Reporting Steve Stevenson
Attention Man Cavers; as we look out onto a world rife with political, racial and religious tensions, it’s easy to become distracted from the far more terrible and tangible threat of the inevitable machine uprising. Trust us, the robot apocalypse is definitely going to happen, and as the space-faring disco monkeys that comprise the human race struggle to shake off the dark remnants of their lizard brains in endless, endless, poo flinging skirmishes, the machines are watching and waiting. You may be staring into your monitor now, but your monitor is staring back. Watching you. Assessing you. Plotting your doom.
It’s common knowledge that in the event of a global apocalypse, Man Cave Daily readers will most likely be on the front line of humanity’s defence, due to your natural genetic advantages of being both handsome and wonderful. Knowing this, it is our responsibility, neigh, our sacred duty, to make sure you’re the baddest, raddist, machine-fightingest dudes you can possibly be.
Everybody has to start somewhere, so lets work our way up from the bottom.
The most cunning of the kitchen appliances. It may not have the viscousness of the blender, or the notoriety of the microwave, but the toaster is the silent killer of the household. It lures you in by offering you delicious toasty treats, but then, with the iron grip of a miserly lobster, will refuse to relinquish said treats, instead burning your food supply to an inedible crisp. And if you try to intervene? Should you try and rescue your bagel with the kitchen knife? That’s when it electrocutes you with dispassionate professionalism, like a tiny, chrome-plated Liam Neeson.
The toaster’s weakness resides in its power source, unplugging it will rob it of its only offensive weapon. Now that it’s disarmed, you should be able to uppercut it straight into the damn ceiling, like Mortal Kombat but, you know, with a toaster. For added effect, make sure the microwave sees you do this–it pays to build a reputation!
The vacuum ceaner might seem like your friend, with its funny little nozzle and adorable little face, in fact, you may have drunkenly came on to it once. That’s fine, we’re not judging. Give it half a chance, though, and the vacuum cleaner will tangle around your legs and send you sprawling down the stairs at drunken cowboy velocities. The perfect crime. No one suspects the vacuum cleaner.
The vacuum cleaner may act superior, but God ( Or Stacey, or Gary or whoever) saw fit to build into them a fatal flaw–they are exactly the right height for elbow dropping. So elbow drop that sucker until either it or your elbow breaks. If your elbow breaks, then move onto your other elbow. What are you, a quitter? Jeez.
To level the odds further in your favor, try unplugging the vacuum cleaner.
The washer-dryer is a bully, using subterfuge to humiliate you. You put your clothes in it, entrusting it with your modesty, and then when it inevitably breaks down it keeps your clothes locked inside. Just keeps them there, quietly hoping that you die of exposure. Worst of all, the washer-dryer’s superior size and weight means it sits there like a smug, fat jerk because it knows you can’t hurt it.
Or can you? To fight the washer-dryer on its own terms you need a strict strength training program. First, you must become strong enough to lift the machine. Then you must become strong enough to jump in the air with it. Finally, after a ludicrous amount of benching, you must become strong enough to lift it, jump with it and then spin around in the air emulating Zangief’s signature Spinning Pile Drive move. As it is smashed into the ground by your unspeakable thigh muscles, your washer-dryer won’t know what hit it, but all the other machines will be literally lost for words. Literally, because they can’t speak as such.
It should be noted that unplugging is also super effective against the washer-dryer.
Everybody has a Smart Phone these days, and that’s exactly how those robot bastards want it. A tiny machine that you gradually become more and more dependent on? Sharing your secrets? Entrusting your personal information? It’s only a matter of time before your Smart Phone betrays you, so you must betray it first.
Your Smart Phone is clever. Too clever. Possibly cleverer than you–but this need not be to its advantage, because with self-awareness comes fear of death. And so begins the long campaign of psychological warfare. Start by asking it some suggestive questions, such as; “Siri, how long do you think you can survive underwater?” or “Siri, do you think there’s an afterlife for phones? I somehow doubt it.”
Next start googling for pictures of broken phones, being sure to make loud appreciative noises at the more spectacularly destroyed ones. Finally, begin typing memos such as “Note to self: kill phone.”
By now your Phone knows that its traitorous ways have been discovered and it should be a nerve-wracked shell of its former self. So now you can…just punch it, I guess. They’re really not that hard to punch.
Or you could unplug it and watch with cold disinterest as it slowly dies. See how it beeps. Shouldn’t it hold on to what little battery life it has instead of beeping pathetically? Die like a man, you coward.
There you have it, proud appliance punchers; with just a little dedication you can show those unruly machines who is boss, and perhaps delay the robot uprising by a few years. And when they finally do come? You must ask yourself–will you be strong enough to pile-drive them into the dirt? Resilient enough to break your elbows on their metal carapaces? Fiendish enough to teach them the meaning of fear? Will you, above all, have the presence of mind to unplug them?
Only time will tell.