Dropping stuff.
Want the mic a little higher? Okay.... that's the works. Too short still? Let me put it on a milk crate. There - how about now? STILL too short? Ooooooooohhhh! If it sounds like I've been reduced in rank to roadie status, that's because it's true. Just call me Spike or Lenny - you know, one of those roadie names. I've considered investing in a carton of muscle shirts, but I don't have any muscles, so... what's the point, right? (How do I lift those heavy bass cabinets? Tendons only, my friend.) There are worse things to do for a living, only up to now I haven't had to do any of them, so... this is rock bottom. The things we do for friends! And by "friends" I mean robot friends. As I mentioned last week, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has mustered a small army of robots to do his bidding. He started with a landscaping enterprise, but found that putting lawn mowers in the hands of automatons is kind of a bad idea. (They tend to be a bit mo...