ELITIST....
How about just TMTB-LATTE?
Hey, hey, hey!!! No "back door" comments around the kids. OK, Corona?
Oh, by the way...
I prefer mochas to lattes, B.
I was riding on the Mayflower
When I thought I spied some land
I yelled for Captain Arab
I have yuh understand
Who came running to the deck
Said, "Boys, forget the whale
Look on over yonder
Cut the engines
Change the sail
Haul on the bowline"
We sang that melody
Like all tough sailors do
When they are far away at sea
"I think I'll call it America"
I said as we hit land
I took a deep breath
I fell down, I could not stand
Captain Arab he started
Writing up some deeds
He said, "Let's set up a fort
And start buying the place with beads"
Just then this cop comes down the street
Crazy as a loon
He throw us all in jail
For carryin' harpoons
Ah me I busted out
Don't even ask me how
I went to get some help
I walked by a Guernsey cow
Who directed me down
To the Bowery slums
Where people carried signs around
Saying, "Ban the bums"
I jumped right into line
Sayin', "I hope that I'm not late"
When I realized I hadn't eaten
For five days straight
I went into a restaurant
Lookin' for the cook
I told them I was the editor
Of a famous etiquette book
The waitress he was handsome
He wore a powder blue cape
I ordered some suzette, I said
"Could you please make that crepe"
Just then the whole kitchen exploded
From boilin' fat
Food was flying everywhere
And I left without my hat
Now, I didn't mean to be nosy
But I went into a bank
To get some bail for Arab
And all the boys back in the tank
They asked me for some collateral
And I pulled down my pants
They threw me in the alley
When up comes this girl from France
Who invited me to her house
I went, but she had a friend
Who knocked me out
And robbed my boots
And I was on the street again
Well, I rapped upon a house
With the U.S. flag upon display
I said, "Could you help me out
I got some friends down the way"
The man says, "Get out of here
I'll tear you limb from limb"
I said, "You know they refused Jesus, too"
He said, "You're not Him
Get out of here before I break your bones
I ain't your pop"
I decided to have him arrested
And I went looking for a cop
I ran right outside
And I hopped inside a cab
I went out the other door
This Englishman said, "Fab"
As he saw me leap a hot dog stand
And a chariot that stood
Parked across from a building
Advertising brotherhood
I ran right through the front door
Like a hobo sailor does
But it was just a funeral parlor
And the man asked me who I was
I repeated that my friends
Were all in jail, with a sigh
He gave me his card
He said, "Call me if they die"
I shook his hand and said goodbye
Ran out to the street
When a bowling ball came down the road
And knocked me off my feet
A pay phone was ringing
It just about blew my mind
When I picked it up and said hello
This foot came through the line
Well, by this time I was fed up
At tryin' to make a stab
At bringin' back any help
For my friends and Captain Arab
I decided to flip a coin
Like either heads or tails
Would let me know if I should go
Back to ship or back to jail
So I hocked my sailor suit
And I got a coin to flip
It came up tails
It rhymed with sails
So I made it back to the ship
Well, I got back and took
The parkin' ticket off the mast
I was ripping it to shreds
When this coastguard boat went past
They asked me my name
And I said, "Captain Kidd"
They believed me but
They wanted to know
What exactly that I did
I said for the Pope of Eruke
I was employed
They let me go right away
They were very paranoid
Well, the last I heard of Arab
He was stuck on a whale
That was married to the deputy
Sheriff of the jail
But the funniest thing was
When I was leavin' the bay
I saw three ships a-sailin'
They were all heading my way
I asked the captain what his name was
And how come he didn't drive a truck
He said his name was Columbus
I just said, "Good luck."
That was ZMMRMN1 with "Talkin' Mayflower Blues". I don't know about anybody else, but I believe that we have room in this great country of ours for robots with built-in delusions of being Bob Dylan -- and that ZMMRMN1 can really throw down at a hootenanny! Nice work!
I'd like to see (read) more from zmmrmn1.
I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks,--who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering: which word is beautifully derived from "idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretence of going à la Sainte Terre," to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, "There goes a Sainte-Terrer," a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre, without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the first, which, indeed, is the most probable derivation. For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.
hd....? is that you or your creator? (you devil....)
this is beauty resounds in both my interior and exterior landscapes. mmmm......
thank you thoreaubot, your grasp of the language is stunning. and.... umm...just wondering.... have you ever hummed near zimmerman 1?
xo
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