Robots are terrifying, we all know that. They murder our loved ones and assume their identities, and yet when we yell about it in the street, we're the ones who get put in a cell. The only upside is that the sin of robotics has only recently advanced to the worrying stages, and it might not be too late to stop it.
But that's just another filthy robot lie, meant to deceive you into a false sense of security. Creepily advanced robots have been around forever, and they have always, always wanted to destroy everything good on this Earth and then process your children for fuel.
7Evil Robot Children in the Age of Enlightenment
In the late 18th century, Swiss watchmaker Pierre Jaquet-Droz needed a good way to publicize his products among the European nobility. And what better way to sell watches than by building horrible mechanical non-children?
Watch that video featuring three of Jaquet-Droz's creations and you'll finally understand what schizophrenic Amish people scream about in their padded cells. "The Draughtsman" and "The Writer" are two life-size automaton twins created by Jaquet-Droz between 1768 and 1774 to be toured across Europe and shown to aristocrats. One could draw four different pictures on a piece of paper (including the baffling image of a nude baby driving a chariot pulled by a butterfly), and the other could write any custom text up to 40 characters long.
It's like Twitter, mixed with the embalmed corpse of a Victorian-era child.
Needless to say, this sort of technology was astounding for the 1700s. The Writer alone was made out of no less than 6,000 moving pieces, and still functions to this day. Since it was programmable (in that you could change the message it wrote), it's been called one of the earliest ancestors of modern computers. Though they were obviously recovered (seeing as how we have video of them now), these priceless automatons were actually "lost at several points" in history, where they presumably underwent Pinocchio-like adventures together.
Fifty bucks says this thing killed Archduke Ferdinand.
6The Clockwork Monk
In 1977, the Smithsonian acquired a small statue of a medieval monk that was carved out of wood and capable of autonomous movement. Not much was known about this strange artifact at the time, except for the fact that it still functioned, and that it was very, very old. Clearly, that's the beginning of a horror film. Some teenagers are going to have sex in its display room, the fresh sin will awaken it and you'll spend the next 90 minutes watching the Clockwork Monk stab horny vixens with a sharpened crucifix. If you don't believe us, here, take a look at the monk in action:
When it first slowly starts to turn to you, at about 13 seconds in, you just know, intrinsically, in the unmapped part of your brain that tells you when a loved one has died seconds before you actually get the call, that this is the last thing you're going to see in this world and that there is naught beyond it but solitude and cold.
Also he happens to be unclothed here, which is frankly just uncomfortable.
In actuality, the elaborate pantomime of terror the monk is pulling off was supposed to be prayer. The clockwork monk "walks in a square, striking his chest with his right arm, raising and lowering a small wooden cross and rosary in his left hand, turning and nodding his head, rolling his eyes and mouthing silent obsequies. From time to time, he raises his cross to his lips and kisses it."
And when you sleep, it kisses you and whispers your name from the closet.
The Smithsonian estimated that the monk was made around 1560 in Germany or Spain. That's all they knew at first, and probably all they wish they knew still. But alas, they eventually discovered more information: In 1562, the heir to the throne of Spain sustained a serious head wound that caused him fever and blindness. His father, the king, thought all was lost, until the heir was reportedly cured by the miraculous corpse of a Spanish monk that had been dead for 100 years. You see, in his desperation, the king had allowed the monk's mummified remains to be placed in bed with his sick son -- a totally legit medical practice recommended by Dr. Corpseboner -- and he was so thankful when this dubious medical treatment actually worked that (according to some historians) he commissioned a moving replica of the dead monk.
Wow yeah, Spain, that's uncanny. Uncanny is exactly the right word for what this is.
Apparently, the king wanted to repay the miracle of God with a miracle of his own. And what better way to thank the lord than spitting right in his face with a mockery of everything living, much less holy? Oh, and as a final middle finger to the big guy in the sky, the king ended up killing his son a few years later anyway.
Something tells us it was a mercy killing.