who's been banging my robot?

strange things are afoot, indeed, on the station. yesterday morning, during the first few hours on shift in hangar 23, i'm getting along... doing my thing... taking a nap, as no one is visiting right now. then i realize... fuck me... where is skip? what's happened to skip? somethings happened to skip... what did i do with skip?

it took so long to realize that he wasn't there because most of the time, he's doing the work anyway... so i look all over the place. flapjack ain't seen him, zargle, zog, mal-aka... nobody. i even hunted down that drunk longshanks, passed out in the grav-generator free-falling, which, incidentally, is a great way to not choke on your own vomit should you emit while slumbering... a clever man that longshanks...

but no skip love... no joy... oh where oh where has my little bot gone? has someone stolen him? kidnapped to force him into some demented robo-porn snuff film?

or maybe he's been press-ganged into military service, to fight the space-monkey rebellion on the asteroid mine colonies...

perhaps he's become a personal fuckbot for some degenerate aristocrat... his destiny to get gummed up with reproductive fluids until he can no longer function, then get tossed into a recycler-blast furnace and turned into some decorative spoons...

i can only imagine what horrors are being inflicted upon his tiny robot mind... barely conscious, he struggles to understand the violent physical and sexual abuse he is subjected to... he thinks...

'oh, i wish that i were back on das orbit, under the care of that kind, generous, patient janitor. life was good then, when i vacuumed, and we drank and gambled, and played games and frolicked on the agri-levels... now, filled with 37 types of alien semen, my vision blurring, my gears slowing down and stopping...

as i gasp my last, i will know that i was loved, was cared for and was needed... at least, with the blindfold and the anti-freon they've used to heat me up to a temperature where their genitals will be warm and comfortable inside my chassis, my primitive robotic mind can only just comprehend the depravity and...
what's that?
is that the sweet release of death?
no...
sadly, it's yet another member being inserted into my already overburdened frame... how i wish they hadn't overridden my self-destruct mechanism, and removed the chip that allows me both to forget and to temporarily shut-down...
oh well.. at least, for a while there, i was as happy as i could be, for i am only a mind-damaged robot, fit for vacuuming... one man cared for me... that was more than i deserve...
'

i hope it's not that last one... i'm the only person who make him go into a roborgy... i'll keep you bastards posted...