The Adventures of Betty Bot!

I've wanted to try my hand at another 50 word fiction story and today I decided to do it. I said to myself 'just do it!' like I was some kind of damn footwear commercial. Or a male enhancement commercial. I'm not sure which. Anyways, I got the idea to write up a short something about one of the characters from my nanowrimo novel. His name is Bert and he's a robot inflicted with a form of Tourette Syndrome. As I began to write, though, the character changed and the story evolved into something different. Something that couldn't quite be contained in just fifty words. So here it is, a quick glance at Betty the Robot, Bert's long lost twin sister.



Betty Bot

Betty wasn't like all the other robots, a fact that was made painfully clear to her during her first attendance of the annual Bodacious Babe Bots of the Berandium System Convention. All the bots in the convention room were programmed with a galactic encyclopedia worth of knowledge, with the crisp accent of snobby royalty, with the manner and style of class and sophistication, and any number of fancy lights, switches and other robotic babe accessories.

Betty, on the other hand, was programmed with the vocabulary of a burly three-headed space sailor. Her programmers, two twelve year old boy geniuses, found it hilarious to teach her phrases that would get a human, especially twelve year old boys, slapped if they ever repeated such foul phrases in public.

Betty surveyed the convention crowd around her and realized she'd been seriously gypped in the 'etiquette programming' area. "Fucking space goobers!" And in the 'bodacious babe bot accessories' area. "How come I ain't got any green light blinkin' titties?"

Betty felt so out of place. But it didn't matter. She knew she could kick all their collective metal asses. "I may be lacking, but they're fucking lacking too," she said to no one in particular. Unfortunately for Betty, her two creators also programmed her with an audible inner monologue. "They're lacking a serious dent in the ass from my metal boot."

A group of babe bots standing nearby overheard Betty's remarks. They swiveled their heads around one hundred and eighty degrees until they were looking at Betty disdainfully. If they had had noses, they would have been looking down them. "Such vulgar language is not appropriate here," said one of the robots. "You should leave."

"Maybe you just have the wrong room," said another robot in the group. "The Convention of Junk Heaps is just down the hall."

The group electronically twittered. The circuits in Betty's brain network were rapid firing, trying to think of the appropriate comeback. Betty's creators were also cheap in the harddrive upgrades.

A babe bot Betty hadn't noticed before stepped up beside her. "Ah shut up beeyotches!" the new arrival said to the group. "You're standing there looking like a bunch of Terrelian Snot Slugs and you're still here ain't you?"

The electronic twitters stopped.

The stranger bot turned to Betty. "Name's Norma."

"Betty." Betty's mouth grid of electronic lights curved up into a smile. "Know a way we can liven up this lame ass party?"

"Hell yeah I do." Norma punched the button doubling as her left nipple and her stomach paneling dropped away to reveal a hi-tech console. Norma punched a button on the console and a list of songs appeared. "It's Karaoke time!"

The rest of the convention was a blast with Betty ending the festivities in a awe inspiring rendition of "Mama's Don't Let You're Test Tube Babies Grow Up To Be Space Cowboys."

The End