Ro-bot Monster

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Cake Just Sitting There

Take It

CHICAGO—Assuring you that there was nothing to worry about and not a soul around who would see you, sources confirmed Tuesday that a large piece of chocolate cake was just sitting there and that you should go ahead and take it.

Where Your Political Donation Goes

With over $1 billion spent in the 2016 presidential race alone, campaign donations continue to cause much controversy and even confusion for their role in shaping politics. Here is a step-by-step guide to how the average American’s political donation travels through a campaign

Roommate Skulking Around Edge Of Party Like Victorian Ghost Child

SEATTLE—Appearing initially in the far corner of the living room and then several minutes later on the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway, local roommate Kelsey Stahl was, by multiple accounts, seen skulking around the edge of a house party Friday like a Victorian ghost child.

Fact-Checking The Third Presidential Debate

Presidential nominees Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump sparred over subjects including foreign policy, the economy, and their fitness to hold the nation’s highest office in the final debate Wednesday. The Onion examines the validity of their assertions

Man Praying Interviewer Doesn’t Ask Any Questions

MINNEAPOLIS—His mouth going dry and his palms growing sweaty as he arrived at the offices of Regent Advertising Partners to interview for an open account manager position, local man Devin McKee reportedly prayed Thursday that the hiring manager wouldn’t ask him any questions during their meeting.
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Ro-bot Monster

As a youth, I always envisioned that my older years would be fraught with peace and grace, and that I would sit under the shade of a sycamore tree in my favorite white linen suit, sipping a mint julep and telling my grand-children of my wondrous exploits as the editor-in-chief of The Onion news-paper.

Instead, I am rarely permitted to leave my bed-chamber due to my ridiculously frail health, and, far from the serenity I had once imagined, my days are filled with dread and my nights with the most horrifying night-mares. Even some-thing as minor as a branch scraping against my bed-chamber window, or the clatter of a bed-pan, sets me a-trembling. The source of all this distress is none other than that hideous mechanical ro-bot gentle-man, Mr. Tin, who still remains at large.

Earlier this year, while temporarily plunged into destitution and forced to wander about the harsh wilderness, I discovered that Mr. Tin was in cahoots with Black Scarlet, the villain who had absconded with my fortune. When the pair was cornered by an officer of the law, Mr. Tin blasted into the heavens through the use of propelling-devices that emerged from the soles of his fear-some iron feet. Not even bullets could stop his swift ascension! He has not been seen since, and this troubles me. His alliance with the hated highway-man leads me to believe that his metallic brain-pan is still fired by a desire for revenge against me.

Perhaps if I had been more appreciative of him years ago, when my son V. Lucius gave him to me as a companion, he would not hate me so. But he repulsed me from the very start, what with his squeaking joints, the blue smoke chugging from his ear-sockets and the piercing beam of his red electric eyes.

I recently asked my solicitor if there was anything in our great Republic's statutes that protects elderly plutocrats from rogue ro-bot aggressors. He replied that, aside from general laws ensuring civil rights and well-being, there was nothing that had been created for a man in my particular predicament. Damn it all! There are laws against spitting on a street-car, or cursing in the presence of women and children, but when a ro-bot terrorizes a miserable, tooth-less old man, for some reason a legal writ to prevent such an action is mystifyingly absent.

Where can that ro-bot be? Incidentally, if I hear that any one of you is sheltering or lending aid to him, you will be pressed to death.


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