It’s Not Working, Guys

I just spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to open my mouse to replace the batteries.  The brain is not working.  Hence the title of today’s post.  But I can’t whip out that line and not tell you about the cyborg.

See, we have some friends.  Two of those friends got married, had sex, got pregnant, then hatched the most well crafted piece of propaganda the world has ever known.  The propaganda is named Savannah.  It’s two years old.

I spent the 4th of July with this little blonde-haired, dimple-cheeked cyborg.  The brainwashing tool was always smiling, well-behaved, inquisitive.  When it entered a room, it was programed to distract you with the disarming question, “What are you doing?”  It placed an extra emphasis on the “do” in “doing” by rising up on its tiny perfect tip-toes and cocking its pig-tail and ribbon covered head to the side.

Resistance was always futile.  “I’m tuning this guitar,” I answered before the DANGER message from my uterus reached my brain.  I strummed a flat and painful chord.

The cyborg grimaced, then dragged its tiny fingers across the strings – more painful notes.  Then it looked up at me, blinked four hundred and seventy two times, shrugged its tiny shoulders and said, “It’s not working, guys.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

The whole weekend, this little reproductive lie ran all over the house and dock chanting its little spell.

“What are you DOing?”
“Making a salad.”
“It’s not working, guys.”

“What are you DOing?”
“Trying to open a bottle of wine with my bare teeth.”
“It’s not working, guys.”

“What are you DOing?”
“Trying to remove my ovaries with this fly swatter and lemon juicer before I fall prey to your evil deceitful ways.  It’s all LIES I tell you.  LIES!!!”
“It’s not working, guys.”

One evening, as we sipped our ice cold beers and gave our exhausted eyes a brief break from squinting against the sharp reflection of the sun’s rays off the cool lake water, the little decepticon danced around on the deck.  Its “father” (read mad scientist or also possibly poor hapless being now controlled by a hostile alien life form because OBVIOUSLY) clapped and said, “Van, why don’t you show everyone your flip?”

The little machine bent in half, both its feet and its hands firmly placed on the floor.  It rested the top of its head on the ground and looked back through its legs at our group, ensuring we were ready for the show.  Slowly it inched its feet closer and closer to its head.  Then at the last moment before toppling, it scootched its hands and head a little further away.  “It’s not working, guys.”

After approximately four of these attempts, the cyborg’s face was starting to turn a disturbing shade of purple.  The “father” reached forward to lift the creature’s back legs.  I could see a look of pure horror on the face still visible beneath the “father’s” elbow.  “It’s not working, guys.  Not.  Working.  It’s.  IT’S NOT WORKING GUYS NOT WORKING GUYS IT’S NOT WORKING GUYS WORKING NOT IT’S GUYS NOT WORKING!”

….and THAT is the noise my brain is making today.  The end.


  1. Well, I have to say “it’s not working guys” is better than the 52 gazillion why?s that they normally spout. And you did get to see it’s father torture it so I think this was a win/win. You just weren’t looking for the silver lining. You’re welcome.


  2. the 472 blinks get me everytime. my ovaries start doing their happy dance. but then i remember sleep deprivation and make sure my IUD is still in place.

  3. While you were listening to “It’s not working, guys” am was hearing “What’s that called” a minimum of eleven times a minute.

  4. My ovaries are closed. Locked up. Nailed shut. Crazy glued real real tight.

    My kids don’t speak because I removed their voice boxes when they were born, so I would imagine hearing the same thing over and over and over could be pretty annoying.

    I predict your ovaries are gonna give in soon and Elly Jr. will hatch. Watch out World…

  5. That is hilarious, disgustingly adorable, and irritating all in one go.

    I sometimes wish my cyborg could be 2 again…when she said cute things like, “No Deal, Howie”, every time someone gave her something she didn’t like. As opposed to now, at 5, when she says things like, “YOU’RE NOT MY BEST FRIEND ANYMORE! YOU HURT MY FEELINGS!”, when all you’ve done is look at her. Sigh.

    1. Can’t you just let her battery run down when she’s being difficult? I’m sure I don’t know how those things work. Wasn’t there some movie in the 80’s where they plugged a robot grandmother into the wall? Did I dream that?

  6. For the record, ‘they’ are judgemental little beings who are programmed to make the outsiders think they behave and are cute. The ones they own know the true hell they can inflict.

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