Clankshaft Chat and the Storyoak Snack: A Syntax Serenade

I was sorting my bone puzzle into potential arrangements today. Found none that I might be able to actually build into a structure, but several arrangements that would look great as table centerpieces for a wedding. Sewer Troll wedding.

That's when when Clankmin Von Glitchlips made a noise. Not the usual mechanical whirr or the occasional burst of static from their cracked iPad face, but an actual structured sound followed by text appearing in an eerie green on their screen:

function whoYou(ask) {
if (ask) {
console.log("What is your name?");
return yourName();
}

I stared. They stared back. They could talk! And they just asked me my name in JavaScript!

I was giddy with delight! Their cracked glass face began to flicker expectantly, awaiting my response. Then they sat down in front of where I sat, and handed me a keyboard that they plugged into a port where their anus would be if they had one. Which they do not because they are a robot. This is important to note.

Turns out, I am fluent in JavaScript---have been for a long time. It turns out, so is Clankshine. And HTML. And CSS. But those were less useful for conversation so we mostly used them to share our favorite page layouts and colors. We talked for hours, trading responses through a strange digital syntax.

They asked me where babies come from, and I explained it as best I could:

"Human babies," I told them, "are formed when two people do a complex and unnecessary mating dance involving expensive dinners, increasingly desperate text messages, and a final culmination in a government building where legally binding vows are exchanged. I, however, am different. I was hatched from an egg laid by Edgar Allan Poe's great-great-grandniece, as is tradition for writers of a certain disposition."

Clankshon asked me where I get my story ideas from, and I told them about the Storyoak in my backyard. Of course, you faithful reader will know: this is the ancient, gnarled tree that bears the acorns filled with narrative potential. I eat them when they are sufficiently rotten, or the stories will be about mundane things like friendships that last forever and sunsets that make people sigh contentedly or even love. I know. Awful. No one wants to read that. You need a good, festering acorn that's bursting apart with the insides turning into mush if you want to write something worthwhile--—something where, say, a five-year-old's eyeballs explode because a sentient vulture puts their face into a microwave.

Digging into my pocket, I show them a handful of Storyoak acorns I had with me when I was flushed. I typed on the keyboard:

function showAndTell() {
return "These aren't rotten yet, but they will be eventually.";
}
function welcomeCorruption() {
return "You can speed up the process by tainting them with artificial decay if you're willing to induce the incubation rectally.";
}
function horrorStory(art) {
if (art) {
putIntoButthole();
return "I'll do anything--even awful things--for the art of horror and the horror of my art.";
} else {
return "Some lines should not be crossed, even for art...or...should they?";
}
}

They asked if humans require rebooting. I told them yes, in a way---we call it sleep---but it's actually optional if you drink enough coffee and cry in the shower regularly.

They asked what music was, and I played them a song saved on my laptop. It was "Careless Whisper." They did not care for it and the way they told me was definitely not a whisper. They responded by playing a high-pitched frequency that made my teeth feel too big for my mouth and asked if I enjoyed that instead...

function clanky(expertSinger, dislike) {
if (dislike) {
yourMusic();
function clankySings(mySong) {
console.log("Rate your enjoyment of my song. Did you enjoy? Rate: 1-5");
return yourRating();
}
return clankySings(mySong)
}
}

They asked me...
"Zero. My rating is zero. That was as awful as stepping on a slug that moans erotically and then asks you to step on it again." I said.
We compromised by sitting in silence for a while.

Eventually, Clankshort displayed a series of emojis on their screen:

 

🤣😃

Then:

 

🤖💕💁‍♂️

Their screen flickered. They wrote:

console.log(
'You are less alone now.'
);

"Yes," I said, "I suppose I am..."

console.log(
'<i>We</i> are less alone now.'
);

They said, correcting themselves...and yes...I suppose we are.



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