Everyone Died+My iPhone Stopped Working: An Oral History of The Robot Apocalypse

Alive Tonight - Part 1

But I was facing the end of the world. And if I was going to get hammered, there was never going to be a better occasion than that.

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Dougal

OK, so Kevin and I had until sunrise to give Baby Question Mark a name. You know, just in case the world ended. But no pressure! LOL!

And I had an idea right off the bat: Angel!

How perfect is that? It works for every gender and orientation! Plus, sometimes, the baby is like an angel! Granted, it's also sometimes like Satan... but wasn't Satan also an angel? I'm actually asking. I'm pretty sure they covered this in church, but I never paid attention. LOL!

Anyway, Kevin wasn't into it. "Nah. That's boring. I am sure we can come up with something better."

With that in mind, please enjoy this partial list of the baby names Kevin rejected:

Jesse?

No.

Parker?

No.

Sparkle?

No.

Bling?

No.

Frosting?

No.

Shindig?

No.

Hydrangea?

No.

L. Ron Hubbard?

What?

Just wanted to make sure you were listening. Merlot?

No.

Cloudy?

No.

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Banyan

You know what? When I heard the news, I didn't give a shit.

Not. One. Shit.

I mean, why should I care?

I tried to prevent the robots from destroying humanity and everyone thought I was a jerk.

I tried to help the robots destroy humanity and everyone thought I was a jerk.

Then I tried to warn everybody about letting machines decide our fate and they thought I was a jerk.

And then everybody started freaking out because — whaddaya ya know? the robots were deciding our fate! — and everybody still thought I was a jerk!

Fuck all y'all. I'm done.

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Kenny

I had been invited to a party, but that was the last place I wanted to be. For once, I was going to be alone, in the quiet, with my thoughts and a bottle of Bulgarian Rakia.

Which was not my first choice of alcoholic beverage, obviously. But unfortunately, by this point in the Robot Apocalypse, pretty much all of the good alcohol had been drunk or blown up by robots in giant blue fireballs.

Besides, I was drinking for effect. So good was not as important as potent.

I poured myself a glass. Here goes nothing.

"Nazhtrovia," I said to the empty room. It was a Belarusian toast: "to your health."

I took a big gulp and almost spit it back out. It tasted like prune-flavored disinfectant and burned my throat. Holy shit, was it awful!

But if I was going to get drunk, I needed to have a lot more. I figured that the second swallow wouldn't be as painful as the first.

I was wrong.

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Supreme Lord High Galactic Overlord Russell

Sewing is hard.

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Dougal

So we made a new rule: Kevin wasn't allowed to reject stuff without giving me a reason.

Harper?

Too stuffy.

Amethyst?

Too pole-dancery.

Crouton?

Too salady.

Zanzibar Buck-Buck McFate?

Too Dr. Seuss-y.

Irregardless?

Too not-a-real-wordy.

Pepsi®?

Too-not-as-good-as-Coke®-y.

Coke®?

Too associated with Bill Cosby-y.

Algebra?

Too I-failed-it-in-High-School-y.

Cricket?

Too buggy.

Iron Butterly?

Too one-hit-wonder-y.

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Lila

And by the way: the world might end? What's up with that?

"Tomorrow, we are going to kill all of you! Or maybe none of you! We can't decide!"

Yeah, thanks, super-intelligent robots, that's really helpful for those of us trying to plan our day.

It's like, "So the dress code for the wedding is going to be either White Tie or just a thong. We'll let you know when you get here."

(continued...)