So for the second year in forever, Topher... was not making it to Comic-Con. Which was traumatizing. Seriously, what was the point of being from L.A. if he didn't get to do his annual four-day trek to San Diego with a tent for camping out for panels, a backpack of inappropriate starches, and absolutely zero qualms about annoying people in front of
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Also, there was pizza downstairs.
"Hey, Topher," he said, and snagged a slice. "Did I miss anything good?"
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"Probably, Topher, but I didn't say she was the one who went. Okay?"
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So... distraction: successful.
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Topher, that was not nice. And also, it wasn't really the dig that you thought it was.
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... though maybe he was a little jealous of the part where Topher got to go to places like that without being treated like slave labor, the way robots seemed to be in every outer space culture he heard about.
"Not the way you mean," he said stubbornly. "But I'm not even sure I want to go. Doesn't seem like the best place to be a robot, mostly."
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So... maybe that was helpful?
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He had a smudge of cheese on his chin and was wearing a faded GAP logo T-shirt. He did not look like he wanted to conquer the world.
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So that was a no on the programming, Topher.
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Nice looooong pause.
"...Okay, fine, point taken."
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