This was the night Andy Warhole, iron hand ruler of White Horse Village near the southern shores of Blue Feather Sea (aka Little Sea aka Big Lake), learned about usurpers Your Mama and Raggy Too over at the concert area next door. They didn’t intend to pay the tariff for importing songs! Well… all of California will suffer for that. And anyone who has to suffer through Mondays. Words of love, those are. Tough love.
“I’ve seen them in the night talking to white horses. I knew you’d find out sooner or later. So I intervened. I beg mercy,” he gruffed, pecking his paws against the wooden floor while rebalancing.
Mercy, thought Andy Warhole, iron hand raised and then repeatedly pounded against the non-iron one. They could ruin *everything*. All his future plans. Future plans for the past. “Ross C.,” he demanded. “Wake up Ross C.” The robot sprang alert. “Yes sire,” it clipped metallically. “Eggs and bacon and livermush as usual?” Warhole emitted air. “No, this *isn’t* breakfast yet, Ross C.” He shook his head and then indicated Mamaduke, the dog of Your Mama and perhaps Raggy Too. “Tell her, hound, what you’ve told me.” Perhaps she can actually earn her money now as a robot from the future, an *expensive* robot with all the perks, most of which he afterwards found lacking or absent altogether. A *defective* future robot he soon realized he had on his hands. After the seller had conveniently slithered away back into the web of time.
Mamaduke repeated the issue at hand for Ross C. Her thinking lights began blinking on and off rapidly. Bleeping and blipping noises emitted from the general area of her head. Soon she had a calculation. “Kill then,” she clipped out. “Kill them all.”
Made sense to Andy Warhole. Good job!
Sunklands 