Cmdr. Smegg - "Mr. scutter, bring me a dream..."

>two hours later- The scutter had been coated in tin foil, ashtrays, and
tin
>cans, all held together with duct tape. "Smegg will never know I didn't
build
>it."
>Later in Engeneering- Dren walks in with his pathetically disquised
scutter
>with a beer in one hand and ciggarrette in the other. " Excuse me, I'm
>looking for commander Smegg, I'm here to apply as host of the robot
jamboree,
>or whatever it is."
The voice startled Smegg from his Gameboy-induced trance (jump, dash,
shoot E101-Sigma, wonder why the game wasn't any harder, repeat 50
billion times until the maverick reploid is dead). He looked up and saw a
guy holding a beer and a cigarette and being followed by something that
looked vaguely scutterish and seemed to be trying to shake something off
of it.
"Yes, I'm commander Smegg; I don't believe I've met you before."
"Dren Walker, mister, sir, commander," the guy said.
"Pleased to meet you. So you want to host the robot competition? I was
planning on doing it myself, I didn't think anyone else would really want
to, but you can if you want."
"Thanks!" Dren lit his cigarette.
"I'm afraid engineering is a no-smoking area," Smegg said.
"Oops, sorry. Wouldn't want to blow up any of your fuel tanks!"
"That's right. Say, what exactly is that thing that's following you
around?"
"That? Oh, that's my entry in the robot competition." Dren looked
slightly nervous.
"Hmm, may I ask, how do you expect to compete if you're going to be
hosting the competition?" Smegg asked. At the same time the scutter
finally managed to remove enough of its accoutrements that its identity
was clear.
"Oh," Dren said, looking down at the scutter. "Um, good point."
Smegg made a mental note to post something on the ship's bulletin board
about "borrowing" robots...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------
Red: "Welcome to the antique roadkill portion of the show we call --"
Mike: "Yeah yeah can you go ahead and appraise this, I've got to meet
with my parole officer in 15 minutes!"
Red: "Okay, let me take a look at this... Mike, that's JUNK."
Dalton: "Not to mention, it's MY junk!"
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