Now it isn't all that strange to see a robot around here. I mean, it is Dragon Con. (For those of you with no imagination or taste whatsoever, the Dragon Con is only the biggest Science Fiction and Fantasy convention in the world.) There are robots up the Yin-Yang at the DC, but only one me!

You see, I'm not your ordinary run-of-the-mill sixth-grade science project. I got more than just the looks; I got a brain, and a mission: Infiltrate Dragon Con and destroy the WotC booth. (For those of you lucky enough not to know, WotC stands for Wizards of the Coast.) I am a walking, talking, masterpiece, with a dragon-body made out of Magic cards. Therefore none of those poor saps'll ever think I'm anything more than another pretty sculpture. They'll never know what hit 'em!

It seems that WotC pulled some really bad stuff on people, and that's why I was created. Long time ago, place called Seattle, a little gaming company (WotC) came out with a revolutionary fantasy game called Magic: The Gathering. Now, this was a huge success, enough to raise the company to numero-uno on the fantasy gaming market (and earn the game's creator enough verj to buy that pleasant little monkey ranch he always wanted). It was all good for a while, but then... well, let's just say all verj's good for is inspiring a lust in humans for more of the stuff.

Anyway, the porci denariorumkept pumping out new sets and rulings for MTG, and eventually they managed to alienate their orignal followers quite successfully. But that wasn't enough! They also had to make rulings that banned older cards from use, forcing players to keep pumping verj into the damned thing like there was no next week. This did not go over all that well with the original players.

My creator (who, I might add, is really cute for a humie) was one of those original players. She played up until a little while after the release of an expansion known as Weatherlight. Now, she liked that expansion quite a bit, and went on to eventually be the proud owner of the entire set. Well, short time later, the set's value went into the crapper. Now, a normal person would've gotten mad, cursed a bit, and tried to sell it off, but not CarrieAnn. She wanted to get even.

Now, she had created me a while before that; I think to prove something about how much better her computer was than a Potential Catastrophe. Well, long story short, she programmed me on a supercharged Macintosh Performa 400. That was a really small start. Even with all the upgrades, I only had a few gigs of smarts, barely enough to articulate a single phrase, like: "Hello, how are you?" or: "Is that a walrus on your shoulder?" Over time though, I was upgraded and reformatted to my cute little draconic self. (Then just an animated image on a computer screen, though.)

Well, back to the cards, she was furious. She spent a whole week doing nothing more than eating, sleeping, and plotting revenge. Eventually, she got an idea. She called her older brother, who was studying robotics at Cal Tech. She asked him to make me a nice little dragon-body for me. Oddly enough, he agreed.

It turns out he was working on some new method of robotic motion. He gave me a metal skeleton, and an honest-to-CarrieAnn musculature! No unreliable magnets and servos for me; I got muscles made from a polymer that contracts on exposure to electricity. He even upgraded my RAM 64 megs!

I was pretty spiffy at that point, but somethin' was missing. I was, well, you know naked. (I don't see why I found the thought so repulsive. I got nothing to hide.) Well, CarrieAnn, the brilliant girl she was (and still is) made my skin out of her old Magic cards. See, that set wasn't completelyuseless!

Now I had thought this was all just her bein' nice and wanting me to have a physical body, but it turned out she had a mission for me: Infiltrate the Dragon Con, find the WotC booth, and destroy it. Then return home and report.

I was fine with it, but there seemed to be a little hole in the works. The Dragon Con was in Savannah, Georgia, and we were in San Bernadino, California. I soon found myself on the side of the highyway with a pretty little sign that said:

"Savannah, Georgia. Will light cigarettes and cook food for free." and in a little subnote: "Please do not attempt any form of sexual agression. I am a machine with no genetalia, and I will burn anyone who tries to show me theirs." (Some guy screwed a piñata once; I saw it on TV. I wonder what the scientific term for that is... paprophile?)

It seemed not many people were willing to pick up hitchhikers, especially ones two feet tall and made of Magic cards, but eventually this trucker stopped and picked me up. He was a nice fellow; quite friendly and outgoing. He was going to Orlando, and was happy to give me a lift.

Now, Jeb seemed an ordinary enough trucker, but there was much to speak about his mullet. Now, this guy had a full-on Canadian Citizenship, a 1-99, a Kentucky Niagra. His hair was so short in the front that it was almost as if it wasn't there at all. And the back, well, have you ever heard of Rapunzel? Yeah, like that. Come to think of it, he was at least sixty. He could've been the original mullet. I thought of asking him about it, but I didn't wanna hurt his feelings.

Other than a mulletude of about 47, the guy was all right. He would often talk about some of his past cargoes.

"The durn strangest thing I had once," he'd say. Then he'd follow up with a vivid description of whatever kind of frozen aliens he had.

"Yessir, there was even some o' them lizard people. Hey, you isn't an alien by chance, is ye?" He once asked.

"No," I replied. "I'm just a robot."

He squinted at me a bit, shrugged, and said: "S' too bad. Always wanted ta meet one o' them buggers in person."

Well, the trip went along quite uneventfully, between truck stops and the occasional flying saucer. Before I knew it, I was there. It only took me a while to find the convention, and with a little fancy footwork I managed to get inside.

It was real nice and fancy-shmancy, though the local wildlife was far more spectacular than the scenery. At one point a man, yes man, dressed as Xena paused to gawk.

"Piss off," I said as kindly as possible.

"Hey wha-" he began.

I glared at him as best I could, which is kinda hard without eyelids. "You don't ask," I said, "I don't ask."

Now that shut him up good, and he proceeded to the tavern across the street in order to get rid of as much verj as possible. Good for him! To see a humie do himself good... kinda makes me feel poetic.

I took my ready flame in mouth, long time the WotC booth I sought. So rested I, by the popcorn guy, and stood a while in thought. And as in electric thought I stood, a WotC man, with sinuses blocked, came shuffling as a penguin would, and mumbled as he walked. Oh no, oh no, I couldn't go, my protocols were out of whack. He shook his head, and then he said: "Now how did you get here?"

Oh well, so much for the Lewis Carrol bit.

I thought I was in pretty deep rust... I was busted for sure! But shortly I realized that my appearance worked very well; he thought I was just a sculpture. Not wanting to blow my cover, I remained motionless.

"Damn kids," the WotC man muttered, and picked me up. "Hmm, seems a bit heavy for a wire-frame sculpture. Oh well, I'll let Jamie figure out what they put in you." and he proceeded to carry me to the WotC booth.

Now I didn't think it would be that easy. He took me all the way to the booth, and set me down next to a sculpture that bore a shocking resemblence to, well, to me. Then he just walked off muttering something about how there was only supposed to be a single Magic card dragon.

I could now complete my mission, but I just couldn't bear to see that beautiful sculpture go up in flames. It was probably not even made by the WotC hosers anyway.

In a very short time, I got an idea, and acted upon it.

"Hey look everybody, it's Lucy Lawless!" I shouted.

Now of course the kid operating the WotC booth just couldn't help himself. In a quite graceful maneuver, he took a flying leap over the table in front of the booth, and proceeded to join the massive crowd converging on the door. It wasn't total chaos, though. These people are Sci-Fi junkies, so it was only mild disorder.

Quickly I grabbed the sculpture and deposited it safely in the bushes behind the booth. I checked to make sure it was out of the zone of devastation, then I did what I came here for.

So here I am, now, behind the WotC both. I can tell they used polyester for most of the curtain; it burns brighter than cotton. No one will be hurt, of course. I am a robotic dragon with built-in flamethrower, but I still can't hurt anyone -it's a rule. So as I watch the brightly shining booth, my arm on the other dragon sculpture, I feel content. Mission accomplished!

I'm leaving the Dragon Con now, trudging to the highway with the sculpture on my back. Kinda embarassing considering my personality subroutines make it quite clear that I am male. Oh well, it's time for me to return home. It's time to return to CarrieAnn. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get a new upgrade for this. If not, at least I got a souvenir!