7.3 Switching Protocols

I’m doing my darnedest to keep this momentum going, so let’s get straight into the next act of the shitshow!

Here we see a typical morning at the Langurd Lodge for Futuristic Wayfarers. After arriving with a crash of thunder that ruins my screenshots and wakes the baby, a guest makes himself at home in the nursery.

Colby: Ah, what a quaint little transport vessel! I believe this is what they called a bort.

It’s precisely at this point that I rage-delete the time portal and leave Colby forever stranded. I hope he learns how to sail that bort the fuck outta here.

Advertisements

7.2 Forbidden

Well. I just laid out the screenshots for several more chapters and let me tell you, Siesta’s generation is going to be a saga. Today’s update is coming to you in a smaller package so I will feel less daunted by the task ahead.

We find the family in much the state we left them, i.e. total disarray after our resident knight turned out to be robotophile, and our resident robot turned out to be a bitch. Who knew?

The latest trend is that Siri keeps asking Breandan to “train” her on the ballet bar, which is as unsubtle as it is stupid.

Breandan: Work that plié, you arousing slab of tin!

Siri: This is all I ever wanted!

7.1 I’m a teapot

Hello, and welcome back to the Langurds! For real this time – no more filler bullshit. If you don’t believe me, take a moment to breathe in the scent of decaying tofu dogs and evaporating brain cells.

Oh yeah, we’re back alright.

Turns out I remember zero things from last generation, but I do know that there was a terrible, awful, very no good heir poll and y’all panic-voted this box-headed fool into leadership. I think we will regret this soon, but for now it’s full steam ahead!

Commence the celebratory tea! (I hope she showed up on time)

Siesta: Hey Prototype, I’ve been thinking.

Prototype: God help us all.

Siesta: Since I’m in charge and stuff, I’m going to rename you Siri.

Prototype: Pray tell why?

Siesta: Don’t be silly, Siri. You answer my questions, not the other way around!

Prototype: You poor dense soul.