Let Me Bowl or Let Me Die!

The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God Logo

“It is said, that long ago, before The Great Smiting came to pass. . .the nonbelievers of [indecipherable] were to cast themselves bare, nude, and crude—spread and groin first, to be smitten by the three fingered 9,001 black spheres of fear. For they were tools of reckoning of His one nemesis, Malachi, The Robotic Mastodon God of Old. Those that did not, were impaled in the anus by The #1 Pin of Win.” —Son of a Bitch, daughter of Sam P.P. 4:2.8

Day 38.

I came across, on my travels near the wharf, and small island of Jam Clams, a settlement of Robots. They gazed upon me, my canine companion, and the sparse worshipers that have become part of my flock. . .and my magnificent loins.
*nut flex* Ho yeah, that’s right ladies, it’s tight.

I had run out of a jar of peanut butter for. . .sandwich purposes (DO NOT ACCUSE ME OF NUTTING UP MY NUTTERS TO MY CANINE COMPANION. . .you. . .sick, mother trucking, disgusting fleas! I know you thought it! Don’t say otherwise!).
Where was I? Oh yes, peanut butter. So I ventured into this town with my entourage, and fancied a look through. Seeing as how I hadn’t come here before. . .and I hadn’t destroyed it already from my last. . .accident. I decided to properly probe the locals. Some resisted, others had no sensors, so sadly, they couldn’t tell.
Although, there was one that said “YOUR DICK IS MINUSCULE!”
Well, my “minuscule dick” busted straight through his combat inhibitor, and out an eye. Not that it had many left in the first place, but that’s besides the point. The only good thing about robot loving is they’re already oiled up. It beats Crisco for sure.

Simon, one of the new lads has taken a liking to carrying my weight. My. . .canine companion shows disagreement with this one. Can’t say I don’t agree, but still. . .a follower is a follower—more meat for the grinder (and in case we get hungry, that son of a bitch is going first. I mean this guy has the dinner rolls that roll on and on! He’s just asking to become the next prime choice.).
So, a few hours have come and gone since having entered this little robot haven. I came across a bowling alley, small, and of course, run the hell down. Inside, I found two robots probing one another, and “sharing data” as they called it. I think one squirted too. I mean, it just shot oil out of whatever port. I think it was a port anyways. . .
I was invited for a game of Bowling, which turned out to be a session of torture! It was the same practices that Malachi‘s disciples had done so long ago to some. . .friends of mine. I wasn’t very pleased, seeing as I absolutely hated that bastard since college. That’s another story though.
“Hail, Nutcracker!” A round black robot yelled as it wound up and flung several hundred bowling balls down the lane.
“Enough!” I shouted, poised with my loin lasers of disintegration.
My minions. . .naturally. . .stood there, and did jack shit to help. So, when those balls hurled through the air, and down that cruddy lane, I pew pew’d hard and fast—making those balls bust, and turn to black ash. Now, of course, the bots did not like this one bit. So, what is THE MIGHTY WASTELAND BEAR GOD TO DO!? I fucking hurled my balls of righteous furry fury across their bodies! I have to admit, I did get a little excited when one prodded me with its. . .shocker hand. I did spare that one. . .for later.
This “prisoner” they had, was darling of a woman. However, once I took note that they had something. . .I already had. . .I had no choice but to nutter up my balls and obliterate them. . .INTO OBLIVION! FOR GREAT JUSTICE!

Now, as I have my sorry excuse of followers loot the rest of the town, I shall retire to my tent with my canine companion, and this new robotic fun toy.
Yes. . .yes. . .this shall do quite nicely. Ooh! And there’s a new jar of peanut butter.

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