Robocop Buried Deep within the Refractory

"Hello, Michael Rutherford, of the band Genesis but also Mike + The Mechanics. How are you? It is good to see you."

"Yeah hey, Robocop, good to see you, too. And thanks for the tickets, very generous of you."

"You are very welcome, Michael. A friend of mine gave them to me. He is not a fan of the professional wrestling, but I said, why not see it, the WWE? It could be fun."

"Oh yeah, it'll be quite fun. This will also be a 'house show'. By the way, do you know the difference between a house show and a live show?"

"No, but I will look them up, the differences, on the internet, if I am ever curious. Michael, tell me Michael, my friend said that the best thing about WWE was a wrestler named Derek, who executes it, his signature move, the Balls of Dericho, in every match."

"Actually, the guy's name is Jericho, and um..."

"My friend says Derrick sits on his opponent's head and rests them, his balls, on his opponent's face, and that it where it came from, the name of his signature move."

"Haha, well I think your friend is pulling your leg a bit there."

"I do not think so, Michael Rutherford. This is a good friend of mine and he would not lie to me."

"Uh, right, well, I guess we'll just go see then, won't we? Here, I think this is us."

Robocop and Michael Rutherford entered Madison Square Garden and negotiated their way to their seats.

"So, not bad, Robocop. This is going to be fun. Excited for your first pro wrestling match?"

"Yes. Also, Michael, let me ask you something, Michael, which was your favorite band of which to be an integral member, Genesis or Mike + The Mechanics."

"Ah ha, yes, I get that a lot. Well, you know, it's not as if either one of them was a bad experience. I very much enjoyed playing and writing with both of them. It was extremely gratifying, and I will be forever grateful for the, just, incredible support we received, for both bands. But, to answer your question-"

"Yes, please, Michael."

"Yes, well if I had to pick, I certainly felt MORE integral as the band leader of the Mechanics than I did as 'the bassist of Genesis'. And again, it is not as if I wasn't able to write wonderful songs and put on some truly unforgettable performances with my dear friends in Genesis, and that band will always thankfully be a huge part of my life, it's just that with the Mechanics, I really felt I was fulfilling something more. That I was able be more of a pure musician and a songwriter, and so it was just more fulfilling in a broader sense, although, again, they were both tremendously fulfilling experiences, do you know what I mean?"

"No, I prefer Genesis to Mike + The Mechanics."

"Hah, yes, well, many people do, you are not alone there."

"Yes. Michael, do you know if we will see one, an Ultimate Warrior, wrestle today?"

"I don't think so, Robocop. I believe the Ultimate Warrior has retired for good."

"Maybe one of them retired, but I am hoping we see another one of them, the Ultimate Warriors."

"Okay well, listen, unfortunately, it's not the 'Ultimate Warriors'. 'Ultimate' means that he is the last and only Warrior. Okay? It also connotes greatness with the implication that this Warrior has vanquished all potential challengers and we won't see any other Warriors while he yet lives. Right?"

"Yeah that is great, but I am saying it, there have been other Ultimate WarriORS. This is one, a fact, that you can look up on the internet if you want to do it."

"Yeah, Robocop, I know. I know that there have been multiple people that have played the role of 'Ultimate Warrior,' but, within the WWE mythology there is a single character, and not a multitude of-"

"THIS CONVERSATION BORES ME AND I AM LEAVING NOW GOOD BYE MICHAEL RUTHERFORD."

Robocop blasted off into space, covering the paid attendees surrounding him and a billowing, choking, cloud of dust and exhaust. Robocop broke a hole in the roof of the Garden, sending debris crashing down on the heads of the stunned, irritated and asphyxiating fans.

"Christ, he's getting worse," lamented Rutherford. "And he didn't even stay for the Balls of Derricho, I mean Jericho, the walls, god now he's got me doing it."

Robocop landed on the lawn of his friend, Monstupolis Miles. Miles' lawn was not kept in good shape and Robocop's landing did no discernible damage.

Miles handed Robocop a beer without otherwise acknowledging his presence. Robocop accepted the beer and stood in silence as Miles opened a beer of his own and took a long swig. Miles terminated his deep sip with a smooth belch.

"So what's up, dude? I thought you were going to the wrestling event at the Garden. Didn't you say Rutherford was going with you? Did he bail on you?"

"No, that is not it, what happened. I left."

"Why, not enjoying the entertainment? You need to get out and do more stuff, man. That's why I gave you those tickets in the first place."

"So? You did not want to go to it either, the event."

Miles finished a second long pull from his can of beer with another smooth, smooth, belch.

"Yeah, well, I had other plans tonight," smirked Miles as he hoisted the beer for the third time, draining it.

Robocop stood in silence, still holding his unopened can, before letting out a meek sigh.

"Oh what is, are you still thinking about that girl, man? What's her name? Beavis or something. I though you were over her?"

"Monstupolis Miles, her name is not, Beavis. Her name, Monstupolis Miles, is Belle Beverly D'Avaux and she was named after the 90's hip hop group-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know, you've said. Look man, I don't know what to tell you. Ship has sailed. It wasn't meant to be. Leave the Beav alone or get over it."

The two pals shared a pregnant pause.

"My problem," said Roboop, "is that I need to find a way to get them attracted to me before they consider me 'just a friend.'

"By 'them' I take it you mean all these insanely hot women you're constantly pining for?"

"Correct. I mean, I find them, certain women, to be very attractive."

"Yes, I know you're type, Robocop, smart and kind and talented and super super hot. That might be your problem, dude."

"What is it that you mean?"

"Well, maybe try meeting some women who are smart and kind and nice but not quite so super hot, or even really hot at all. You know, by conventional standards. As constructed by the patriarchy or whatever."

"In words other than the ones you have just spoken, I should lower my standards?"

"No what I mean is... actually no, that's what I mean."

"That's... helpful."

"Yep."

"And depressing."

"Yep. I mean, not really. Not if you think about it. Cause like, oh I dunno, whatever."

After another pregnant pause, Miles continued, "Well, anyway, I'm gonna go keep drinking, until I black out, then hopefully pass out. Then I'll wake about a day or so from now and spend the rest of the week feeling horrible, until I finally don't feel horrible enough to start cracking open more cold ones. Feel free to join me. Or don't. I got Netflix, gonna try watching Narcos again. I don't remember much the first time I tried watching it."

Miles waked inside while crumpling up his empty can, leaving the door open after he disappeared through the threshold.

Robocop, still holding the unopened beer, looked down at the can, contemplating it as the beads of condescension dripped down the aluminum container.

He looked up, then in either direction down the street, then straight ahead, before silently walking into Miles' house, shutting the door behind him.

The End.

Robocop Seeks Counsel

Canadian progressive rock legend, Geddy Lee, was most displeased.

"Stop!" he bellowed to his band mates, masterclass lead guitarist, Alex Lifeson, and substitute percussionist, Robocop.

"Robocop, I knew replacing immortal drum god, Neil Pert, would be difficult," Lee scolded, "We all did. But we didn't expect you to be this unprepared, even for our first rehearsal. You have literally not gotten one note correct."

"Seriously, Robocop," Lifeson added, "Neil was famous for his challenging time signatures and intricate drum fills, but you can barely keep the beat. I don't see how you're going to emulate Neil's epic half hour solos. He's a virtuoso and you're playing like absolute dog shit."

"And Robocop," rejoined Lee, "the word is 'subdivisions', not 'subtle pigeons', or whatever the hell it is you're saying."

"Gentlemen, please allow me to offer them, my apologies," replied Robocop, in his usual manner. "When I heard that, due to concerns over Neil's health, Rush would not be able to continue touring, after forty years of rocking off the asses of everyone, I could not help but offer my services as a substitute percussionist in an effort to help Rush continue to produce them, the invisible airwaves that crackle with life, perhaps leading me to oversell them, my talents."

"Robocop, keeping you in the band would mean endless compromises. Comrpimises that would not be worth all the glittering prizes in the world," said Lee.

"In my defense, I have been a bit distracted lately," said Robocop. "I have had a lot of it that there is on my mind."

"Then perhaps you better get your mind sorted out and stop wasting our time, Robocop," Lee suggested sarcastically.

Robocop paused to consider the suggestion.

"Fuck off already."

Robocop snapped to attention and pulled back the edges of his mouth into a half grimace, half frown. He activated the rocket thrusters on the sides of his cybernetic legs and blasted out of the recording studio, punching a hole in the roof and obliterating the 38 piece drum kit.

"Fucking Robocop," said Lifeson, shaking his head in disgust.

"It has been over four years since I last had one, a good adventure," Robocop thought to himself while blasting through the atmosphere, "but I am no so sure this one is off to a good start, if it is indeed an adventure that I will be having."

Robocop eventually landed at the house of his friend, Nicmar Caykace, ripping his well manicured lawn to shreds with his jet powered boots. Robocop knocked on the door and Nicmar answered.

"Hello, Cakeass."

"Yes, hello Robotcopper. I assumed that was you. Come on in, I was just doing some cooking."

"Thank you, Nic. I am in need of a lot of it, the counsel of others."

"Sure thing, my man. Tell me what's up. I'm just making some lasagna here." Nicmar casually led Robocop through the foyer and into his kitchen, where he was very clearly making a large batch of lasagna. "What I do is, I make a big old batch of lasagna over the weekend, and then pack it up for lunch for the rest of the week at work."

"I see it, the large amount of lasagna you are making. So, Nic, I was hoping I could bend it for a while, your ear."

"Last week I made a shit ton of burritos for work. They were terrific."

"That is undoubtedly terrific. ... So, there is this woman I have been seeing, but only in the company of others, other mutual friends. She is, like your burritos, terrific. She is smart, funny, attractive, also an excellent cook."

"I got all the ingredients for the burritos at Whole Foods. It was kind of expense, sure, but definitely worth it in the end."

"... And, I decided to ask her out, this terrific woman, in a move very much out of character for me, a dickless cyborg."

"People say Whole Foods is over priced, but it's like anything else, you get what you pay for. If you don't want better tasting and healthier food, fine, I say, don't pay for them. But quality, healthy meals is not something I'm willing to sacrifice just to save a few bucks."

"... Yes, there are, as they say, no lunches that are for free. But anyway, this woman declined my invitation, explaining that she was not interested in dating anyone, at this time. But then, when we were next hanging out, among mutual friends, she discussed her current utilization of dating apps, and the dates on which she went, scheduled via the aforementioned apps."

"Even if you don't want to pay extra for say, organic tortillas, there is really no excuse not to shop at Whole Foods for the produce. Green peppers are green peppers, and if you can get better green peppers at Whole Foods, that's where I'm going to get my green peppers. And I'm sorry if people think that's, I don't know, obnoxious or something."

"I do not know either why it is that anyone would. I do not give one of them, a fuck, about where you get your green peppers, Nic. Now, for the next part of my story. Days later I am with this same woman at a bar. Other mutual friends are there but I am the only dude, or dickless cyborg, as it were. There is also music and dancing. But then some other dude begins to chat her up, this woman. And then this woman goes home with this other dude, and I go home alone, with my dickless cybernetic groin in my hand.

"I'll tell you what I won't pay extra for, though, it's bottled water. Petroleum based plastic bottles are killing the environment. That's what I have Brita filters delivered by Amazon every week."

"No one will argue with you over it, the importance of water, or the environment. But what are you thoughts about my situation vis-a-vis this woman? I felt so humiliated at the bar. I wanted very badly to do something, to say something, to change the dynamics of our relationship. However, all it was that I did was to drink a thousand beers and release a thunderous belch to the satisfaction of no one."

Nicmar looked up from his stove where he has been carefully layering pasta and ricotta cheese into his lasagna pan. "Robocop, let me show you something. I think you'll really like it."

Robocop hopefully followed Nicmar out of his kitchen and on to his patio. "Isn't it amazing?" asked Nicmar.

"I do not know what is that I am looking at," replied Robocop, who was looking at a variety of plastic tubs, several grain filled plastic bags, and a few 10 gallon water cooler jugs filled with brownish liquid.

"It's my home brewery, Robocop. It's the only way to drink. Come're, you have to smell these hops I just ordered special from the internet."

A wave of panic and frustration surged through Robocop's half human, half robot body. He activated his rocket boosters and erupted out of Nicmar's screened-in patio, destroying it and his home brew kit in the process.

"Hey, fuck you, Robocop!" cursed Nicmar, before coughing on a cloud of Robocop's jet fuel exhaust.

Hurtling through space, Robocop felt more distraught than ever. His urges to gulp oceans of beers in an effort to blackout and fast forward to a less emotionally painful time in his life were overwhelming. But before crashing into a CVS to pick up a couple of six packs of Hurricane tall boys and heading to his basement to crank his favorite Tool albums and chug is way towards blissful oblivion, Robocop stopped at another friend's house.

"Howdy, Robo," said Robocop's friend, anticipating Robocop's arrival due to the deafening roar of his rockets.

"Hello, Russ. Or should I say, as you have been appointed the consumer products regulator in charge of children's toys by the Obama administration, Toy Czar Russ," Robocop said, unable to prevent a self-satisfied smirk from creeping across his face.

"Good one, Robo. I never heard that one before. Especially since my real full name is fucking Toizar Russ."

"Ha ha ha. Yes is it, Toizar Russ. I am sorry, I can not help it, the pun, I very much enjoy it."

"I know, you love puns. They're super. So, what brings you around? It's been a minute."

"It has, in truth, been a vast quantity of minutes. But before you interject, know that I have been keeping up with the youth vernacular, and I know that you were speaking figuratively, and really meant that has been a long time since we last spoke, and not a literal duration of sixty seconds."

"Yeah, all right, all right. So what's up, already?"

Robocop repeated what he had explained to Nicmar. However in this instance, Robocop's friend listened intently.

"For starters," Russ began, "you can tell me 'this woman's' name and stop referring to her as, 'this woman'."

"Belle. The woman's name is Belle D'Avaux. She is French. Her full name is Belle Beverly D'Avaux, and so I call her Bell Bev D'Avaux, which is hilarious to me because it sounds like the name of the R&B music group from the 1990's that spun off from a different R&B music group called New Edition that were-"

"Yeah I get it," interrupted Russ. "It's another wonderful pun. Very good. So, you asked out Belle and got shot down. Now you feel like crap. What else am I missing?"

"I feel I have also been getting them, mixed signals, from Belle. She still wants to hang out, and engage in the typical social activities of friends."

"Uh, well that's probably because she still wants to be friends with you. Women do this sometimes, ya know. Stay friends with guys they're not dating?"

"Yes, it is the friend zone. I am familiar"

"Er, yeah, but don't say that. It sounds dumb. Like you're making up an excuse to feel sorry for yourself. What about the mutual friends. Have you talked to any of them about this? What do they say?"

"Yes, I have. One of our mutual friends mentioned that she was not surprised that Belle declined my offer to take her out."

"OK, so this is pretty simple, Robocop. I don't know what else to tell you. You gotta face facts, Belle is not interested in dating you. But it does sound like she wants to be friends with you, which should count for more than you're letting it. Lots of miserable dudes out there can't even manage to make shitty friends, let alone fun, intelligent friends who also happen to be attractive women."

"But it is precisely that fact that is making it, my life, so miserable. It hurts to be around Belle. She keeps me up at night. When I think of her, I lose my appetite. I was thrown out of my band, Rush, because I could not concentrate enough to learn that labyrinthine percussion notation of Neil Pert, who I was attempting to replace."

"Oh my god, shut up, Robocop. Number one: you could fucking never replace Neil Pert. I don't care if you were banging the girl from the AT&T ads," Robocop's heart briefly fluttered at this thought, "you in that band was a stupid fucking idea to begin with. You will never be in Rush. Fucking shut up about Rush. Number two: the poets have a word for what you're going through. They call it 'lovesickness'."

"That sounds accurate."

"But I have a different word for it. I call it, 'being a tremendous fucking pussy'."

"Now hold on, the implied misogyny of-"

"Shaddup. Listen, Robocop, you want it to be one way, but it's not that way. And that's just fucking life. Time to plot a new course. You said Belle was into dating apps. Well, they work for dudes too. She's on there dating people, why not you?"

"Because I am not good at it, those dating apps. How do I know the women I might meet from the dating apps will be better Belle? Do they even have apps for me, a dickless cyborg?"

"I don't know, but trying any of them might give you a good kick in the dickless codpiece, which is what you need right now."

"Hey now-"

"Take a risk, Robocop. You need to fail. You need to realize your life doesn't end just because someone doesn't want to go out with you. Of course it sucks, but there's no other way. Either make the difficult decisions and deal with the consequences or sit and wallow in self pity like a total asshole, just don't expect any sympathy from me, or anyone else, because we all have to deal with the same bullshit, same as you."

"Toizar Russ," Robocop said, after letting Russ' admonition percolate in his mixture of brains and circuitry, "You have given me a lot of it to ponder, your counsel."

"Only trying to help, dude. Don't take it the wrong way."

"I do not. And I will try them, these dating apps."

"There you go, that's the spirit!"

"Maybe even a fresh start, in a brand new city. Find a new home, get in shape, get some nice clothes, find them, some new women, who may or may not want to date me. But fail as I might, at least I will learn, and grow from the process."

"Now you're getting it, Robo, there just may be hope for you yet," Russ beamed.

"But first I will get outrageously drunk, perhaps for a month or so of time. Goodbye, Russ, and thank you for it, the good counsel of a friend."

Robocop blasted across the street, crashed through the front doors of a CVS, and erupted out of a newly rent hole in the roof carrying two arm fulls of Hurricane malt liqour.

"God damn motherfucking Robocop," muttered Russ.

The end.

Robocop and the Ageless Masterpiece

A deep, guttural blast of sonic fury emanated from the 18 foot speakers in Robocop's band's warehouse practice space. Robocop growled the lyrics to "Ageless Masterpiece", the definitive track of the Ronald James Dio tribute band he had assembled, The Ageless Maestros.

There were many directions Robocop could have taken a band paying homage to man who cut such a broad and accomplished swath through the popular music landscape. In this instance, Robocop decided that he could best honor the memory of Dio the Master by emulating the violent, psychically assaulting musical mood set best by the likes of Al Jourgensen of the industrial rock pioneering band, Ministry, as well as his pet side project 10,000 Homo DJs, rather than the powerful yet soulful and perhaps equally appropriate blues inspired rhythms of George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers.

In any event, Robocop and his band were practicing and they were totally fucking loud. Normally that is just how Robocop likes it. The louder the better to drown out the nagging worries, doubts and insecurities that perccolated through his addled brain, and the better to chase away the persistent notion that Robocop's life was just a big fat fucking waste of time, which glommed on to Robocop like an irritating rash for which really fucking loud music was the only balm.

But now, lacking a salve for this frustrations, Robocop applied pressure to the microphone he was snarling into until it popped, crumbling into a pile of worthless dust.

"Robocop, are you all right?" Asked the Ageless Maestros drummer, John Stanier, legendary drummer of alternative metal band, Helmet, known best for his speed, endurance and precision as a performer.

"Yes, John Stanier, everything is fine. Why would you think I am not fine just fine?" Robocop punctuated the end of his sentence by picking up a guitar and chucking it through a window and out of the warehouse.

"Robocop," continued John, "my specialty may be awesome drumming with a super tall splash cymbal, but it definitely seems like something has got you upset."

"Nope, I am fine. No need for it, your concern." Robocop then kicked his foot through a speaker.

John was skeptical of Robocop's insistence. "I don't understand, Robocop. Didn't you just get a new day job? One pays well and doesn't drive you crazy? You also moved into a sweet new apartment and have been dating a girl for a few months. It's like you've got everything going for you but your still miserable."

"Could it be," interjected Rex Brow, formerly the bassist of Pantera and one of the driving forces behind the power groove metal phenomenon, "that Robocop is only truly happy when he's crushing Hurricane malt liquor in his basement, smoking cigarettes and listening to Tool?"

"I think you have nailed it, my problem, Rex Brown. God fuck it all."

The end.

Robocop in the Club

Robocop sauntered up to the renowned Washington DC live music venue, The 69:30 Club. It was nine pm on a Saturday night and he was sufficiently sloshed to enjoy a nice loud, throbbing, pulsating set by Robocop’s favorite power rock group, Mr. Roper and his Frayed Knots.

Before Robocop could get his half human, half machine hand stamped, inside and holding a tall cold fermented adult beverage, he noticed an altercation brewing near the entrance. The bouncer was in the midst of fracas with an anxious gentleman attempting to get inside.

“Sorry pal, you aren’t getting inside without a ticket,” the burly tattooed door man growled.

“You don’t understand, I need to get in there,” protested the equally tattooed by considerably thinner man.

“Then you should have gotten a ticket. The only people who get in for free are club staff members and the band. And I know you don’t work here. So unless you’re in the band...”

The anxious man starred at the bouncer and than yelled in an exasperated tone, “I’M AFRAID NOT!”

“THEN YOU’RE NOT GETTING IN!” the bouncer snapped back.

Robocop, being a law enforcement officer trained in forensic detective work, problem solving and dispute resolution, recognized the issue and immediately identified the appropriate remedy with laser like precision and robotic efficiency.

“Come with me, anxious gentleman,” Robocop said as he picked up the man being barred entry by the collar and carried him to the alley behind The 69:30 Club.

“Thanks, Robocop! You’re a real friend for taking care of this,” shouted the bouncer.

“Than you know you are to call me my name, Murphy, as my friends do, my friend!” Robocop shouted back.

“Hey man, what are you doing?” Asked the Frayed Knot.

“Do not worry about it, the situation. I know what is going on, the misunderstanding, and will take care of it.”

“Oh great, thanks, Robocop!”

“By the way, what is it that is causing so many people to line up outside The 69:30 Club? I very much enjoy them, Mr Roper and the Frayed Knots, but they do not normally pack them in, so many people.”

“Oh that’s because of the opening band. They call themselves Two Dollar Red Bull and Vodkas and they always draw huge crowds, even though, to be personally honest, they suck pretty bad.”

“That is very clever on their part, the name $2RBVs. OK here we are, where I will solve the problem.” Robocop pulled out an enormous gun from his robotic thigh holster and blasted a truck size hole in the back of the club. Debris lie strewn across the alley and a billowing cloud of dust enveloped the horrified band member.

“Robocop, what the fuck did you just do!?!”

“Solved your problem.”

“You stupid dick, I’m in the band. I didn’t want you to wreck the fucking club to get me in. Now our gig is ruined! And you also killed a couple people!”

“If you are in it, the band, why did not you just say so.”

“I fucked did! I’m a Frayed Knot!”

Robocop paused.

“Well I guess I will be leaving now, the club.”

That’s when the now out of breath bouncer rounded the corner and saw the destruction.

“Robocop you just fucked up the whole club! You are no friend of mine. You are a fucking piece of shit! Get the fuck out of here and never return!” he admonished.

“Yes, yes, I am already making like it, a drum, and beating off.”

And so Roboocop rocketed away and his jet powered boots, never to return to The 69:30 Club, because he had just totally fucked it all up.

The End.

Robocop sat up with his morning coffee in a pensive mood. Stewing in thoughts, he reclined again, sipping mud filtered hot caffeine water and reflected. Mostly about the end.

It had been quite a while since Robocop had been anywhere close to sexing it the pussy. Obviously, this dickless cyborg was never going to get his nonexistent weenus inside of a bergina, but sometimes he got close, or at least, would have, if he didn't have a shiny metal codpiece for a crotch, and that was okay.

Robocop's band had also been on extended hiatus. Very little heavy metal thundered out from anywhere in Roboccop's apartment. Neither from the instruments of his bandmates nor from his personal collection of compact discs and audio tape cassettes. Robocop did sing most of the lyrics to Black Sabbath's War Pigs while in the shower not long ago, but that hardly counts.

Being a cybernetic law enforcement officer lent itself to long periods of solitude. Having a composition largely of gears and circuity rather than flesh and blood meant Robocop would forever struggle with intimacy among the fully humanoid. And so Robocop caught himself fantasizing about being strapped to a table and cut in half by a giant bladed pendulum.

Possessing a body that long ago abandoned the sensation of pain afforded Robocop the luxury of such indulgences. Indeed the entire concept of physical touch had become a mystery to him. So when Robocop's existential yeanrings pushed to the brink of his still mortal mind's capacity, there were few options available to deal with his frustrations. At least not like there were back in simpler times, when his friends called him Murphy and punching a brick wall triggered shooting pain up and down his arm and the rapid release of a whole wad of endorphins to soak up his crackling synapses. Nowadays punching a brick wall only achieved a tongue lashing from the owner of the now demolished brick wall and increased feelings of inadequacy and detachment.

Absent the typical emotional vents, Robocop let the giant axe in his mind slowly drop through his torso, slicing deeper after each momentary pause on either side of the slab upon which he was securely fettered.

But this wouldn't do. Robocop would be severed all too quickly. A quick and clean cut, no doubt, but it would be over practically before it even started. What about being drawn and quartered? They would have to be the sturdiest of steads, mammoth Clydesdales, or just mechanical pulleys, or whatever. But yes, attached to each limb and yanking at his metalloid joints with excruciating strain. Some bolts would pop, maybe even a flange would spring free, but the final cleavage would require additional assistance. An executioner to loose his extremities with a great big honking butcher's blade. Hacking away, several strokes to the arms and legs each. Until finally Robocop was literally torn asunder. His rent pieces streaming debris as they flew away from his withered core.

Ah, but that was too messy. Why impose with a creation of such litter. There is a more elegant way to go about this.

There was always something about the pressing technique that had the proper flare and proportion. Robocop imagined laying flat on his back, balancing a great oak door above him. The wood piled high with massive boulders that crushed down on him with the weight of the universe. All just to get to the last release when his steel exoskeleton pops like a grape and any doubts, insecurities or reservations he yet held are expelled with the gushing force of a waterfall.

Better yet, tipping over Niagra Falls and cascading to his doom. The river current serving as Robocop's personal treadmill to oblivion. This was something he could get behind. It seemed almost... regal. Of course the water would have to be molton lava. Or a terrible acid. Maybe even a carnivorous, gelatinous blob that would devour Robocop and feast on his miserable corpse. That at least had the added benefit of returning what remained of his humanity to the Circle of Life.

Now more horrible a demise began to swirl through Robocop's psyche, once death by consumption was brought to the table. And no, not the kind where you drink yourself to death. Robocop did so wish he had the ability to imbibe spirits, let alone get drunk. But a swarm of insects, ravenous insects, crawling all over his metal carcass, feasting on the bits of protruding flesh and evaporating all vestiges of the man once known as Alexander James Murphy - THAT was entirely doable!

Ah but what else? Shot off on a rocket and brunt up by the sun? Why not? Robocop was practically salivating at the thought of every molecule in his body being completely anahilated by the white hot, nuclear intensity emanating from the core of our soler system. Maybe Earth's favorite star could go supernova at exactly the moment Robocop's orbit sailed past Mercury. That'll take care of Robocop's mortal coil, most definitely.

Sure, that's all well and good, but Robocop knew there was a more complete obliteration out there. Say, why not blast off in to fucking space and find himself a god damned black hole? Holy shit did Robocop like the sound of chasing the infinite down the center of some motherfucking event horizon. Now that's something on which to ruminate! So long fucking Detroit cocksucking Police Department! Have fun licking my asshole when it's been removed from the space time continuum, Omni cunt raping Consumer Products! I'll see all you motherfuckers in hell! I'll fucking - oh wait hold on, the phone's ringing.

What's that? A Ronald James Dio band of the tribute variety? Why of course I want to sing them, the lead vocals. This is the band I have been longing to front for it, my entire life! Shut it the fuck up I have not been listening to them, the emo bands and crying myself to sleep every night. What is it that you think you know about me, lead guitarist for Clutch, Tim Sult? You just bring it, your shredding guitar riffs, and do not worry about me and whatever it is that you think my mental state is in. Yes that is fine and good bye it is to you.

Immediately after hanging up, Robocop blasted out of his apartment, shattering most of the ceiling and a wall as he flew toward his new band and their first practice. Turning around mid flight, Robocop drew his hand gun and fired several missiles into his old building.

"Go ahead and suck it, my fucking missiles, stupid old apartment and old life that can both be meeting me in hell at a time in the future that will be undetermined by me," Robocop said with a smirk.

Refreshed from a many splendored holiday, Robocop called his band in for practice sessions.

"How are you gentleman? It is so good to see you all again, Mike Bordin, Pepper Keenen and he who is my friend of the longest tenure, Ronald James Dio. As we begin it, a new year of the heavy metaling, I would like you, my band, to be known from the time of now until the time of forever as the Farthammertones."

Robocop's band all nodded together in enthusiastic agreement.

"Now that I see that you love it, your new band name, I would hope that you have the same reaction for this, my new song I have written: Bird Faced Lady."

And the band just as eagerly received the sheet music Robocop distributed. Then, a thunderous detonation of metal exploded through the neighborhood.

She was a bird faced lady
not too fat for me!

She was a bird faced lady
so we made out!

She was a bird faced lady
i want sex from thee!

She was a bird faced lady
but she said no way!

She was a bird faced lady
Oh yeah? well fuck you!

She was a bird faced lady
And so really it was I who dumped you!

Fuckin slut ass bird looking dyke!

Dio was the first to remark, "Robocop, I'm not lying when I say that was the greatest song I have ever heard, and I think I speak for the rest of the Farthammertones when I say those are probably the most profound, and really the most important lyrics, in the history of Western Civilization. Literally."

"Yes, I know it," replied Robocop.

Just then, Robocop's girlfriend, Plumpt Melons, walked in, "Hey, Robocop, it's funny you just wrote a song like that because we have to talk."

"Oh, hello my dear, were you listening to it, our new hit song?"

"Yeah I was and that's what I need to talk about. Listen, we're through."

"What you say? But you do not think I really made out with her, a bird faced lady, do you? Those were just my profound lyrics, an artistic expression."

"A brilliant artistic expression," chimed Dio.

"No, that's not it," Plumpt continued. "Our relationship hasn't been anything good for awhile now. I mean, you have to recognize this, all you ever do now is hang out in the basement, get drunk and smoke cigarettes. It's fucking pathetic."

"That is not a fun time for you, the basement?"

"Are you kidding me? How is that any fucking fun?! It's like you don't even give a shit anymore. You don't even have lungs! Look, when we started dating, I thought you were a sweet, sensitive guy. A little weird, but that's what I liked about you. But now it's clear that you're just a prick. Just another asshole who's full of himself and his retarded faggot band."

"But Plumped -"

"And that's another thing - you never even learned how to spell my name right. It's Plumpt, with a T! Forget it, I'm out of here."

"My darling, wait!"

"Fuck you, asshole!"

As Plumpt existed Robocop leaned against a wall, a dejected, forlorn, cybernetic mess.

Dio, naturally, wanted to cheer his friend up.

"C'mon Robocop, don't let that little cock tease get you down. You're a genius, you dont need her."

"No, Ronold James Dio. I do not want to hear it, your speech. I do not want to hear, or speak, or feel any of them, the sensations of consciousness. I will be in it, the basement."

"Robocop stop! Listen to me, man. I'm serious. You'll snag another chick, you're a fucking stud, with unparalleled vision and depth. I guarantee after we get back to touring you get so many babes you wont know how to not have sex with them." Dio was referring to the cyborg Robocop's lack of male genetalia.

"But none like her, the Plumped Melons. She was perfect, Ronald James Dio. Perfect."

"No you're wrong, Robocop, she wasn't. It's all about perspective, bro. As a wise man once said to me, 'no matter how hot you think some chick is, just remember, out there is some other dude who is totally sick of her."

Robocop pondered this thought and then, as Dio looked on, let his sobbing give way to bitter fury.

"Oh really, Ronald James Dio? A wise man told you this, a brilliant maxim? Just old was he the wise man, older than even you the oldest man in the universe?"

"C'mon, Robocop, that's not fair, I'm just trying to-"

"Trying not to expire of your old age? No! I am sick of it your shit. Fuck you, Ronald James Dio, you are fucking fired, no longer a Farthammertone! Take your old ass that is somewhere in between the range of 64 to 69 years and get it the fuck out of here!"

Dio's lips quivered and his eyes welled. "Fine, Robocop. You want me gone, im gone. I will take my 53 year old ass and I will fuck off. You fucking dickless cyborg shithead!"

The band sat in uncomfortable silence after Dio stormed off. Robocop turned and again attempted to retire to the basement.

"No, Robocop, wait," this time it was their drummer, Mike Borden, formerly of the band Faith No More. "While you and Dio were fighting I put in a call to one of my acquaintances. I think you're going to want to stick around because he's coming over."

"Who is that you could have possibly called that I," and Robocop was interrupted as Maynard James Keenen, of the bands Tool, A Perfect Circle and Puscifer, walked through the door.

"It is, it is, it is," Robocop stammered.

"Hey, Robocop, Mike called, said you guys were having trouble. I figured I would stop by and see if I could help."

"MAYNARD JAMES KEENES! YES HOW ARE YOU MAYNARD JAMES KEENEN?"

"I'm good Robocop. So, as you know, I run a vineyard in Arizona, a restaurant in Los Angeles and am involved in numerous charities to go along with my responsibilities to the three bands I'm in, so I really don't have the time to become a permanent member of the Farthemmertones, as much as I would like to, however, I figured a long as I was in the area we could go over some Tool songs together."

"..."

"Roboc-"

"YES I WOULD ENJOY THAT VERY MUCH FOR US TO PLAY TOOL TOGETHER MAYNARD JAMES KEENEN."

"Haha, OK, Robocop. Guys? Let's do this."

After a long, skull shattering set of Tool songs that included tracks from their entire catalogue, Robocop was once again sobbing.

"Robocop, what's wrong, didn't you enjoy playing Tool songs with me?"

"That is just it Maynard James Keenen, I have finally realized that the only time I am every truly happy in my life is when I am listening to Tool. Thank you for saving it my life."

The End.

It's been three years since we last visited Robocop and in that time a woman has entered his life. The woman is stunning beautiful and yet also incredibly cool and funny. Her name is Fuggin Slud and Robocop is desperately in love. Unfortunately, Fuggin Slud is not about to debase herself in a fruitless relationship with a dickless cyborg, so instead of three years of unbridled passion with with the girl of his dreams, Robocop has spent this time firmly cemented in the so-called 'friend zone', much to his dismay.

One day, Fuggin Slud approached Robocop as she would any other time they would hang together as swell platonic pals.

"So Robocop,"

"Now Fuggin Slud, my name is Robocop, but all of my lovers they call me Mur-"

"Yeah anyway Robocop, I was thinking about that new song you and your band were working on."

Like any good friend, Fuggin Slud had taken interest in Robocop's career as the world most heaviest of all the world's metal rockers.

"You mean it, the new song Fart Fuck Ham (fart fuck hime)?"

"Yeah, sing the chorus again for me."

"To do that would be a pleasure of mine.

Fart fuck ham,
Fart fuck hime,
Fat fuck steen,
Fat fuck stine."

"Hmm... Well it's good, but I think the whole industrial angle is a bit played out. Ever thought of adding a country western element? Start off each line with 'ah', like this:

ah-Fart fuck ham,
ah-Fart fuck hime,
ah-Fat fuck steen,
ah-Fat fuck stine."

"Interesting. So as to create a new fusion rock genre in a way that the Judgment Night Soundtrack did so famously?"

"Yeah I guess. Well, it was good seeing you. I've got to go to a party at this guy's house. Hey, why don't you come?"

"Oh well yes, I was uh, thinking instead of a party that is not one that is one that I, uh, or that you could hang it out here, with uh, myself and, as the party is not, uh, something that is uh, well I-"

"Haha, yeah ok, well call me later!"

Robocop watched dejectedly as Fuggin Slud walked out to go to a party at some dude's house instead of staying and rocking it out with himself.

As Robocop began to depressingly compare how much more often he thought of Fuggin Slud then she thought of him, a cool mist began to percolate through the room. The lights dimmed and began to glow an eerie green. A baritone voice then spoke:

"Forgive her, Murphy, for she knows not what she does."

"Oh hey, it is you, Peter Steele, the leader singer of the legendary gothic rock doom metal band, Type O Negative."

"Hello, Murphy, it sems you have found yourself deep in the bowels of that vicious succubus who goes by the name friendzone.

"Yes it is true, Peter Steele, but the friendzone, it is a sticky place, out from which I can not find a way to extricate myself. Fuggin Slud has me enthralled, and I am forlorn."

"Yeah, she seems like the kind of girl you just want to take to a cemetary and drip melted wax all over her black leather corset."

"What is it you say?"

"Huh? Oh nothing. Listen, Robocop, let me tell you a few things about fuck'n sluts.

First, sluts are great, and often if you hang out with sluts, you can get laid. However, if you're into one particular fuck'n slut who instead of fucking you decides she's going to fuck and suck off every other guy you know, you probably need to quit being into this particular fuck'n slut. And finally, if you ever find yourself in the friendzone with some fuck'n slut and can't get over her, just blow your fucking brains out and get it over with, man, 'cause you ain't never gettin' out."

Robocop pauses to consider if there is any difference between Fuggin Slud and Fuck'n Sluts.

"This may be it, the truth, Peter Steele, but also perhaps it is okay to pine for a particular slut that has fucked them all of mankind, if it is someone for whom you do care for deeply. After all, why for not? If being around a Fuggin Slud, er, that is I mean, a fuck'n slut, makes you happy, then it may be worth it to put up with the constant pummeling of one's self esteem. Besides, I am one of a dickless cyborg, and can not rock it out with anything that resembles my cock out."

"Hey Robocop, stop shitting down my throat and calling it chocolate mousse. "

Robocop is now more sad than ever.

"Oh look Murphy, I didn't mean to bum you out so much. I was just trying to help. This is just the way I deal with my constant pain and sorrow. Like, whatever floats your fucking boat, bro."

Robocop perks up slightly, "You say Fartfuckstine."

"I say Fartcuksteen. Exactamundo, dude. Now come on, lets go murder some prostitutes."

"Wait, what?"

"I mean coffee, lets go get coffee."

"Uh, ok, whatever it is you say, Peter Steele."

Robocop and Peter Steele walk down to the nearest Starbucks and get in line. They are delayed from enjoying a hot caffeinated beverage by an untold number of douchebags who are holding up the line by ordering extraordinarily complicated specialty drinks that take literally over 6 hours to prepare. Robocop and Peter Steel get extremely pissed off.

"That is it, I can not wait a minute of time longer."

"Robocop, let's fuck these assholes right up."

"That is it what I am saying. Here, we shall use this, my new weapon."

Robocop breaks out a shiney new bazooka-sized device called The Anal Annihilator. Robocop and Peter Steele then proceed to go to town on everyone's asses. The carnage halts when Robocop sees Fuggin Slud, waiting for some carmel latte esspresso bullshit. Robocop powers down the Anal Annihilator and steps toward her.

"Hey, Robocop! What are you doing man? We got a lot more anuses to annihilate!" Yells a frantic Peter Steele.

"Fuggin... I..."

"Murphy! I... wow! I mean, I always knew you were a good guy, but also a dickless cyborg. And I... well... jeez with that, I mean that thing changes everything."

"Fuggin Slud I want to tell you some-"

"Do me!"

Robocop gives a moment's pause.

"Peter Steele, finish annihilating anuses on your own. Fuggin Slud, come with me and get it your pussy ravaged. Friendzone, choke on it my fucking dick."

The end.