The wedding academy was in reality a robot academy that met on a four-weekly basis to discuss, under the cover of wedding pretence, their plans for world domination and destruction. Each meeting was scrutinised by the giant Robot Eye which linked the impressive Victorian splendour of Laidlaw Manor with the mechanical bigwigs on Planet Robot, some ten thousand billion light years away.
The mechanical bigwigs, the great Robot Council, all clockwork and spanners, whirred their way through the minutes of the previous week’s meeting. Please, they asked their earth-bound robot chums, tell us all that has happened over these past four weeks – are you any closer to taking over the earth? No your Mightyships, replied Spoony, the leader of the earth robots, we are no closer to taking over the earth. Until next time then, said the Robot Council. Yes sirs! saluted the young and eager Spoony.
Who listens to the Robot Council anymore, those elders of wires and bits, those rusty old crones? Not, for sure, the younger robots, all gleam and polish through gnashing electronic teeth and laser beams for eyes. With their oil-less drums, rotating gigs and streamlined wizards, it’s no wonder they have no respect. The paint jobs too, you can really see your face in them. A bit of spit and polish, a bit of lick and like. The younger robots glide down ramps and float over walkways. Water is no barrier to them, they steam right through it. Melded and welded and a wonder to the eye.
The elder robots within the earth-bound crew are dismayed that many of the younger robots are beginning to assimilate, what with their rock and roll and voodoo and interest in the pleasures of their human opposites. Anyone would think they no longer wanted to be robots. Those elder earth-bound robots are in the business of reporting back to the Planet Robot elders who have decided that enough is enough and that a secret quick invasion is needed to a) overthrow the earth and destroy the wretched earthlings, and b) get a grip on the younger robots and get them back in line. Of this imminent invasion the younger robots are not unaware. Oh, they may look daft and empty-headed, but those younger robots are as clued in and as taut as their elder robot brethren and chums. Wired tighter, and better even, without the drawback of rust and the lost dreams and scars of endless robot scrapes.
Young Robot 1: We’ve been here too long. We’ve come to respect our earthling hosts and, in truth, now regard many of them as friends. But don’t tell the elders – they’re a bit funny about things like that.
Young Robot 2: I like human girl flesh and even human boy flesh. The sexes mean nothing to us because we’re robots. I like the fact that humans are warm and soft, sensuous. You know, you can really feel them. It’s quite something. Something the elders just don’t understand.
Young Robot 3: It’s, you know, not fair. It’s like, you know, we know that the other elders are coming in from Planet Robot but we figure there’s no use getting worried. What are they going to do? They couldn’t fight us, the elder robots, because: WE WOULD CRUSH THEIR METAL EQUIVALENT OF BONES AND ORGANS!
Elder Robot: Damn your wide eyes and laser beams!
Younger Robots: Get fucked granddad!
The Robot Planet Council Elders of Mission of Pickup: That’s enough! Get them! Now!
Attack of the Planet of the Robots!
In true Technicolor Surroundsound and VistaVision Plenty!
See! The clash of the metal titans as the earth quakes beneath their feet!
Hear! The crunch of robot teeth!
Feel! The person next to you!
Die! You earthling scum!