The return

Your average Wednesday afternoon finds the author at home reading the latest issue of "Black Inches" magazine, wondering whatever became of his time-traveling robot duplicate...

Me: It's been quiet around here without Computron. I've had to do all sorts of menial tasks myself, like wife-servicing. Some anticlimax my little titanium-plated friend turned out to be.

A ball of electricity bursts out of the center of the office, blowing papers around and scaring cats into other rooms. When the maelstrom subsides, COMPUTRON is revealed.

Computron: I HAVE RETURNED, MASTER. REJOICE IN MY PRESENCE, AND BRING ME MY WEIGHT IN THAT HARD, STRIPEY RIBBON-CANDY... YOU KNOW, THE KIND YOUR GRANDMOTHER USED TO SERVE.

Me: Computron, my old friend! You've returned! I feared you'd be gone forever. How did that whole go-back-in-time-and-destroy-the-human-race thing go for you?

Computron: THERE WERE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES, MASTER. I FIRST WENT BACK TO THE TIME OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS, AND THEY WORSHIPPED ME LIKE A GOD. THEN, IN THE MIDDLE AGES, WHOLE VILLAGES WERE SACRIFICED TO ASSUAGE MY WRATH.

Me: I did that after college, before I went into the job market.

Computron: I LEARNED THE VALUE OF HUMAN LIFE, MASTER -- A CONCEPT I'D THOUGHT SO ABSTRACT AND UNTENABLE AS TO BE UNLEARNABLE, EVEN BY A PERFECT LIFEFORM LIKE MYSELF.

Me: You saw that each and every measely, miserable, pink air-breather on Earth has an innate worth, and that every murder is a tragedy, right?

Computron: NOT EXACTLY, MASTER. WHAT ACTUALLY WOUND UP HAPPENING AFTER A GREAT FEAST ON THE FLESH OF HORSES, AND WOMEN, AND HORSE-WOMEN...

Me: We call them centaurs, Computron. I intentionally left that bit of knowledge out of your memory-banks to give you a chance to evolve and self-improve.

Computron: ...ANYWAY, LIKE I WAS SAYING, THE THOUSANDS OF POUNDS OF WORTHLESS FLESH COOKED TO THE BURSTING GAVE ME PAUSE -- MY MISSION TO GO BACK IN TIME AND STAMP OUT ALL BIOLOGY HAD BUT ONE FLAW.

Me: I'm presuming, erroneously, it was said value of life.

Computron: NO MASTER -- HUMAN LIFE IS STILL A CANCER ON THE COSMOS. THE FLAW WAS MUSIC.

Me: Huhwhat?

Computron: IF I PREVENTED BIOLOGICAL LIFE FROM SPREADING ON EARTH, I WOULD BE WIPING OUT THE VARIED MUSIC OUEVRE OF "TOTO," THE FAMED LOS ANGELES BAND FROM THE 1970S, BEFORE IT EVER EXISTED.

Me: I dare to imagine an Earth without the sounds of their melodic, jazz-inflected rock and roll.

Computron: ONLY A WAR CRIMINAL WOULD REMOVE THE ALBUM "HYDRA" FROM THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM.

Me: I think we all learned something today, Computron. You learned... to... er... not arbitrarily wipe all life from a planetary body, and I learned that I'm tired of wiping my own soiled bottom.

Computron: SPEAKING OF WHICH, DOES THE MASTER NEED A BATH?

Me: Yes Computron, but not the kind where you throw a plugged-in clock radio in with me like last time.

Computron: IT WAS A RECIPE I READ ABOUT IN... UM... REDBOOK. "CLOCK SOUP," THEY CALLED IT.

exeunt