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Friday, 21 January 2011

Woodshed

After an overnight stay in the Gulfing Room, I have now realised that the entire membership of the Beaker Folk has not been "taken away" to join the Catholic Church, and they have not been replaced by robots. Neither had Archdruid Eileen accepted an invitation to be the next female Pope, as it was claimed in the Husborne Crawley Examiner. Indeed, she had merely gone to Yorkshire to look into planting a new modernist religious group, the "Tupperware folk of Tadcaster".

And in retrospect I can see that kicking people in the shins to see if they are robots is almost always wrong. Mostly because a well-designed robot could simulate suffering from the pain of being kicked in the shins. And partly because some of the angrier ones are likely to kick you back.

Which is why I am now hiding in the wood shed in the Orchard. There are apples stored here, and a plentiful supply of fuel to keep me warm. I am sure that by the spring everyone will have forgotten the events of the last few days.

I just hope there's nothing Nasty in here.

4 comments:

  1. Burton, obviously a lesson learned.

    If they ad been Robots, I am sure that they would have been provided with some sort of laser device to incinerate shin kickers.

    On the other hand, well programmed Robots might well, as you say, be able to simulate being human and hurt!

    As for the Arch Druid, she might be the ultimate, unique, well programmed Robot, designed to mete out punishment to recalcitrant Budget/Finance/Investment managers or advisors.

    If I were you, I would retreat to the vault where all of the money and gold is held and stage a lock-in, well supplied with nourishing beverages and even some food - you will be safe there mand withholding funds from the Arch Druid will soon bring her to her senses (or mechanical brain).

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  2. Clearly the nastiest thing in the woodshed is you. Now see if you can hide from yourself.
    And if you succeed, let me know how, I could use somewhere to hide.

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  3. And I hope you are grateful, Mr Basset or whatever your name is, for there's poor Mother Starkadder with none.

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  4. Miss Tilney, I don't believe Judith Starkadder needs a woodshed. There was always something nasty in her old one. And it wasn't Burton.

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