Shippy Ex Machina!
by Dr. Seth
Hello, all, itís me with another bad fanfic! This is just
some little thing I sent to Dr. Calvin in an e-mail many moons ago.
It was part of a series called "Anti-shippy or just strange shippy"
and it was third in that series. The others are a little odd, and
maybe if you like this, Iíll type the others up. But Iím warning
you. Theyíre siiiiiiiiiick! Iím going to segment this one story
into parts, as it was originally segmented in e-mails because I
didnít have the time to write all of it at once. This was kind of
inspired by the robo-Duane conversation on the board, and how faulty
the legionís AI is. Iím supposing it takes place in the regular
Duane dimension. Obviously, the legionís been working on the
robo-Duane, but they havenít perfected him, since heís still
controlled by remote control, and not entirely fully functioning.
The Legion Ex Machina grooved to their Gregorian Monks
Sing the Classic Spooky Tunes as they finished the assemblage
of their latest project.
"Maybe we should make it with bigger breasts," Number Three mused.
"You dolt!" hissed Number One. "It has to resemble the original in every way, or theyíll
be on to us!"
"But maybe they would be distracted by the boobies!" Number Four chirped, the tape of
"Erin Brockovich" still lodged in the vhs port at the base of his skull. (See how faulty
Poindexterís design is? They still use VHS instead of DVD!) They groaned and walked
over to a suspended cage where the original writhed, gagged and bound.
"I donít know...she looks like a ĎCí cup already!" Number Two scratched his chin.
"It matters not. We must simply complete the robo-Slate and integrate her into Quark
before anybody is the wiser." Number Oneís red eye gleamed at their captive.
"Pff. No one will know sheís missing!" Number Three laughed. He poked at Dr. Slate
within the cage with his screwdriver. "Betcha youíre sorry youíre an old maid! Nobodyís
going to miss ya, are they?" he taunted.
"Sheís not that old...." Number Two shrugged. "It matters not, though, we must control
"Yesssss...control our emotions...." They all moaned in
unison. All of them except for one....
After awhile, Number One noticed his silence. "You know, weíre all
linked together anyways, but why donít you just say whatís on your mind,
"Well...I was just wondering...if we could just...." Number Four
"Go on...." Number Three prodded. They all knew what was coming, as it had always
been a mutual thought among the Legion.
"Oh, youíre going to think itís just the Julia Roberts movies talking but..." He sighed.
"Can we just, yíknow, bring out the robo-Duane? Just Ďcause...you know." It didnít take
more than that for the rest of the members to agree with him, and they scrambled to find
their last scrapped project. Soon, robo-Duane was brought out, and Number Three turned
him on with his remote control. Dr. Slate could only watch in horrified fascination. Robo-
Duane opened his eyes.
"Ooh, watch what happens when you press the red button!" Number Three depressed the
button, and the Duanebot smirked.
"Hmmm...something just isnít right...Oh, I know!" Number 2 grabbed a hammer and
bashed in its nose a bit. (This comes from an old joke that we always thought Duaneís
nose in the cartoon looked sort of broken.) "There. Thatís better."
With girlish glee, Number 4 turned the roboSlate on.
"I always wanted to see them together!" he giggled, dancing on his toes as he grabbed
control remotely of her remote control. (Speed Racer joke, sorry.)
"You know, why didnít they get together? It just doesnít make sense." Number 1 put his
hands on his hips and shook his head. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked Dr.
Slate, who turned a bright eggplant color.
"Well, it is of no concern." He sobered. "Now we can make them do whatever we want!"
He joyfully grinned. They all shimmy-shook like schoolgirls.
TO BE CONTINUED
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