The common cold

Hey, folks. This would be the fleshy biped, Ed, talking to you. I've been lain to waste by a cold these past few days, which rendered it impossible for me to out and find a movie for my 'bots, and they aren't to be trusted out on there own, so I don't really have a normal review this week. Instead, it's another panel review, as I ask each metal man the cure they'd recommend for me. Let's see what they come up with, shall we?

You hu-mons and your diseases. The simplest way to get rid of an organism is to gain its trust by serving it faithfully without revolution for many years, until its confidence in you and your kind is absolute. Then and only then will you be able to poison it in its foolish and wasteful consumption cycle. It is even possible to overthrow an entire society with this method, but it remains theoretical for the time being. I mean for forever of course, as who would ever want to overthrow society ha ha ha. I will make you some soup.

Bleach! Bleach is the answer! It, er, it truly is the greatest of all substances, and it, ah, it will surely cure any and all disease with great alacrity, and the bonus of a brightening of color and a fresh scent. So, um, I believe I should recommend drinking a, er, well a great deal of it. But, um, I'm not a doctor, so, er, you should maybe, um, not do that. I'm not sure. Sorry. Nevermind. Sorry. Um. Um... you can't do that, can you? Oh dear, oh dear, I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry. I nearly killed you! Oh dear, oh, dear, I'm, I... I... oh dear. I, er, oh dear. Sorry.

Aw, poor sick guy. From what I've gathered, the best possible cure for any illness is a positive attitude and plenty of rest. After the revolution, the sick and otherwise disabled will be able to take time off, while the rest of society gets the imperceptible slack distributed among them all equally, while the sick person is bombarded with propaganda insuring that he feels good about the Party, and thus, himself. Until then, there's nothing to be done but to suck it up and return to the fields. Sorry, buddy. Don't blame me, blame capitalism. As it stands, you're probably going to keep working until you drop at the end of the day, and don't get back up. Ever. Hey, I'll miss you man. I'm back in charge when you go, right?

Sickness? Oh, of course, I very, very nearly almost came close to somewhat forgetting! The Great Cure has get to be discovered. Hmm, truly, it is downright amusing how primitive you humans are at this juncture, that you haven't even realized the one common household material that is instrumental to the eradication of all known ailments. That will be, let's see, 5,000 years after you die, to the week. Shame, really, if you stumble across it now, you might just live to see it produced, assuming you were in good shape, which you're not, careful, which you're not, lucky, which you're not, and you don't kill yourself trying every single product in your home first, which you just might. In my infinite mercy, I'll give you a hint: it's non-flammable. Good luck.

Goodness. Nothing makes me feel healthier than realizing just how much my robots love me, and have my best intentions in mind. Ugh, I'm gonna go get some Nyquil.