I laid on solid black porcelain floor. I

-p through the glass as my essence reduces to an interdimensional goo that drips into a puddle on the other side. According to the brochure, I've entered the Grunge-Baroque Era.

When my gooey interdimensional essence dripped into the puddle it experienced a critical point & crystallized into a fractal Ryman geometry which was all the rage in 5010 A.D.

But that was the Lost Millennium. Every Trans Magnetic Invoicer knows where that gets you. I picked up the Crystallized goo. In this dimension it could be used for

either caloric sustenance, or as a decorative transporter varnish. Dammit! I wish I hadn't been staring at that redhead's tookus during Training Module 4c. I glanced at my Bot. It

was just an empty varnish can with a washed-out-eyes frowny face painted on it on top of an emptied boom box with slinkies for arms. My Bot just stood on the transporter, not clean

and a bit rusty. Sure, it was a tin man made of junk, but would it fool the Robot Overlords? I flipped the switch, and teleported my bucket of bolts to the mothership.

The robot overlords had created the ultimate housekeeping robot. No job was too difficult for Roboclean. Unfortunately my bucket of bolts had sent chaos into the mothership. I may

regret my accidental destruction of the Robocleaners to the end of my days, but when I return to my cottage of hoarding, and consider the comfortably unruly state of Earth, my eyes

fill with tears...tears of laughter, for I am the lone survivor in this horrid tale. I shuffle to my window, Twinkie cellophane clinging to my slipper, and sigh in sheer relief.