What Price Beauty

What Price Beauty

“I’m afraid I cannot compute,” Commander Robot protested.

“Don’t worry,” Elder Space Captain declared with supreme gravitas. “We’re just ensuring that all your functions are thoroughly debugged."

"But I am fully… fully functional…” Commander Robot gasped in a rasping voice as the Algorithm inside his brain executed function DoSploogeComplete(); and he rapidly ejected a thin stream of WD-50 and other biologically unsafe lubricants from his glistening copper-tubing rod.

“I know,” Elder Space Captain cooed in pleasure as he used the liquids to polish his aged cranium to a bright spitshine. “I know."

Walking out of his chambers, Elder Space Captain entered the Space Treaty Negotiations, stunning everyone with his ruggedly good looks, his beauty secret safe within Commander Robot’s pocket-calculator brain. 

Paisley P. Peinforte

About Paisley P. Peinforte

Having successfully invaded both America and Canada from her home base in Windsor, Paisley has become horribly corrupted by the world. She hates active voice and wishes to god Twitter had an edit button. Dedicated to "creating the greatest 'Ship of them all", she ponders horribly terrible, idiotic things for your amusement.


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~explanation~

I'm a snarky, semi-horrible human being given to penning intentionally bad epic slashfiction involving improbable objects and individuals, with the ultimate ambition of befouling Kindle with it one day,which is ostensibly what this blog is for.

In practice, however, it tends to mainly be a circular file for my various thoughts and ideas, some whimsical and others not, in addition to my various Photoshop experiments, mainly collections of what I generate for Twitter.