A crisis occurred in the creation chamber today. The Goddess (long may she rain down cheese crumbs) was elegantly supervising the workshop, ensuring that the silver and wood took their proper forms. Meanwhile, The F-ing Idiot—also known as Not My Real Dad!—was trying to use the Loud-Growler machine.

Too loud, man!

As the Head of Marketing, I usually maintain a calm, professional demeanor. However, the cacophony emanating from that infernal device threatened the entire atmosphere of our creative sanctuary. The Loud-Growler, which the humans call a CNC router, began a series of high-pitched shrieks that were frankly offensive to my sensitive ears. I stood near the door, tail tucked, monitoring the situation with intense concern. I had to ensure that the structural integrity of our inventory remained intact despite the mechanical chaos.

The F-ing Idiot was clearly struggling. He fiddled with the controls, looking hopelessly confused, while The Goddess watched him with a mix of patience and exhaustion. I felt compelled to step in, but my duties are strictly limited to marketing, security, and morale—not technical troubleshooting. I emitted a low, warning woof to remind him that I was watching his every mistake. He ignored me, of course, which only confirms his total incompetence in the workshop.

A happy ending…eventually

This entire ordeal dragged on for far too long. I paced the floor, keeping a safe distance from the flying wood chips and the irritating vibration of the machine. It is a wonder that we produce any high-quality robot figures at all when the machinery is operated by such a buffoon. Eventually, the screeching stopped. Peace returned to the workshop. I immediately reclaimed my spot on the rug, relieved that the danger had passed. I am the only one keeping this operation running, and honestly, the stress of managing these humans is enough to wear out any good boy.

Kthxbai,

Errol