Did you see us readers!? Will I now be inundated with requests for my autograph and offers form showbiz agents who’ll propel me to stardom? Each week has seen a bold new flavour of escapade ever since that metal monstrosity rattled into my life. This week, Bonabot and I made our first ever television appearance! Caveat being that I didn’t do an awful lot.
Stories of Bonabot’s exploits and the bizarre terraforming of our local political landscape have gained national attention. Representatives of the Boanbot Party, (i.e. Bonabot and the minimum number of people required to navigate him to a news studio) were invited to appear on The Forum. A daily, late-morning political discussion programme adored by retired people, pretentious social science undergraduates and absolutely no one in-between.
Ordinarily, the panel on this show is small. But Bonabot is not yet capable of supervising himself, particularly when on a live stream where anything can happen. And if I know one thing about him, it’s that in his presence, anything can indeed happen. Even things you’d never imagine would be things.
Crowded around a large, abstract coffee table sat the host, a broadsheet journalist, Bonabot, myself, Lawrence from the Drone Society, Natalya Hamm (self-appointed spokesperson for the Bonabot Party) and Counsellor Miles Bridge. MP for Hatchfield and Duncester, Harry Stokes also joined via live feed.
The plan was to get Bonabot to say as little as possible. Not an easy feat considering no one is entirely sure how he works and whether he has an off switch. I attempted to placate the emperor by telling him that we were planning an ambush on an enemy detachment and had to keep quiet, just before we went on air. Lawrence resorted to pointing an old TV remote at him and hammering the volume down button several times. There was no reason to assume that this would work but I admired the raw logic of the attempt.
My efforts to silence Bonabot somewhat backfired. He still made the same ambient noises and babbles. But any time I tried to speak, from that moment until we went on air, he’d prod my lips with his probe-like arms and make furious shushing noises.
The televised discussion did not start in a manner that anyone would anticipate. There was a 10 second stretch of good behaviour from our robotic representative. But as soon as the host introduced Mr Bridge, Bonabot could clearly be heard muttering a word that I do not care to translate into English.
Each member of the panel on The Forum gets a mug of water. To give the show a sort of sat-around-the-living-room vibe. This included Bonabot, which proved to be an oversight. Shortly after his foul-mouthed utterance, the digitised Bonaparte attempted to take a sip from his mug. His lack of dexterity saw the cup being flung over his head, into the soft greenscreen behind him and ending its journey in a loud, ceramic crunch on the hard floor. This set a previously unheard tone for the show. This barely phased Bonabot’s entourage but Mr Bridge and the host were clearly thrown off track. To her credit, the host ploughed on as if nothing happened.
I often suspect that Bonabot knows far more than we give him credit for. Because the assault on the mug proved to be a media masterstroke. A spike in ratings immediately followed as the topic trended on social media platforms. The eyes of the world were now on Bonabot. At least, the part of the world that happens to be watching British TV at 11:30am on a Wednesday.
The show proceeded as a carefully navigated slog of marketing speak, tired platitudes and insubstantial political mumbling. Every question directed at Bonabot was swiftly intercepted by Natalya before he could process it. Stokes, who like Bridge, represents the Vox Britannia party, said very little. I felt he rather dropped his colleague into the proverbial. He offered nothing other than limp constructive criticism of the idea of electing something that was essentially a haunted refrigerator, that didn’t have the thinking capacity to be considered a ‘smart fridge’.
It was precision engineered blandness and sensibility. In my view crafted to draw any attention away from Stokes and allow him to get through the discussion without expressing anything that might constitute a real opinion. (Then again what do I know about politics? I review kettles for a living) The absurdity of it all had Bridge flapping and screaming in a sea of insanity, and Stokes was refusing to jump in. He was quietly stowed away on HMS Collective Lunacy.
Bridge began to break. I recall it started with the quote “How can any of you pretend that this is at all a conducive way of running local government!? Even if we were to entrust a robot with such responsibilities, how could we choose this one? He’s given no indication that he has the capabilities to deal with the pressing issues facing the people of Hatchfield. Take education for example. Over a third of the schools in the city are in special measures, what’s… he” Bridge gestured towards Bonabot “going to do about it? I ask you, directly, Mr Bonaparte. What are YOU going to do about it!?” A man off stage, who I presume was some kind of media-oriented person-handler for VB politicians, gave Bridge a thumbs up.
Natalya had no time to interject. Bonabot spoke his first words on national television! (At least the first which could be repeated in pleasant company.)
“Give me an education mother! I shall promise you the birth of a civilised, educated nation!” He said it in a rather melodramatic plea. The tone was a bit much but those of us in his entourage gave each other a satisfied nod as if to say, ‘well that could have gone much worse.’
Lawrence might have taken it a step too far by standing and clapping so vigorously his palms might shatter. To maintain solidarity, me and Natalya tentatively joined. Much to her credit, the host remained straight faced and did her absolute best to maintain the illusion that this was still a platform of high-level political discourse. She asked the broadsheet journalist how the public might respond to the statement.
Like all English Literature teachers, wine tasters, mediums and people who think they understand modern art, he read far more into the situation than he probably should.
“Well this is a message voters can really get behind. It seems painfully obvious that Mr Bonaparte is highlighting the often-disregarded importance of primary education and how it establishes the foundations for younger people to make the most of their further academic careers”. Bridge went red in the face and began to stammer at this point. I saw him turn to the screen that Stokes had been streamed on for support, but he’d not long ago vanished due to ‘technical difficulties’.
The discussion did not at all conclude well for Mr Bridge. He resorted to berating us all, bringing our cognitive faculties into question whilst his handler gesticulated wildly off camera trying to calm him down. He even accused Bonabot of being brainless. Which is technically true I suppose? Nevertheless, the Tin Geezer had a riposte. “In politics, stupidity is not a handicap… mon ami.” His head turned with a slight scraping noise so that his glowing blue eyes met Mr Bridge’s gaze perfectly.
There’s no sense in inferring anything from the tone in which Bonabot says things. As he uses tone seemingly at random. This did not stop Mr Bridge from being horribly offended, however. The poor man. All he’d gone on the show to do was drag Hatchfield back into the realm of normalcy, kicking and screaming if necessary. But the tens of people who’d watched it unfold had only seen a rather stressed looking man yell at a mobile manifestation of that weird draw everyone has that’s filled with old wires, screws and ancient Nokias.
I felt genuinely sorry for him, that is until I saw him in the car park shortly after, climbing into a car parked horizontally across two disabled parking bays. Say what you like about Boanbot, he may harbour the consciousness of a man who ended the lives of thousands through bloody conquest, but he’d never do THAT.
Readers, in all the excitement, I almost forgot that the election falls two days before our next issue is due! What next? The end of a wild ride, or the start of a revolution? Throw us some change again next week to find out! Or read about it in 6 months’ time in a pile of unwanted literature in a dentist’s waiting room.
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