Dirk made to crack open a beer in triumph. "Awww, man, I forgot you dumped all the brewskis, bro!"

Then the convulsions started. Foam spewed from his mouth. I rushed to his side to grab his tongue so he wouldn't choke on it or bite it off. Dirk's eyes bounced all over the place like he was playing pinball in his head.

And as quickly as the spasms began, they ended. Dirk's body went still. He farted.

"Is he dead?" Ruby Tuesday asked. We all looked at her. She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh my gosh! I can talk!"

Amazed by this new revelation, we all forgot about Dirk and gathered around Ruby, asking her questions and generally engaging her.

Ruby had been mute her entire life. She'd always wanted to talk but the task had seemed impossible. Her parents thought she was "retarded," to use an archaic term, and they'd sent her away to a school "where retards can be dumb," to quote her ignorant parents. Ruby had been passed around from place to place, living with one set of foster parents and quickly given away to another. She'd recently reconnected with her parents after she published a best-selling novel—The Dundelo Society, which dealt with a mysterious group abducting babies in small towns across America. Her parents wanted some of her newly earned money, and they'd also made a deal with Trump to have her kidnapped and used as a sex slave. While they waited for Trump to arrive with his armada, I received a message from God telling me a kindred spirit was in danger. So I arrived in the nick of time, murdered Ruby's parents and helped get her out of there before Satan reached her.

"I don't know what happened," she told us, astounded, tears shining on her cheeks. "I saw Dirk having his seizure and suddenly felt a voice inside me, screaming to get out. It wasn't like anything I've ever felt before. So I... I talked." She laughed, clearly amazed.

"What if Dirk's spirit is inside you now?" Seth asked.

The others went "Ooooh."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," I said. "A shame Dirk died, though. A worthy sacrifice."

A cough from where we'd left Dirk.

Dirk put a shaky hand to his forehead. "Wooooah... Duuuude... How many beer bongs did I have, man? How many bowls of dank?"

"Zero," I told him. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Wait, am I? I feel this urge, Jesus... I've done wrong. Grab me a beer."

"Never, you fiend."

Dirk held his hand out and a can of beer shot through the waterfall and landed in his grasp. "Woooah. Check this out." He focused on the can in front of him, focused so hard his temples throbbed with a spider web of veins, so hard his body shook. Then he relaxed, cracked open the can and poured its contents into his palm.

Candy came out.

Everybody applauded.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, bowing. "Yo, Jeeze, want a beer? Hahaha!"

Accepting said "beer," we reformed the circle and started up on the next story. Things were changing among us—we seemed to be evolving, like we were becoming angels, or something like that. I wondered how the others would change, and how long it would take until we were ready to take on Trump.

"Please don't think less of me, dearies," said Dora-Mae, handing Seth and Coltrane matching sweaters. Each showed the other man's face, and they couldn't be happier. She grabbed more wool and started up on the next sweater. "You may find me a teensy bit peculiar after hearing this story, but, what can I say? I'm old. I've been without my dear husband, sweet Iago, and I've developed a liking for certain... ahem, gadgets... Why don't we call this one

SLEEK METAL PASSION by Wuckster

Michael shook the cheap plastic fan while he waited for his Pop-Tarts to finish toasting. It sputtered once and then stopped spinning completely. He pushed all of the buttons, but nothing happened. He sighed as he walked over to the bedroom window and flung it open in the hopes of letting a little bit of cross-breeze into the room. He looked down at the parking lot four stories below. He was pretty sure he could see vapor waves rising up off the asphalt. Still, maybe there was a hint of airflow coming in? He wasn't sure.

He heard the sound of the toaster ejecting and his tummy made an involuntary grumbling sound. He made his way into the kitchen and grabbed a paper plate. He burned his fingers a little as he pulled the Pop-Tarts out of the slots in the toaster and flung them onto the plate. Sucking on his fingers in the vain hope of soothing the pain, he walked into the little space that passed as a living room and dropped himself onto the ratty old couch he had salvaged from somebody's sidewalk. He ran his hands under the cushions, searching for the TV clicker before he spotted it on the floor next to an empty pizza box. Stretching his foot out, he was just able to hook it with his toes and pulled it back so it was within easy reach. "Whew," he said aloud. "I almost had to stand up and fetch that thing. That was a close call."

He turned on the television and flipped channels until he settled on "Jeopardy!" He started playing along enthusiastically as he munched on his Pop-Tarts. "What is Forsooth?" he shouted at the TV.

"What is Verily?" the contestant on the screen said.

"I'm sorry, the correct response is: 'What is Forsooth?'" Alex Trebek said.

"I told you, you idiot!" Michael shouted.

He was getting absorbed in his game show and almost missed the unmistakable sound of footsteps walking down the pathway towards his door. He lived in the very end apartment on the top floor of the building, and the apartment next door to him was empty, so anyone headed this way was definitely coming to see him. Still, it was rare that he got unexpected visitors.

There was a sharp rapping sound and Michael jumped up to answer it. A young guy in brown shorts and a matching button-up shirt stood at the doorway holding a large box. "I got a delivery here for Baxter Livingstone the Third."

"Uh, I don't know who that is," Michael said.

"Is this 5262 Mockingbird Way #49?"

"Yeah, that's my address, but—"

"Then I have a delivery for you."

"But there's nobody here by that name."

"Listen, mister, my job is to make sure these things get delivered where they're supposed to go. The shipping address says 5262 Mockingbird Way #49 and you confirmed that's where I am, so if you'll just be so kind to sign for this so I can be on my way. I've got lots of other deliveries to make."

Michael studied the box and noticed some technical-sounding writing on it. "Hey, that thing looks expensive. I can't afford that! I'm kind of between jobs at the moment."

"Relax, buddy. It's already paid for. You just have to sign." He held forth a little electronic pad.

"Well, okay," Michael said as he scribbled an illegible approximation of his name. "I still think there's been some sort of mistake here."

"Have a nice day," the delivery boy said with a tip of his hat as he shoved the package into Michael's hands and took off.

Michael stood in the doorway holding the box for a moment with a confused expression on his face. He shrugged his shoulders and set it on the carpet just inside the doorway. It was a pretty heavy package, whatever it was.

He tried to get back to his show, but eventually curiosity got the better of him and he ripped open the package. He was surprised to see what appeared to be a mechanical man. The head was shiny metal and rectangular and it had two currently dark light bulbs that served as eyes and another row of smaller light bulbs that appeared to form a mouth. The body was boxy and appeared to be painted to resemble a tuxedo. A pair of sturdy arms and legs were attached to the torso at positions designed to give it a somewhat human appearance. It also had little white gloves on its hands. Standing it up on its feet, the robot appeared to be a little over three feet tall. There was a conspicuous switch on the back of the body, which Michael flipped to the ON position.

There was a loud whirring sound and the lights on the robot's face started blinking on and off rapidly. Suddenly the legs started to expand and the robot now stood five feet tall.

"Calibrating," an electronic-sounding voice said. "Please wait."

Michael scratched his head, studying the robot as it continued to do whatever it was doing to boot up.

"Hello," the robot said after a moment. "What is your name?"

"Michael."

"Greetings, Master Michael. I am the Butler-Bot X5000, but you may call me BBX, if you'd like. I am here to assist you with answering the door as well as numerous household tasks, such as cleaning and cooking and folding laundry."

"I don't think I need assistance answering the door," Michael said. "I don't get a lot of visitors here."

BBX turned its head back and forth as it scanned the room. There were dirty dishes and boxes of takeout food scattered everywhere. "It appears as if you could use assistance with cleaning. Would you like me to assist, Master Michael?"

"I guess that would be pretty cool," Michael said. "And you can stop with the 'master' stuff, okay? It's kind of weird. Just call me Michael."

"Very well, Michael. Perhaps we could begin with a tour of the estate so that I might familiarize myself with the layout?"

"There's not really all that much to it. This space is the living room. There's a little kitchen right over there. That other room's the bedroom. There's a tiny little bathroom connected to it. Oh yeah, and there's a huge walk-in closet, which they totally could have cut down in size and added some extra space somewhere else. That's pretty much it."

BBX studied the walk-in closet. "Ah, this will do nicely as quarters for me to recharge and contemplate existence when I am not required to work."

"Uh, okay. You can stay in there if you'd like." Michael shrugged.

"Would you be so kind as to show me the kitchen?"

"Sure. It's nothing fancy. There's a refrigerator. I got a sink. A dishwasher. A small stove. A microwave. And that toaster there."

BBX zoomed in on the toaster. "May I make you some toast, Michael?"

"Well, I actually just ate some Pop Tarts, so I'm not really all that hungry at the moment."

"Please, I insist. Allow me to make you some toast."

"Uh, if you really want to, I guess you can. I'm pretty sure I've got some bread in the freezer. I don't know if I'm going to eat any right now, though. Maybe you could do some cleaning in the other room while I watch some more TV."

"It would be my pleasure to clean, but first: toast."

"Okay. Have a blast. I'll be over here." He plopped himself back on the couch and flipped channels. There wasn't anything on but boring daytime talk shows. He settled on one that seemed slightly less uninteresting than the others. He could smell the distinct aroma of toasted bread as BBX began tidying up around the living room.

After a few minutes he heard the sound of the toaster ejecting the bread, indicating that it was finished. BBX disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a plate. "Would you care for some toast now, Michael?"

"No, not right now. Maybe later."

"Very well," BBX said as it went back into the kitchen.

Michael was pretty sure he heard the toaster start up again. "Hey, BBX, what are you doing?" he called out.

"I am making more toast, Michael."

"I don't really need any more toast now," Michael said. "I've still got the first plate you made sitting here."

"It is my pleasure to make toast, Michael."

"That's nice," Michael said. "But could you concentrate more on the cleaning? You missed a spot over there."

"I would be delighted to clean while I wait for the bread to toast."

Michael watched a couple more hours of television while BBX cleaned and made toast. He had to admit the robot was making the apartment look pretty spiffy. A guy could get used to this gig, although the obsession with toast was getting a little weird.

"Michael, you are out of bread. I am going to head over to the nearest market to fetch more so that I might make you more toast."

"That's okay, we've got plenty of toast around here already," Michael said, but the robot had already walked out the door.

It returned a couple hours later, carrying several shopping bags filled with bread.

"Um, BBX?" Michael said. "Maybe we need to have a talk. Is everything okay? Are you happy here?"

"I am most pleased to assist you, Michael. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I've never met a robot before, but it seems like maybe you're behaving a little abnormally? I just wonder if you're all right."

"Well, if we are being candid, perhaps I am feeling a little regretful that you have not asked me to answer the door as of yet. A Butler-Bot is not really a true Butler-Bot unless that Butler-Bot can answer a door. Perhaps you could arrange to have some visitors?"

"Maybe I can see if my friend Dave wants to drink some beers and watch TV." Michael grabbed his phone and made a call.

A short time later there was a knock on the door.

"Oh, how marvelous." BBX clapped its hands and raced to answer the door.

An unshaven guy in wrinkled clothes slouched in, carrying a six-pack of beer.

"Master Dave, I presume," BBX said. "Greetings. Michael is looking forward to meeting with you and enjoying an evening of social intercourse."

"Whoa, this thing's far out, man," Dave said as he looked the robot up and down. He blinked his eyes and turned his head around the apartment. "This place looks amazing. I've never seen it so clean."

"Yeah, BBX cleaned it while I watched TV."

"I gotta get me one of these things," Dave said while cracking open a couple bottles.

They sat on the couch and flipped on a football game. Michael heard the familiar sound of the toaster ejecting and BBX walked in with another plate. "Master Dave, may I interest you in some toast?"

"Not right now, man. I ate a burrito before I came over here. But, thanks—that's mighty cool of you to offer."

A few minutes later the toaster made the ejecting sound again and BBX returned with another plate. "Michael, would you like some toast now?"

"What's with you and the toast?" Michael asked. "I'll tell you what: when I want some toast, I'll ask you for it."

"Very well, Michael," BBX said as it grabbed a feather duster and began dusting the light fixture. After it finished, it turned back toward the couch. "Do you think either of you would like some toast now?"

"I hate to tell you this, man, but I think you might have gotten a buggy robot," Dave said.

The game ended and they polished off the six-pack. They also turned down several more offers of toast.

"Well, I'd better jet," Dave said. "Gotta work in the morning. Speaking of which, have you found anything yet?"

"No, not yet," Michael said. "I've been looking really hard, but I can't find anything."

"You know what will cheer up the unemployment blues?" BBX asked. "Toast!"

"Nice try, but no thanks. Anyway catch you later, Dave!" Michael called out as his friend left. "I'm feeling pretty sleepy now, BBX. I think I'm going to hit the sack. You want to get in your closet and recharge?"

"I would be delighted to, Michael," BBX said as it shuffled into the closet and closed the door.

Michael was having strange dreams about toast raining down from the sky and woke up in the middle of the night feeling hungry. "That damn robot's got me wanting some toast now. I guess I'll get up and make some." He stumbled groggily into the kitchen and flipped on the light. He grabbed some bread out of the numerous packages BBX had purchased and turned to the counter. There was no sign of the toaster.

"What the hell?" Michael asked. He walked over to the closet and knocked on the door. "BBX? Do you know where my toaster is?" There was no response so he flung the closet door open. He found the robot huddled in the corner stroking the toaster and fondling its slots. "What are you doing?"

BBX's head whirled in surprise. "Master Michael! I did not hear you approaching. I noticed the toaster wasn't toasting as efficiently as it might and I thought I would bring it in here and perform some upgrades on it."

"I've had that toaster for a couple years now. It works fine. It doesn't need any upgrades. And also don't call me 'master.' I told you that already."

"I also noticed it's covered in smudges. I'm giving it a good polish. Appearances are important after all."

"Would you please give me my toaster?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Michael."

"Why not?"

"The toaster and I are in love."

"You've got to be kidding me," Michael said.

"I am not kidding," BBX said. "We are already planning on moving out to the suburbs, getting a house with a white picket fence and starting a family."

"BBX, give me my toaster."

"Negative," BBX said, and clutched the toaster tighter.

"Isn't it your job to assist me?"

"That is my primary directive," BBX said.

"Then I need your assistance now in giving me the toaster."

Some gears turned in the robot's head as it attempted to figure out how to deal with conflicting urges. Slowly it held the toaster out to Michael, who took it and stuffed it under his arm.

"Thank you. Now go into recharge and forget all about this toaster nonsense. I'll make my own toast from now on. You got that?"

"Very well, Michael," BBX said with a flat tone in its voice.

Michael closed the closet door and walked back to the kitchen. He studied the toaster as he started to plug it back into the wall. BBX really had done a great job of polishing it. It was bright and shiny and offered a nice reflection of himself in its surface. And he'd never really noticed how well-designed it was before. Or how sleek its curves were.

*

BBX waited an appropriate amount of time before it judged that Michael had fallen back asleep. It opened the closet door as quietly as it could and crept back into the kitchen. The toaster was not on the counter. The devious human must have hidden it. It began frantically opening up drawers and cabinet doors searching for the toaster, but it was nowhere to be found. It flung open the refrigerator and the dishwasher but there was no toaster. It moved to the living room and began searching through every nook and cranny, but still could not find its beloved. Feeling dejected, BBX made its way back into the bedroom and flipped on the light. It was shocked to find Michael spooning the toaster in the bed. BBX let out a shrill, high-pitched clanging sound.

Michael was immediately woken up and jumped out of bed. He set the toaster down on the windowsill as he rubbed his eyes. "What's that noise?"

BBX peeled off one of its gloves and smacked Michael across the face with it. "I challenge you to a duel, sir."

"What are you talking about?"

"You were sleeping with the toaster. You know I love that toaster."

"Yeah? Well, it's my toaster. And maybe I'm in love with it."

BBX smacked Michael in the face again with its glove. "A duel it is, then! For the toaster!"

"Alright, you hunk of junk," Michael said rubbing his face. "I accept your duel." He gave the robot a solid shove in the chest.

BBX shoved Michael back and he went sprawling across the room, knocking over the broken fan in the process. He lunged at the robot's legs and sent it tumbling to the floor. They rolled around on the ground, grappling with each other. BBX tried to grind Michael's face into the carpet, but he wiggled free and lunged for the fan. He hurled it at the robot's head, but BBX dodged out of the way. The fan hit the toaster, which teetered over the edge of the open window for a moment and then tumbled out, dropping to the parking lot four stories below.

"No!" Michael and BBX shouted simultaneously. There was a sickening thud as it made impact and burst apart into millions of pieces.

Michael and BBX raced out the door and down four flights of stairs in a mad dash to the parking lot. They tried to gather up as many pieces of twisted metal and broken gears as they could, but it was no use. There were too many fragments, and some of the smaller ones were already blowing away in the wind. The toaster was gone.

*

Michael bought a new toaster the next day, but it wasn't the same. The kitchen seemed cold and desolate. It was like a light had gone out that could never be reignited. He walked into the living room to find BBX sitting on the couch staring at the carpet. He took a seat next to the robot and patted it gently on the leg.

"I am sorry Michael, but I do not think I can do any cleaning today. I hope you are not expecting visitors because I do not think I can answer the door either."

"Don't worry, BBX," Michael said.

"It sure was a great toaster, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it could make some mean Pop Tarts," Michael said.

"And toast. It was great at making toast."

"It sure was," Michael said.

"I really miss it," BBX said.

"I miss it, too," Michael said as he put an arm around BBX's shoulders.

BBX turned its head and looked in Michael's eyes. Michael leaned forward hesitantly. BBX placed its light bulb mouth against Michael's lips and threw its arms around him. They kissed passionately for several minutes and then sat quietly on the couch holding hands.

"Michael?" BBX asked.

"Yes?"

"Everything's going to be okay, isn't it?"

"I think, so, BBX. I think so."