Steely McBeam didn’t ask to be created. He was thrust into a world not of his making; a world where those he was designed to amuse instead heap scorn and derision upon him. Steely quickly grew to loathe his creators for condemning him to a tertiary existenceâ€”not quite dead, not quite alive.
By and by Steely had a notion. If they could create Steely, then they should also be able to create a helpmate for him. Someone with whom he could share the travails of this frightening plane of existence. Someone he could lie down with at night, safe and secure, and wake up with in the morning– ready to face whatever lay ahead.
With his hardhat humbly in hand, Steely went to his masters. Please, he implored them, make me someone to love; make me someone who will love me. Steely’s creators took pity upon the wretch that they had made and knew that something must be done. They worked feverishly night and day for months– toiling to avoid the mistakes they made with Steely, yet mindful not to make something so different that it too would be repulsed by Steely’s angular visage.
Today we bear witness to the unveiling of the Bride of Steely McBeam. Look upon their works, ye mighty, and despairâ€¦