For absolutely no reason at all, the sad trombone.
And now, a mash up.
Arthur and Tina were playing gin rummy on a blistering hot lazy Sunday. A baseball game without sound was playing on the extremely large television. A time before central air conditioning must have been pure hell. Arthur’s hand cramped up, so he set down his cards. “Do you remember Morris the Cat?”
Tina pursed her lips as she laid down the Ace of Hearts. “Of course I do. It/he was the spokesperson/cat for 9 Lives® cat food and made his first appearance in 1968. Why?”
Small Fry the Robot was thoroughly asleep, rumbling loudly, since it was sleeping on the floor on its back, and breathing only through its nose hole. It sounded like an unbalanced washing machine. The commotion caught the attention of the supervisor, Mr Hinkus Lipp.
Mr. Lipp was pissed off royal. “Wake the fuck up!”
The robots had experienced silence before, but nothing like this. The quiet was profound; the by-product of guilt, regret, stupidity, and pride.