Ani-Mania Inc. Productions Presents: Don't Say No to Little Washuu or A Late Night at the Office... Washuu was working on a Molecular-Compaction Device that would help speed up the chores around the house, especially keeping enough carrots on hand for Ryo-oh-ki, when it happened. Someone walked up behind her, looking lost. Someone who was NOT Mihoshi. 'I suppose that's what I get for asking directions from a blonde,' she thought, as she approached the little red-headed girl in font of her. 'I hope she knows a way out of this weird place.' "Ex..." she started, being cut off by an accidental burp of light from the MCD, which coincedentally happened at the same time as the beeper on one of Washuu's terminals went off. As Washuu checked her inter-stellar sub-ether e-mail account, she found just the letter she'd been waiting for. Giddily, she opened the file, and read: [Dear Miss Washuu, After careful evaluation of your abilities in robotics and technology, we regret to inform you that we are unable to hire you at this time. We find your skills to be more than adequate, however we feel that your presence in our corporation would cause us to eventually lose the reputation for which we are justly famous. We wish you the best of luck in finding suitable employment. Share & Enjoy! Sirius Cybernetics.] Needless to say, she was less than pleased. "What the hell are those idiots trying to prove!" she shouted loudly in her laboratory. "'More than adequate skills!' indeed!" she said, calling up a black console. "There's more robotics skill in my right middle toe than in that whole stinking company!" Her hands, fed by fury, fairly flew over the keyboard. She searched through a thousand giga-bytes of data in a few seconds, finally landing on the blueprints she wanted. Those plan's had never seen the light of day, save for the early planning stages she'd sold that one guy. Ah well, she was young and she needed the money. As the plans scrolled before her, she grinned an evil grin. "Perhaps I should update my resume..." *** Washuu whistled as she put the finishing touches on her new 'resume' "'...lose our reputation...' eh," she muttered. "'...best of luck...'" huh. I'll shove a "'Plastic pal that's fun to be with' right up thier rear data- ports!" she shouted, welding the last facet on the head of the last robot. They stood taller than her, with an wide-rimmed barrel, almost like a blunderbus, protruding from the front. The bottom was set with rows of flashing lights. It buzzed with a metalic twang. "What was it he called these things... oh yeah, Daleks..." She took a step back to admire her handiwork, and heard a small crunch. Upon studying the bottom of her shoe, she came to a conclusion. "Mihoshi let roaches in here, again. I'm really gonna have to do something about that." She looked at her newest creations, and decided that every device should have a test drive... ****************************************************************************** *************** The letter insert at the top, which was the insperation for this short but silly fic, was written by Lt. Trakal (Trakal@map.com). And it serves him right for going British on us. If you don't know where the Sirius Cybernetics reference is from, you should be ashamed. If you don't know where the Dalek's reference is from, you should be shot. Twice. The 'walked on' roll of "Small Lab Accident Victem #1" was played by ~ice (Lady Ice I@aol.com), as a prize for her winning the Secret word Contest from a previous spamfic. No actuall FFML-ites were injured in the production of this fic, as standins were provided for both of the authors and ~ice. No actual races exterminations have been attributed to Washuu-matic Brand Daleks, and those few recorded incidents of actual exterminations are most likely due to cheap, other-deminsional knock-offs. The first person to Email me with the name of the person that built the Daleks(in 'real life' not in this fic ^_-) will get a cameo in my next spamfic. Ja ne! Wakko Warner, Ani-Maniac and The Ani-Mania Incorperated Assistant Writing Staff: ***Abrasia, Muse of Creative Artistic Motivation*** [A woman, looking mid-20ish, stands in a white toga with purple, crewcut hair, and her weapon of choice, "The Great and Mighty Sprok of Prodding!(tm)".(Actually It's just a giant plastic KFC spork] Abrasia: I don't get it. ***Flash D'Angello, Patron Saint of Flashy Distractions*** [30 Year old man in white robes, festooned with tinfoil propellers] Flash: Huh. I missed it. What happened? ***Glitch, my personal Gremlin**** [A blueish scally thing with bright pink fur grins, sort of, and munches on a floppy disk] ***Deo-Sparks, Goddess of Writers Torment*** [A tall woman, with dark-green, straight hair reaching down to her waist nods. She wears multicolored robes, and has matching sets of three marks up her cheeks(like whiskers) and an inverted pyramid shape on her forehead] Deo: [resting her head in her hands] I'm surrounded. Check out my silly little waste of bandwidth at: http://members.aol.com/AniManiacW/AMIhome.html Special thanks to Hibiki Ryouga, creative consultant. (If you get that joke, just pat yourself on the back. I missed it till I announced the URL on the FFML the other day.)