Gleep-Glorp and Mobiatron were my friends. Back when I didn’t have many “real” friends, those two cybo-bots came down from the planet Xxyxxflx to make my life worth the while. I’ll never forget the adventures we had: fighting the evil Cobra King from Mars, shooting off jet pack boosters on my big kid bike, crushing the ant invasion in my parents’ driveway. Oh, and the sex was great.
Those two crazy bots could always make school more fun, summer camp less soul-crushing, and nights a lot less lonely. You’d think with their cold steel hearts they couldn’t love, but their cold steel cocks proved otherwise. I remember wishing my time with them would never end, as I came buckets into Gleep-Glorp’s ectoport.
Mom and Dad were worried I was “withdrawing into myself,” I heard them say while I spent days indoors ramming positronic prostates. But they couldn’t have been more wrong. Gleep-Glorp and Mobiatron were opening me up, in ways my parents would never understand. Or maybe they would understand, if they ever found the crayon drawings I made. I diagrammed them pretty well.
But then I grew up. Gleep-Glorp and Mobiatron started booting up my butthole with their digi-dicks less and less, till I stopped seeing them altogether. I met a girl, and we got along great, but when I asked her to set phasers to “fuck” and pressurize my penetration tube she just looked at me funny. I missed my friends.
Will I ever regain that sense of wonder and innocence, fucking two robots made out of improvised Lego sets? Who knows? For now I can only look back fondly to that time, all those weeks ago.
It was two weeks ago. I was twenty.
-Matt Garczynski ’14