Hydrogen: That guy's down-home country doctor-scientist police chief mannerism is deeply calming to me, much like the sedative they use for lethal injections.
Trillaphon: "Well I'll tell you what pardner, here I was a-monologuin' this and a-soliloquizin' that, right clear 'til that there machine apocalypse done came on."
Hydrogen: "Now see here, miss, I'm going to have to go ahead and take a little pinch of exception with your use of the word "murder" to describe the actions of an artificial life form, from an ontological standpoint, that is."
Trillaphon: Barrett Coldyron: brilliant but mumbly loose cannon science-cop and bumpkin philosopher.
Trillaphon: This seems like a good point to mention that he's in charge of the R.O.T.O.R. program, which involves creating a psychotic cyborg Judge Dredd knockoff with a thick, luscious porn mustache to wander around murdering speeders, reaching for things dramatically, and barking in people's faces.
Hydrogen: The astute viewer may have noticed that they already have one robot on the police force, but it's only programmed to hit on the secretaries and perform bizarre, Twin Peaks-esque dance numbers with the janitor, so it's not likely to put much of a dent in the local criminal underworld.
Trillaphon: It's also pretty good at wearing hats and grumbling to itself about its job like a Flintstones Crappersaurus.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
Something Awful reviews the absolute worst movies out there. We focus mostly on horror and science fiction, because all writers here on Something Awful are huge nerds.