Let’s just get this out of the way right off the bat; I am not some gigantic autonomous robotic organism from the planet Cybertron. My squishiness mixed with my inability to transform into a cool sports car is one of the main reasons why I am positive of this. Don’t bother asking me why my parents decided to name me after the Autobot Third in Command; I am just the poor infant who had “Autobot Jazz” written across his birth certificate.
I, along with my many therapists, have theorized on what compelled my parents to give me such a name. Maybe they were testing their thesis that if they named me after the music loving Autobot, I would inherit some of his skill and general ‘awesomeness’.
If this was the case then I am sorry to say this experiment proved to be an epic failure that will probably be swept under the carpet by the government.
Maybe I was suppose to be a girl named Jasmine, and when I wasn’t, my parents decided to shorten it to Jazz and tacked on the Autobot to distract from their laziness for not coming up with something better. Maybe my parents threw a bunch of newspaper clippings in a bag had the misfortune to not choose a clipping with something cool on it, like “The Rock” or “Hot Rod”.
I’d even have preferred “Sandwich”. (Get it…? hero…sandwich…?…sorry)Anyway, whatever the case may be, I was designated Autobot Jazz and I am not wasting good beer money to change it now.
A Tragic Death
My earliest memory is of my parents signing me up for ninja lessons, in hopes that it would kick start (perhaps literally) me into inheriting some of the real Autobot Jazz’s awesome Cyber Ninja Moves™. My second earliest memory is of me running from a giant butterfly that kept trying to land on my sticky child face. Needless to say my parents promptly pulled me from the lessons in embarrassment, deeming me unfit to become the next great Godville Ninja™.
Unknown to younger me, this embarressed disappointment would become the norm throughout my childhood. The one constant was the desprete sheen in my parents’ eyes as they frantically tried to find SOMETHING that I wasn’t horrible at. (they had given up on finding something I was good at early on in the search)
It was on my birthday number… something that my parents finally tried their last idea of how to bring me to greatness:
I vaguely remember some inspiring speech they made about that I would either die, or a hero-less god/goddess (they weren’t picky) would take me in. Maybe I should have been paying attention, since my lack of attention span was what got me in that situation in the first place, but I believe in staying true (and somewhat lazy) until the end.
Which I admit was approaching much too quickly for my taste.Anyway, my parents saw the situation as a win/win scenario because it didn’t matter what the outcome was, they didn’t have to deal with me any more. (I believe their response to my protests had been something along the line that I was “biased and couldn’t see it from their point of view”?)
Feeling the love.
So that is how I found myself suspended horizontally above the ground, my top half tied to a truck facing one direction and my bottom half tied to a truck facing the opposite direction.
…Lets just skip ahead and say there was Autobot Jazz everywhere, and the feeling of being ripped in two brought back vague memories of déjà vu.
Becoming A Hero
Next thing I knew, I was in a dimly lit room, my torso (thankfully) intact. A powerful (and feminine) voice spoke from above.
If I were a lesser squishy, I may have found it unsettling. It was unsettling.
“Autobot Jazz?” It boomed, sounding slightly confused. Great, even the gods got me mixed up with the real Autobot Jazz.
“Unfortunately! ” I yelled back.
“I expected you to be…” I felt a breeze ghost across my face as if the mysterious goddess had given a vague waving gesture with an invisible hand, “Taller. More Cybertronian. You know…” the breeze came again.
I had the feeling that the adjective she was looking for was ‘cooler’ but I decided against commenting. It’s not denial, I’m simply being selective about the reality I accept.
“No matter,” the voice continued, apparently taking the lack of giant robot in stride along with the unexpected presence of a puny, fleshy creature. “I am Lady Primus. Your quest, Autobot Jazz, will be to-…" I strained my ears trying to make out what was being said above the suddenly loud, heroic sounding music that blared from unknown places. It finally quieted down just as the voice finished speaking of my mission and ended with a "’Til all are one!”
“Uhhhh, can you repeat that?!” I shouted frantically, even as the room faded away and I experienced the feeling of falling (which was unsettling since even the real Autobot Jazz is a ground-based vehicle, and therefore unable to fly).
If I were a lesser squishy, perhaps I would have been concerned about what my supposed mission was, or the fact that I was, yeah know, FALLING, but instead, the only thought going through my head was ‘why does that always happen during the important parts?!’
The Beginning Of The Autobot Faction
It had been a day like any other. Wake up, kill some monsters, and wish that I had the real Autobot Jazz’s armour as I frantically try to plug puncture wounds with the tips of my fingers to stop them from gushing a bright, neon pink liquid. Yeah, you read that right, I bleed pink. I also cry a bright, neon blue liquid. I guess me sharing my name with the real Autobot Jazz wasn’t enough for the ‘Great One’, she wanted me to bleed and cry (not that I believe that he would cry) like him too. Like seriously?! That’s the most important thing she saw to change? I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flatter-…
Speak. Of. The. Devil.
“No!” I yelled back. Who cared that I looked crazy yelling at the sky for no reason. The non-heroes of Godville had long since learned to ignore the antics of the heroes and instead avoided them just in case the sciencey non-heroes had a break through and it turned out that the…oddness…that plagued the heroes turned out to be contagious like everyone believed it to be. “I refuse to give it up now! I have it 99% completed!”
“NO!” I stomped my foot. Who cared if it was childish. Once you have had your insides exposed for everyone and their god to see, there isn’t much dignity left to lose. There was no way I was ending this ques—-
I ended the quest. The Great One is very persuasive when she wants to be.
Also, what ever happened to “freedom is the right of all sentient beings”?
I glared at the sky. The sky did nothing.
“Create the “Autobots” guild," the voice boomed.
“NO!” I proclaimed. Wasn’t it bad enough it was in my name? Did it really have to be my guild name also? Hadn’t I been punished enough? “Autobot Jazz of the Autobot guild” just sounded desperate. Besides, wasn’t it the great…What was his name? You know… the blue and red dude who transforms into a semi truck…wasn’t he the one that created the Autobots? Wouldn’t it be more fitting for me to create a guild named “The Squishies”? Or what about “Dumb Stubbies”? That has a nice ring to it.
Lady Primus was not amused by my suggestions.
Lets just cut this short and say Godville has a new guild; the Autobots (apply now…)
That lasted a shorter amount of time than I expected.
Not that I expected the guild to last any true amount of time, but really? That lack of attention span was disappointing (even for me).
Oh well, I guess now I can fulfill my dream of being like the Lone Ranger. Except, the less cool version. With beer. And I guess I’m not really alone because I have Bucky. And the “Great One”. (Though I could probably do without one of those, not naming any names cough cough)
Is it just me, or has there been a suspicious lack of lightning bolts lately?
Like, its not that I MISS playing dodge-lighting bolt with the Great One… but my beerskin (wineskins are for losers) hasn’t been magically refilled recently, and it’s almost empty.
Going to try being extra annoying. See if that will bring about some type of response.
The End of the World
The Great One isn’t responding.
I tried EVERYTHING. I threw snowballs at the normals. I ran a daycare inside her temple and allowed the children to draw on the walls in sharpie. I EVEN GAVE UP DRINKING!
Well… for 2 minutes… which may have been the amount of time it took for the bartender to refill my glass…
Anyway, what do I do?! I can’t be like one of those Godless-nobody-losers who stumble around with dead eyes, absently poking things with sticks and talking to themselves.
Well… maybe I do that already-bUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT!
I could be the god, and my lunch can be the hero.
Good thing it’s a sandwich today! (I will eat Bucky before I stop making this pun. Don’t judge me) And to think, that trader wanted to sell me vegetable soup.
Sandwich’s First Battle/Punishment
I had to punish Sandwich today. He TOTALLY let that Killerbyte win. He started out so strong too, practically flying towards the monster.
Too bad he fell apart soon after.
In Sickness and In Health
Sandwich was looking a little green today, so we stayed close to town. I made a fire to keep him warm, and was horrified when he started to burn.
He smelled delicious though.
I am sad to announce the tragic death of Hero Sandwich. He was found earlier this morning half eaten with a rat tearing into him.
Sandwich has been buried on the cliff overlooking the ocean. Even though he couldn’t swim, he always got soggy with tears of joy whenever he was around it during his too short life.
Rest In Peace, buddy.
On a side note, that awful stench disappeared. Still not sure what it was, but I saw Bucky prancing around in the water while I was holding Sandwich’s funeral. cough cough
It was totally Bucky.
Also, the rat has been designated Sandwich II (hey, Sandwich I lives within him, therefore Sandwich II is Sandwich I reincarnated. It’s called LOGIC, Bucky. Look it up.)
…Touchy, Feely Slag…
I miss being a hero. Because, yeah, you get banged up, and it is scary as slag… but you also have someone to blame when things go bad…
I miss my Goddess…
I guess it’s true: you never know how good you’ve got it, until it’s gone.
Starting to Hate being a God
Sandwich II bit me. I may have thrown him across the room in retaliation. Don’t worry, he’s fine (which is good, since I haven’t mastered the whole ‘bringing back to life’ thing yet) but he won’t talk to me. He just does this weird hissy thing while foaming at the mouth.
Silly Sandwich II. Doesn’t he know whipped cream isn’t good for rats?
Godless Hero. Heroless God.
Had to let Sandwich II go.
And by go, I mean he drowned himself in my beer glass while I was passed out.
I may have complained about a health hazard to the bartender when they tried to get me to pay my tab. Hey, don’t judge me. Sandwich II would’ve been proud to serve me one last time.
I may have to carry Sandwich II around a little longer…
Sandwich II has evolved and changed states.
As in, he is now a liquid.
Once again, ew…
Just going to abandon the beer glass of Sandwich II juice at the nearest tavern bar.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Much like that unfortunate hero who thought the unattended glass at the bar was filled with beer.
(It was kinda hilarious though)