Lucas Hargenrader, 29

Grammarian/Pop Culture Aficiondo

Thank you all for your concern about Lucas's escape a few weeks ago. It has been a very trying time for me, particularly when I couldn't remember the rules about lie, lied, lay, laid and lain... which is why I had to abandon my interview with the Eduardo Gardes, the dishonest mattress salesman.

Ha-ha!

Seriously, though, it was a real problem that threatened this entire project.

But I have good news: Lucas is back!

I had a feeling he would be. After all, I still had his exceedingly rare mint condition rocket-firing Boba Fett action figure and I suspected he might eventually attempt to retrieve it. And when he did, I was lying in wait.

(See? I never would have attempted that sentence during Lucas's hiatus!)

So I hit him over the head with a shovel, which laid (!) him out. Now, he and Boba are reunited and once again living happily in his steel cage.

It turns out that while he was away, he kept a travelogue that helps shed some further light on Robot Apocalypse. Selected excerpts appear below.

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I did it! I escaped! Thanks to Mr. Rubicon's debilitating migraine and Colonel Russell's bolt cutters, I am breathing the sweet air of freedom! I feel like an un-sodomized version of Andy Dufresne (played by Tim Robbins) at the end of The Shawshank Redemption!

I am never going back to my cage again!

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I had assumed that the Colonel would take me in, but he informed me that he had little use for a grammarian and pop culture aficionado.

I told him that he'd be sorry one day when he was trying to, say, remember the name of the second surviving Battlestar on Battlestar Galactica and there's no one around to tell him.

He chased me away with a stick.

The second Battlestar, by the way, was the Pegasus (in both versions of the series).

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It seems that the Robot War continues unabated, but human casualties are dropping. In part because there aren't that many humans left, but also because we ever-adaptable humans have learned some key survival strategies.

Most notably, it seems that the robots are "attracted" to advanced technology and powerful sources of energy. The farther away you are from them, the safer you'll be. The Amish have not had a single robot-related fatality since the war began. Buggy-related fatalities, however, continue apace.

I miss my rocket-firing Boba Fett action figure.

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Oh, my God!

The squirrels have gone insane! For some reason rodentia sciuridae have turned carnivorous and have taken to hunting in packs! Nobody knows for sure, but there is a theory that the robots are emitting a hypersonic signal that affects the central nervous system of the squirrels.

Whatever the reason, it's terrifying. These adorable woodland creatures have become like chattering, bushy-tailed piranhas leaping from the trees. I saw them skeletonize a cow in two minutes and Stephen Seagal in three!

Apparently, Aikido was not designed with squirrel swarms in mind.

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I have a girlfriend!

I was on the road and she just appeared out of nowhere, as if in a vision, like Kelly LeBrock in Weird Science, except she was wearing pants and an authentic Sanrio Hello Kitty Floral Style Backpack which is such a turn-on.

We spent a night under the stars. I had never felt the touch of a woman before. And I guess I still haven't. But she let me play with her boobs!

Second base at last!

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The people who have hoarded gold have wasted their time. No one cares about gold. It is cumbersome and it tastes terrible.

By contrast, people who have hoarded toilet paper live like royalty. Nobody likes using leaves and they'll trade anything for some Charmin.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to trade.

I am itchy.

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I really hope nothing has happened to Boba Fett. Mr. Rubicon probably doesn't realize how incredibly rare and valuable he is. At this point, it may be the only one left in the world.

Also, the squirrels seem to have killed my girlfriend. At least that's what her note said.

Goodbye, Kitty.

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I went to a refugee camp looking for food. I offered my services, but they did not need a grammarian/pop culture expert, either. They gave me food, but the payment they demanded was rather stiff.

What did they want from me? Well, let me put it this way: I no longer feel like an un-sodomized version of Andy Dufresne at the end of The Shawshank Redemption.

I'm beginning to wonder if I had judged Mr. Rubicon too harshly.

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I was so distraught about my Boba Fett that I didn't realize until just this second that nobody would leave a note while they were getting eaten by squirrels!

She dumped me!

I guess she wasn't interested in spending time with a grammarian, either.

Also, I now realize, I should have probably asked her name.

Women are complicated.

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I approached two teenagers on the road. They were arguing. Specifically, they were arguing about the name of Ross's monkey on the sitcom Friends. At last! My talents would come in handy!

One of them thought the monkey was named Marcel; the other thought it was Katie. In fact, they were both right! Katie was the monkey's name; Marcel was the monkey's character's name.

I explained this to them, also pointing out the interesting irony that the male capuchin monkey on Friends was played by a female monkey while the female capuchin monkey in the movie Outbreak was played by a male. I was so excited to have someone to talk to that I guess I was rambling and one of the teens grew impatient.

"Jesus Christ, I'll just look it up myself," he said and, out of habit, took out his Blackberry smart phone to search for the answer. Before I grasped the gravity of the situation, he turned it on.

Seconds later, a half-dozen robots descended from the sky and turned both teenagers into ash.

I just stood there in a state of awe and confusion.

I was awed because of the bloodless efficiency of the machines.

I was confused because, really, what kind of teenager uses a Blackberry?

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Say what you will, at least Mr. Rubicon appreciates my talents. Nobody else does.

And we were doing very important work together.

Plus, he treated me reasonably well. He fed me and gave me a cage over head. And under my head. On all sides of my head, really. Because that's basically how cages work.

Maybe it's time to go back?

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My sense of direction is terrible.

This, I realize, is something else I've taken for granted. For years I've had satellites to tell me how to get from Point A to Point B.

So now I am in this strange situation where I could navigate to any planet in the Star Trek universe, but I could not begin to tell you which way is south.

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Eventually, I found Mr. Rubicon's house. I walked inside and I didn't see anyone there, except...

My rocket-firing Boba Fett! Sitting out there in the middle of the floor!

He was still in mint condition!

I ran over and picked him up and then I heard a voice behind me.

"Hello, Lucas."

It was Mr. Rubicon. And he had a shovel.

"What are you doing?"

"I've been laying in wait," he said.

"You mean, you've been lying in wait," I corrected.

"Oh, Lucas," he said, with tears in his eyes. "I am so happy you're back!"

And then he hit me with his shovel.

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Cage sweet cage!

I'm so happy here. Honestly, I can't even remember why I left.

I mean that literally.

Mr. Rubicon hit me pretty hard with that shovel.

But my time away did give me some important perspective. I met a lot of people out there. People who had lost everyone they knew and cared about. They were mostly strangers wandering amidst other strangers, united only by grief and survivor's guilt. And it made me realize what's really important in life. It's not gold or even toilet paper — although I don't take that for granted anymore – no, it's the ability to look at a familiar face.

I've missed you, Boba Fett. I'll never leave you again.

Unless I get a chance to touch more boobs.

Because they were pretty neat.