Holy Exoskeloton, Rexman!

My brother Aidan called me today while I was knee-deep in Rhinoceroses at the San Diego Wild Animal Park to let me know that my dear friend Rex had been on the news wearing his Sarcosian Borg Plutonium-Powered Human Exoskeleton. Unless there's another Exoskeleton-Encrusted Sarcosian named Rex, but I doubt it. And it occurred to me that now it all makes sense: Rex has been absorbed "Lawnmower-Man" style into the Sarcos Collective and reconstituted as "Rexoskeleton Man" - the new face of Sarcos (The Rex In The Machine?). Furthermore, all communications must now be voided of emotion and resolved upon near-Vulcan logic before they may be directed toward REXOSKELETON. Without this crucial conversational refactoring, Rexman is extremely unlikely to engage with other humans, whether it be via email, social gatherings, or mid-day nutrient-ingestion for humaniod regeneration (lunch).


(Here we see a young Devil-May-Care Rex in the early stages of his assimilation. Never one to show weakness, Rex was always smiling, even while in devastating pain.)

And other significant inter-social mysteries now begin to unravel for the dedicated Rex observer. In her classic motion picture "Rexillas In the Mist", Sigourney Weaver chronicles the adventures of a clan of Rexos on the very brink of Exostinction (now that's a good one). The-Rex, the Alpha Male, or "Silverback," is depicted as a caring and handsome creature, a powerful mountain-biker and graceful skier, and yet is distant and forlorn. Perhaps - ironically - crushed by the very weight of the Exoskeleton he is forced to endure: an Exoskeleton specifically adapted and designed to aid him as he lifts thousands of pounds of bananas, day after day, year after year.

KSL News reported, in part, the following:
"Imagine trying to lift 150 to 200 ammo cans that weigh 72 pounds each onto a pallet. Commanding his exoskelton, Rex does it. In a round robin, lifting 35-pound canisters, several of us -- moving as fast as we can -- can't keep up. Steve Emero of SARCOS felt so worn out he couldn't keep going. But Rex could."

Yes. Yes, Rex could. But does he want to? Does he have a choice? Will he ever love again? Poor Sad Rex. No more man than machine.


(Here you see Darth Rex in his final harrowing form: cruelly suspended from a crane and made to recite lines from RoboCop. Notice that his James Bond face has been entirely torn from his head, his legs mashed to pulp by an uncompromising exo-computer, vocal chords elongated, and his all-too-human heart ripped - still beating - from his frail chest, to be replaced with a cold, cold lithium-ion battery. Some say it's better this way, but I kind of liked the old Rex...)

One can only assume that this New and Improved Rexman will be an even better cyclist, and certainly a valuable friend to have on moving day. I also find myself wondering whether or not any of these "enhancements" violate the Tour de France's anti-doping policies. Hmmmm.

Link: See Rexoskeleton on the news.