Everyone Died+My iPhone Stopped Working: An Oral History of The Robot Apocalypse

A Higher Spiritual Plane

First, an update. I did not sell Lucas for twenty rolls of toilet paper, so please stop sending me hate mail. Lucas is still with me and we are both as pine cone dependent as ever.

What happened was this: as soon as our interview was over, the FBI launched a massive raid on Sal's compound. Sal was defiant. He taunted them: "Come and get me, motherfuckers!" That kind of thing. It was pretty badass.

Then there was a shootout and when it was over, Sal was dead in a pool of blood.

It was someone else's blood, actually. He was running away and he slipped on it and hit his head on a rock. I guess I'm a little jaded at this point, because my first reaction wasn't, "Oh, my God! Sal's dead!" it was, "Huh. That would've made a great alternate ending to Scarface.

Anyway, the takeaway was this: the FBI still exists and they have nothing better to do than combat toilet paper piracy. Make of that what you will.

Now then, let's check in with...

Lila Fernandez, Aromatherapist

I knew I should have stayed home when I saw what a train wreck the refugee camp was. Sharp angles, horrible clutter, beds under windows. Not a water feature in sight. I mean, it's like these people had never even heard of feng shui.

I approached one of the workers about it, but she could care less.

[Note: this use of the phrase "could care less" drives Lucas absolutely bonkers.]

She was like, "Excuse me, ma'am, but we're dealing with the wounded right now." She said it all condescending. Like I was too dumb to notice all the screaming people on stretchers.

I wanted to say, "Oh, OK, I guess that's so much more important than six thousand years of Chinese wisdom." But I didn't. This is why I meditate. So I can stay calm.

But I swear if, like, one more person calls me ma'am, I am going to need a stronger mantra.

I mean, like, everyone in camp was dwelling on the negative. It was always, "We can't get you sheets with a higher thread counts because we're dealing with the wounded" or "We're not going to offer hot yoga classes because we're busy digging a mass grave."

Even the people who weren't hurt at all got in on the complaining. Saying they had Post-Traumatic Stress Whatever. Saying they got all freaked out whenever they heard a buzzing sound because it reminded them of when the robots attacked.

Long story short, they confiscated my vibrator.

They said they'd give it back when everybody was feeling safer.

And by the way, PTSW can be totally cured with some essential oils. Sandalwood, St. John's Wort and lemongrass. But I guess I'm the only one here who understands science. Probably because I'm a Mercury in Virgo.

Phillippa appeared one day and I was very happy to see her, but she turned out to be a downer, too. I ran over to her with a big smile on my face. And I was all, "When you didn't show up to clean my condo, I thought I'd lost you!"

And she goes, "No, I am still here."

And I'm like, "I'm so glad! So... does this earring look familiar to you?"

I showed her the mysterious earring that I'd found in my condo, hoping she could I.D. it, so I'd know if my boyfriend had been sleeping around and, if so, with who. But she didn't even look at it. She just stared at me. So I waved my hand in front of her face. "Hello? Earth to Phillippa! Come in, Phillippa!"

Then she got all hissy. "In case you haven't noticed, Lila" — I always let her call me by my first name because I wanted her to know that even though she had to pull gobs of my hair from the shower drain, I thought of us as equals — "I lost a limb!"

I hadn't noticed. But that's because I don't see a person as limbs, I see a person as a person. I guess I'm just on a higher spiritual plane.

Anyway, it was important to her that I notice it, so I noticed it. "Oh, yeah," I said. "Look at that. Isn't that something?"

And she's all, "Go to hell!"

There's just no pleasing some people.

And while we're on the subject, did you notice how she complained about the one limb she lost — I forget which it was: an arm or a foot or whatever — rather than being thankful for all the limbs she still had?

Me, I feel grateful just to be alive. Although I'd be even more grateful if I could find some Ginger-Mango Kombucha Tea. But you know who used to make that for me? Phillippa! And she certainly wasn't going to make any for me now.

Which, to tell you the truth, kind of felt like karma. Like the universe was punishing me for something I had done wrong. Although I couldn't imagine what it might be. Something from a past life, I guess.

I am, as you know, a very positive person, but I admit all this negativity was really dragging me down. But you know what they say: it's always darkest before the dawn. Because all of a sudden, everything changed! We got someone new in camp. He was black, but he had the whitest aura I had ever seen.

Everywhere he went, he lifted peoples' spirits. They were smiling and laughing in a way they hadn't for a long time. He said that God spoke through him and I believed it!

His name was Benji O'Day and he seemed surprised when I didn't know who he was. It turned out, he was a world-famous singer! (As an aromatherapist, the singing on the music I listen to is usually performed by either Enya or a humpback whale.) And when he said that, I was like, "You should do a concert here at camp!"

Right away, everybody got excited! They were all like, "Yeah! Do that thing that Lila just suggested!" Benji shook his head, embarrassed, waving away at the crowd like, "No, I shouldn't. This isn't about me." He was so modest! Which was nice to see, because I was really tired of being the only modest person in camp.

Anyway, we all kept pleading with him and finally he said he'd do it! We were all like, "Yay!"

And when, a couple of weeks later, he walked out on the little stage some of the blue collar people had made for him, everyone was cheering and I thought, "I've done a good thing here." Then I realized I didn't actually know what kind of music he did.

Oh God! What if he's a rapper?

He wasn't a rapper. But the sounds he made were actually worse. It's almost impossible to describe. Basically, if my menstrual cramps made a noise, that's what they'd sound like.

Everybody looked at each other, confused. Like: is this for real?

Then Benji stopped "singing." He closed his eyes, lowered his head and clasped his hands together in prayer. Everybody was holding their breath, because something very important was happening. Then he opened his eyes, turned his head and nodded at someone behind him.

He started singing again, this time without air quotes. It was smooth and soulful and beautiful. The lyrics were really stupid — girl, you're a girl and I'm glad you're a girl, girl girl girl or whatever — but it didn't matter. He held this amazing high note and it just went on and on, growing in power. It felt like a miracle. We were all on our feet, not just cheering, but weeping tears of happiness, like every bad feeling we had ever felt was being washed away by this man's heavenly voice.

But then we heard all-too-familiar buzzing sound and suddenly there's this humungous robot swarm. After that it was just Black-Friday-at-Walmart chaos. Everybody running and screaming and dying and generally ruining the moment. I hit the ground and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, there were burned and smoking bodies everywhere.

And where Benji O'Day stood just moments before was a pile of ash and a disembodied hand with ridiculously tacky gold rings still grasping a melted microphone.

I started to cry. Sad tears this time. In part because this good soul was taken from us, but also because it dawned on me that I was never ever going to get my vibrator back.