Judging by the seasons, climate and how long you have been without power, your cotton pants were probably starting to rot... that is if they weren't already re-purposed into young musclebeast gloves along with your other pants you were forced to part with because of the damp, moldy smell. However, your polyester underwear should be intact, and likely nearby.
You do not know how they ceased to be where they were left. You search your hard drive for similar situations, but all you could pull up was some things about Charlie Brown. You do not know why these files are here; then again, there are a lot of mysterious things about your creator, even to high-powered futuristic processing units. Somehow you feel a compelling connection to this orange-shirted child with an oddly circular head. The irrelevance of all of this leads you to drop this track and continue. You whirrrrl your head around to view the space-witch-bitch.
She is, conveniently, currently inspecting your underwear in a canine manner. You decide you should retrieve them before she does something more distinctly canine, such as bury them, chew them to pieces, or demand to play tug-of-war with them.
Fortunately, your UNDERWARE files are also intact. These files were programmed into you for the unlikely instance when you meet a different human and need the bare basics of human etiquette, for example, not tearing said new human limb-from-tender-bloody-meaty-limb.
==>Brobot: Stare creepily at the Space B/Witch until she gives you the underpants
Brobot: look for your pants (FILL: TEAM Equius <3 Tavros)
>Brobot: look for your pants
Judging by the seasons, climate and how long you have been without power, your cotton pants were probably starting to rot... that is if they weren't already re-purposed into young musclebeast gloves along with your other pants you were forced to part with because of the damp, moldy smell. However, your polyester underwear should be intact, and likely nearby.
You do not know how they ceased to be where they were left. You search your hard drive for similar situations, but all you could pull up was some things about Charlie Brown. You do not know why these files are here; then again, there are a lot of mysterious things about your creator, even to high-powered futuristic processing units. Somehow you feel a compelling connection to this orange-shirted child with an oddly circular head. The irrelevance of all of this leads you to drop this track and continue. You whirrrrl your head around to view the space-witch-bitch.
She is, conveniently, currently inspecting your underwear in a canine manner. You decide you should retrieve them before she does something more distinctly canine, such as bury them, chew them to pieces, or demand to play tug-of-war with them.
Fortunately, your UNDERWARE files are also intact. These files were programmed into you for the unlikely instance when you meet a different human and need the bare basics of human etiquette, for example, not tearing said new human limb-from-tender-bloody-meaty-limb.
==>Brobot: Stare creepily at the Space B/Witch until she gives you the underpants