Old Stuff: Milk's Best Friend

I trudged along the snow and ice covered sidewalk, carefully planting each foot to prevent unwanted slippage. The milk had been out a mere 20 minutes before I realized I'd forgotten to return it to the refridgerator and began my journey back to make amends. Freshness is important, you see. With a sure and steady pace, I would preserve the pure calcium in just a few minutes time. Unbeknownst to me, Oppenheimer, the neighbors' cat, had gotten word of this free-range milk and vowed to have it for himself. With a fury, he dug under the fence that divides our nations and purposely made his way for my door. At the first sign of ajar, he would have the milk. I was distraught. My stride quickened as the calcium called to me for rescue, a cat's throat is no way to go. My footing was unsure and treacherous, but I would not faltar. Oppenheimer must be stopped. I need milk. No vanity, necessity. This is my life, get your own. As I reached the house, Oppenheimer was disinterested in me, never removing his gaze from the doorknob. He was pretending to be cold, looking to gain sympathy from me, and access to the milky goodness. Not today, Oppenasshole. I reached into my coat pocket and produced a small, metal cube. The cube was shiny silver, and decorated with little red faces, all with different expressions. I held the cube out toward Oppenheimer and he glanced at me, bored and judgemental, then back towards the door. I managed to suppress a smirk as I pushed a small button on the top of the cube, causing it to spin and shift and grow until it finally popped. Where once was a cube now stood a 3-feet tall metallic cyber-dog, purple steam rising from it's newly formed body. The cyber-dog let out a grinding, robotic growl and opened it's jaws wide as a beam of purple energy burst from it's mouth. With obvious cat-like reflexes, Oppenheimer shot to his left, dodging obliteration by mere inches as the energy beam tore into the front of my house behind him. The beam ripped through the entire structure from front to back, exiting into the ground in my back yard. A singed, basketball-sized hole peered through every room. From where I stood I could see into the kitchen, where the force of the beam had shaken the milk and caused it to fall from the counter onto the floor. The calcium now puddled, a victim of the merciless progression of technology and industrialization. Defeated, I sat down on the front steps and sighed. The cyber-dog sadly clanged over, and laid its head on my lap. Good boy. Good boy.