No sooner had Roy begun to rest easy, thinking his wisdom had somehow made it through the abusive gauntlet of the robot’s logic circuits and analytical algorithms or otherwise, did the robot snatch up its mixing bowl and resume stirring the bowl’s contents with its unerring –inferred through omission of mention– properly lubricated arm. With ferocious fury the robot’s arm became a malefic maelstrom of whisking wherewithal, whirring at the bowl from acute accentuated angles and purpose punctuated points of attack. Roy looked to the robot as if it were trying to vex forth or emulate some jarring, spiritual kabuki it had potentially learned from its time out on the high or low plains of the wasteland or maybe perhaps robot jail –maybe all three– and for a moment he wondered if he s...

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