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*u stay awake late, hoping to hear sleighbells herald the arrival of jolly saint nick. But instead u hear only a dismal fanfare played on a dented tuba, as this atrocity, greatest of all god's mistakes, trundles into the room to be violently sick; it dies before it can apologise*
This is, going by its number, the fourth bleak cyborg minotaur produced by the euroleisure group. One can only imagine the depths plumbed by previous models. What was Mk1? A raw corner shop beefburger, nailed to a skateboard, with a speaker playing groans of baffled hatred?
If you call the number on the chest of the Euroleisure Mk4 Failure Devil, a snarling, grey-toothed cockney tries to harangue you into eating the telephone. If you can resist for 5 minutes, you'll hear a dull thud at your door: it's the Euroleisure Mk5, and it's your burden now.
Look at it: a butcher's anxiety dream after watching terminator for 3 days straight. Wall-E, if he'd been designed during a lock-in at a flat-roof deathpub. The brexit answer to Boston Dynamics. Jason Statham's Robot Wars entry. A banned transformer who turned into an abbatoir.
The original Cowboy
