Arthur Read has become an art form that was never before thought possible.
He has transcended art itself. He has become a neo-dadist conception.
Pliable, flexible, rebellious. He embodies all of these traits within.
Gone are the days of old, of learning, fun, and getting along.
Gone are those times with all his friends, living happily.
He had become the vehicle for mutual artistic mutiny.
They are all robots now, there was no way to put it.
Staring at the walls. Reciting pre-recorded lines.
Pre-recorded values. None of it truly real.
Vain attempts to convert him.
Vain bathhouses, touching.
"No more vanity."
No escaping me.
We see the robots staring intently at Bud Compson. He will act nervous but nobody will ask why. They are all wearing black t-shirts with the Thrasher Magazine logo on them, and matching, form-fitting black jeans. This is not sexual of course, in fact, they are all fully clothed. Even Bud is. We see the robots staring ever more intently at Bud. They will now start asking him personal questions and attempt to solicit his credit card information. He just might lose his credit score and get arrested for being criminally poor and for owning a wiener dog. We see them talking now.
"Bud I am glad to see you again," said the mindless automation that used to be D.W., "I hope we can be friends again like we used to be."
"I am glad you got that family arrested for owning a wiener dog," said a severely malnourished Buster with a metal-plated skull, with no ears, "I am glad that dog is in safe hands now, as in strangled to death by a good police officer."
"I am glad I helped," said Bud's sister. Formerly his sister. He misses her most of all. "I will do anything to defend my family and friends from harm as I was trained."
"I am glad that Bud has fifteen sisters who have all died in a house fire except for Ladonna," said the surgically conjoined Tibbles in hypnotic unison, "by the way, how many sex stories were written about you and them sisters, Bud?"
"I am glad Bud stopped making sex stories and this big long and epic date here is going good," said Ladonna, "I am glad we have found a wiener dog under your bed while you weren't looking of course and even all your big and long sex stories."
Bud was curled in the fetal position, crying. He knew he would be arrested and taken to the Baxter Bathhouse without trial. The robots all started to kick Bud and scream male genitalia words at him at a deafening pitch, both medical and slang. Ladonna seized Bud by his four year old neck, because he was obviously resisting arrest and was directly endangering the lives of innocent police officers sworn to uphold the economic integrity of Elwood City. She crushed his windpipe just enough to inflict permanent damage without killing him, and threw him back to the ground like yet another corpse, satisfied with her work. Justice and liberty, once again, has triumphed over the criminal element. D.W. confiscates his wallet, which contained his credit card, his food stamps, and a picture of Binky Barnes cosplaying as Ushio from Kantai Collection. A very sad, broken, crying Ushio; staring straight into the camera, covered in Wal-Mart brand ranch dressing with a caption underneath: "Why can't real life be this good?"