Everything, inevitably, loses something in translation.

“Oook!” to a penguin, say, is not quite the same as “Oook!” to an orangutan. It requires a bit of guesswork, from both sides, and it’s not often they both guess right. I’ve told him (and I assume it’s a “he” until it suggests otherwise) to use the bathroom- not, as he incorrectly guessed and now assumes, to piss into the more conveniently placed garbage chute. It’s gonna stink of cheap fruit for months…that’s translation for you.

It gets me when people complain about films based on books. Whoever makes the film isn’t going to try to make a bad film, and books can cram in a lot of detail within a very small amount of time. Your idea of what something looks like, based on the description, costs nothing. A bad film still cost money to make; a good book can go unpublished and exist for free.

People live interesting lives all the time, and no one can ever write about them all. It’s not like books get everything down anyway.

Toilet breaks, for example. What does an elvish toilet seat look like? Do they use paper or leaves? Tolkien said a lot about who created the world, but he never once explained how elves coped with a diet that consisted mostly of fruit whilst living at the top of a tree- and somehow staying beautiful and elegant and (you imagine) clean. Imagine having to go when the orcs turned up. People don’t ever complain about that missing from the adaptions.

I guess it would make books a lot bigger, though. And not everyone wants the entire picture. Speculation is fairly often better, because your mind can fill it in with whatever the hell it wants.

In this case, one of us was right.

Robots, contrary to common belief, need time to relax too. They can’t be robotic ALL the time, the same way people can’t be people people for the entire week either. Sometimes people become machines. Sometimes they become arseholes. Hey, it might explain why robots get like that too. Monkey see, monkey- the toilet is THAT way. There. Over- forget it. Eugh…

C-3PO is a robot. In between stumbling after R2, doing his very best impression of Hugh Grant after an angry night out, he didn’t get a lot of C-3PO time in. Turns out he needs that time. He spends it at Woofers.

The costume was easy enough. My friend has a pretty exotic phonebook, so getting hold of a life-support unit was surprisingly easy. I can’t see it myself, but…well, whatever does it for C-3PO, I guess…a pot of sparkly pink paint, one very big dust sheet & a 4-pack of wheels later, and we are ready to go. I just hope he has the decency to look upset.

I wonder what HH’s doing right now. I never really asked him about hobbies, or what he does on his time off being a Time Lord. Maybe I’ll see him here…that’d be gross. Not improbable, though- I’m here, for a start.

Funny. My current chum has yet to explain exactly what we’re gonna do with C-3PO, I assume after we’ve bundled him into a sack and made our escape. He knows about technology. That’s about as much as I can gather. Funny how much I trust him. This could just be an exercise in being mean to androids. I could get arrested.

Ah well. I’ve signed up, I’ve arrived, and all that’s left to do now is act quiet while my friend wheels us through a room full of very excitable metal objects.

Time to meet the man with a golden gun.



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