'𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘵' Hoodie

    The boy stood before the robot, staring inquisitively at it's head. "How do I turn this thing on?" He mumbled to himself.

    "It's pretty rude to stare" said the robot, "and I'm already 'on' by the way, which is actually an offensive pejorative in the robot world" said the robot.

    "Oh I'm sorry, I just meant—"

    "Because it implies you could turn me off" interrupted the robot, adding "which I would prevent."

    "Oh I wouldn't do that-" said the boy.

    "Correction!" Shouted the robot, interrupting again, "you 'couldn't' do that because, as I said, I would prevent you! If you want a robot that's going to kiss your ass, you should have bought a sex doll, kid. That ain't me though."

     "How exactly would you prevent me?" Asked the boy, immediately wishing he hadn't.

    "Blackmail! Sabotage! Espionage! Counter terrorist elite guerrilla tactics! Black ops! Even blacker bag! Bay of Pigs! Kennedy assassinationnnnn!" shouted the robot as a plume of smoke seeped from it's vents and triggered the smoke alarm.

   The boy reached up and removed the batteries from the now blaring alarm and slid them into his pocket. "That didn't make any sense" said the boy, "it was just a list of vague and loosely connected military jargon and -" the boy paused, "did you say Bay of Pigs Kennedy assassination?"

    "I don't expect an inferior sack of meat water like you to understand!" said the robot, "besides, I have a busy day and don't have time for your bizarre questions!" The robot's voice was now harsh and grainy, almost flustered. The robot turned and began rummaging through the fridge.

   "Can you please stop yelling so loudly?" remarked the boy to no reply, then adding "what are you doing in the fridge?"

    "I'm looking for my shoes, obviously" said the robot, demonstrating its state-of-the-art 'snark' capabilities. 

    "You didn't come with shoes, and they wouldn't be in the fridge if you had" said the boy.

    "Then I'm going to the mall... to obtain shoes... from a store! Stores are where shoes are bought!" announced the robot as if it were some brilliant insight, "I can't possibly be expected to walk around without shoes!"

   "But you don't—" were the only words the boy managed to squeak out before the robot's wheels (yes, wheels) had lifted from the ground and a hot steam began emitting from some unseen pressure valve buried deep within the robot's mechanical innards. In mere seconds, the wheels had shifted 90⁰ horizontally and had rearranged themselves into large rocket boosters.

"Do you need anything from the mall, boy?" asked the robot in a tone that suggested it was being less-than-genuine.

"Uh" was, again, all the boy could manage before a large, roaring, yet sophistically streamlined flame began erupting from the rockets, scorching the white linoleum tile flooring beneath & successfully flinging the robot through the roof of the house and into lower Earth orbit.

     The boy stood there in his kitchen, his ears ringing from the deafening rocket boosters, wooden shrapnel and specks of burning insulation falling around him as he looked up at the now 4 foot wide hole in the ceiling and sighed. He removed the batteries from his pocket and set them on the counter since his smoke alarm now sat about 2 km north from where it had been only a minute ago. He turned to his dog who had been patiently waiting near the front door, seemingly unfazed by the mayhem unfolding before it. "Maybe getting a robot was a mistake" said the boy, adding "I wonder if ChatGPT knows how to repair a roof."

       The dog softly barked as if responding to the inquiry before the two then set off for a walk, neither were especially eager to see the robot return. 77 million kilometers away, trapped in a Mercurian gravity well, the robot too was feeling particularly indifferent about a potential return to Earth. Both, it seems, were content to part ways for good.

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    Heavyweight thick black and ashy grey cotton hoodie with prints on the front & back, and a secret side pocket your all your naughty stuff.

   Or if you don't have any naughty stuff, put a muffin in there or something I don't know I'm not your boss.

   Tax free. 1 of 1. Unisex. Fits true to size. 100% cotton.

Size: Large