Melbourne: The future.
A city in disarray. Violence rules the streets.
Successive governments have failed to curb the out of control binge-drinking epidemic that is gripping the city. People just drink future-beers where ever they want then start future-fights. It’s madness.
Even banning drinking in strip clubs failed to stop the bloodshed. Who could have predicted that? I seriously would have thought that’d have a massive impact and stop all the crime from happening.
Inside the Australian Centre for Knee-Jerk Reactions, after years of brainstorming and experiments, scientists believe they have finally found the answer:
Robotic Electronic Titanium Alcohol-Reducing Diamorphic Empathetic Defender.
Or R.E.T.A.R.D.E.D. for short.
A cybernetic half-human, half-robot crime fighter that will rid the streets of scum and villainy.
Scientist 1: Finally! RETARDED is up and running! Now the streets will be clean of violence and mayhem!
Scientist 2: Yes. My children will grow up in a world without anything ever happening at all. I will rest easy.
In Canberra, President Rudd, serving his 19th term in office, gets word that RETARDED is being deployed on the streets of Melbourne, and makes a statement at a press conference…
Rudd: Seeing as though global warming happened in spite of our best efforts, and billions of dollars were spent on nothing, I can honestly say that if this plan fails I’m giving up on this bullshit altogether.
(Rudd’s aide clears his throat and motions at Rudd pointedly)
Rudd: Oh, yes… working families.
(Rudd leaves the stage to a resounding standing ovation.)
Back in Melbourne, RETARDED enters his specially-made RETARDED transportation unit for the first time and proceeds to cruise around looking for drunks and out of control behavior.
He spots on King St a suspicious looking individual.
RETARDED exits his vehicle and approaches the man.
RETARDED: Good evening sir. What is your business outside this adult entertainment complex?
Drunk Man: Heeeyy… youse is that fucken drunk cop thingo ey?
RETARDED: I’m Robotic Electronic Titanium Alcohol-Reducing Diamorphic Empathetic Defender. I keep the streets clean of intoxicated individuals through any force neccesary.
(Drunk man begins taking photos of RETARDED with his future-phone.)
Drunk Man: Oi! Davo! Loogadd this! Fucken metal shiny cop cunt!
Davo: Ahhhh! that’s awesome! (Gets out his future-camera phone, that in the future is actually a camera with a phone in it)
RETARDED: Sir, blow into my Breathalizer finger please.
Drunk Man: Okay, but I don’t usually do thish on the firs’ date huh huh!
(Man blows into RETARDED’s finger. A BAC reading of .145 shows up on RETARDED’s visor. He grabs the drunks man’s arm and breaks it at the elbow in one fell swoop.)
Drunk Man: ARGHGHGHHHH!!!!!
RETARDED: Sir, you are drunk. I am taking you down to the police station for further questioning.
Davo: Holy shit mate! That cunt just broke your arm in half! Fucken sick! I’m taking pics man, this is goin’ on my Future-book!
A job well done by RETARDED. He has kept another drunken lout of the streets of Melbourne, and only at a small cost to it’s taxpayers of forty-thousand dollars, and the city’s reputation.
But the job’s not done yet.
On the way back to HQ, RETARDED stops at a 7-11 to get a packet of chips, because he still has human parts, and those parts happen to like chips.
He notices strange activity going on inside the store, so he enters it with caution.
There at the counter, an armed man is pointing a laser at the clerk.
Clerk: Oh! Praise Allah! It’s RETARDED!
Armed Man: Oh, shit.
RETARDED: What is the nature of your emergency?
Clerk: This man is about to leave with all my money! You must help me.
Clerk: Uh… will you apprehend this man, please?
RETARDED: …I can not perform this function.
Clerk and Armed Man together: …What???
RETARDED: I’m Robotic Electronic Titanium Alcohol-Reducing Diamorphic Empathetic Defender. I keep the streets clean of intoxicated individuals.
Clerk: You mean, you can’t just take him to your car with you?
RETARDED: I can not perform this function.
Armed Man: I’m… just going to leave with my money.
The armed man escapes RETARDED this time! But if RETARDED ever catches him so much as .001% over the limit, his ass is grass!
RETARDED: I will purchase some Kettle chips.
Clerk: Fuck, you’re retarded.