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babblingbonnie · 1 year

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PARASOL

CHAPTER ONE: Peculiar Parcel!

when a peculiarly shaped package arrives on Scrooge's desk, he takes some time to reminisce about the day he arrived in Louisville to find that dinky steamboat on the Mississippi river and the ducks that took him in. Albeit one seemingly reluctantly...

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hello - I'm very much in love with 2k17 ducktales as well as the older versions! I wanted to try and merge some of the complete life and times of scrooge mcduck by Don Rosa with 2k17 ducktales because for some reason I adore ducks that also happen to be sailors.

There is a major spoiler warning for 2k17 ducktales season 3 finale, though it came out a few years ago I wanted to add this just to be sure you're aware. This is cross published on Quotev -- I also apologize for any inaccuracies, I really hope you enjoy this silly little story! :-)

CHAPTER ONE: Peculiar Parcel!

A PARCEL HAD FOUND ITS WAY TO SCROOGE'S DESK THAT MORNING. It was long with odd bulges along its surface and seemingly insignificant. It sat, and sat, and sat.....then sat some more.

In fact, the sun was already setting slowly in the foreground behind wide windows by the time Scrooge had actually taken a look at it.

It had been a busy day full of mundane meetings and even more soul-wrenching interviews for a new Board of Director as his old one turned out to be evil.

Figures, with a name like Bradford it was only a matter of time before something mildly evil became of him.

The children were lively as ever, an occasional scream and the sound of something thumping on the ground could be heard outside his office. Shenanigans afoot.

Della's voice seemed to carry throughout the whole manor, and it was assumed that she was an avid player of whatever game the children were participating in as the duck's battle cries rang across the air with promises of multiple darts to whichever body part was exposed if she caught them.

Scrooge had passed Donald in one of the numerous sitting rooms before he had retreated to his study, sharing a few exchanges of words and his one daily comment about his nephews free-loader status.

By the sounds of furious quacking it seems like the rambunctious group had roped the sailor into their chaos.

Scrooge chuckled into his work, cringing ever so often at the sounds of crashing followed by 'oops!' every time, without fail. Usually he would go out there and wave his cane around like a true old man telling dastardly kids to get off his lawn, threatening them that they would be the ones paying for everything with a crack.

But that afternoon paperwork demanded the McDuck's full attention, he couldn't go on any longer without a Board of Director. Mostly because he had taken up the duty himself and he was very much over it. Just because he was willing and able to put in the hard work, doesn't mean he enjoyed it.

The Scottish duck could only hope with all his heart that Beakly or Duckworth would step in and tell his family to STOP BREAKING EVERYTHING.

Trying to push all that, as well as the nagging thought of how much the damages were going to cost, to the back of his head Scrooge hummed a small tune that sounded vaguely familiar.

But he couldn't put a finger on what exactly while he began to hunker down and start reading through words printed in a font size that shouldn't be legal to use.

Something about racecars...lasers...airplanes maybe? It was all a blur, really.

Sifting through the sea of papers, his hand eventually hit the previously mentioned package after a quite violent display of signing a document for the hundredth time. The hand that held a golden ball tipped pen tightly froze midair, a couple inches from the table while Scrooge blinked out of work mode tiredly.

Glancing at the clock that hung just above the study doors it was no wonder why the brutal festivities had died down, leaving the manor deadly silent. It was almost two in the morning.

Had time really passed so quickly? Bah, of course paper work would keep him beyond the hours he could be sleeping.

Tugging the signature black top hat that had suctioned its place on his head from extensive use off his skull, Scrooge flipped it over and placed it beside him on the table before returning all attention towards the brown package that now sat before him.

A hint of confusion mixed with a healthy dose of suspicion took over the duck, after all the richest duck in the world has many enemies and those enemies try all sorts of tricks and schemes. Perhaps it was Flinty sending him some sort of deformed bomb just to inconvenience the McDuck.

Not that it would be the first time. Probably not the last.

Poking the hazard with his pen, the Scottish duck was able to determine it passed the first test of not exploding immediately.

Closing his eyes with a tired sigh, Scrooge almost left the mysterious item alone for a problem to deal with in the morning....well it's already morning. Fine, that afternoon.

That of course, was the original plan before his eyes caught hold of the particular handwriting scribbled on it's rough surface. It was small, almost as small as that blasted font on the multiple resumes he just read.

Slightly shaky, but with beautiful penmanship nonetheless and a unique lettering for the first initial of his name that only one person had ever done for him.

Despite the excitement (one that he would never tell anyone about) that bubbled up through his webbed feet and to his hands, Scrooge jabbed the package one more time in cautious habit before nodding to himself with a confident smile that this was for sure not a bomb.

Sitting back in the chair he had stood from in order to glare at the now-safe package properly, Scrooge sat with his back straight and hands folded in front of him in an attempt to regain a dignified appearance despite no one else being in the room.

It didn't matter anyway, as the next moment consisted of the McDuck leaping forward in his chair and ripping open the wrapped item like a duckling on Christmas morning.

Shredded bits of packaging laid about the table and floor, the now uncovered item placed delicately over a thrashed background of brown and torn paper with paper work thrown about.

A fond smile found its way to Scrooge's bill, running a feathered hand over the top with a ghost of distance between it and his hand.

"Well...Bless me bagpipes."

Scrooge laughed quietly, brushing off some loose dust and strands of fabric that no longer clung to it's original place. The quiet moment felt slow, and moonlight poured in around him like a thin blanket. Specks of dust seemed to shine in the light like diamonds, while the item before him looked like it almost glowed like magic under the light.

The item in question was a vintage parasol -- a white base with beautiful blue lace work over it. Lace that use to be pure white hung along the edges for a couple inches, now a tiny bit darker in coloring due to its age.

Something that Scrooge himself wouldn't have paid more then a few seconds attention to back then, and probably wouldn't now if the duck hadn't happened to know the history behind this specific sun blocker.

A small part of Scrooge couldn't believe that the thing was sitting on his desk right now, he thought it was long forgotten or turned to dust by mere age.

A bigger part of him use to stew in disbelief that his uncle hadn't included the parasol in the inheritance, but he had gotten that years and years ago so this showing up now clued him into the bigger mystery that he was pinning down in his head.

Eyeing the umbrella with a scrutinizing gaze that only an old miser could perfect, Scrooge took mental notes about any rips or snagged lace admonishing the top layers of the parasol with an intention to get it fixed as soon as possible.

During his search of fixable imperfections Scrooge came across a small note on some stiff stock paper that was stuck in one of the folds of the parasol, and the McDuck's interest peaked immediately.

Plucking it from its place, Scrooge took a few moments to adjust his small spectacles that sat snug on his beak and began to scan the card.

'Dear McBrat,

Wasn't sure where to send this to where it would reach you personally. Your mailing system is ridiculous and I want to send a formal complaint but your HR is just as, if not more, preposterous. I'm sure this is by design, but jeez kid it's like you expect bombs in the mail. Ha!

Your aunt wanted this sent to you with Pothole's things, but it got lost due to some sort of events that I couldn't relay to you because I have no idea how it ended up in the Forgotten Brewery Caves. I knew it was hers because of the stitching, I'd recognize that nuisance of a last name anywhere. I'm only sending this because I unfortunately owed one last thing to your uncle.

If you're ever down in Kentucky, come finish that race that old Pothole was too cowardly to finish. You'll win me that Southern mansion.

regrettably,

Porker Hogg.'

The idea that Porker was even still alive shocked Scrooge almost more then anything else described in that letter. He had already finished the race anyway, with the guys nephew.

What's with the information about the parasol being found in the Forgotten Brewery Caves anyway? That was one of the few caves located along the Mississippi, and even then most of it is blocked off.

How was it even lost in the first place, and now that he really thought about it how was it that Porker had found the parasol without packaging as stated in his letter but Scrooge received it in a package with his aunts handwriting?

Immortality for the first problem...maybe time paradox for the second...? Rubbing the bridge of his beak, Scrooge groaned into the open air and let out a deep sigh knowing he would end up checking whatever was happening down there one way or another.

If one thing as important as this was lost, imagine the other heirlooms that could be scattered in some other cave without his knowledge. The idea sent chills down Scrooge's spine.

An almost silent sound of the door being pushed open brought Scrooge out of his deep contemplation, eyes snapping towards the entrance that was now cracked open.

One of the many ducklings that resided in the mansion poked her head through the doorway, curious eyes glinting in the dark while she looked around the room before landing on the older duck.

"Dad...?"

Scrooge straightened at the title, if the McDuck claimed he was use to being called a 'dad' he would be absolutely lying through his teeth.

He didn't detest it, obviously. The duck was more then overjoyed to learn that the duckling in front of him named Webbigail was of his own flesh and blood, but that didn't make the title any more normal to him.

He'd gone through life without any real thought put towards having kids of his own, he never settled down quite enough for that and by the time it was even a feasible idea, he had all his other free time taken over by nephews and nieces and other family members.

"What're yew doing out of bed, Webby?"

Scrooge pushed on through his slight dilemma of the title that was bestowed upon him only a couple months ago.

"I was just thirsty, but now I'm thirsty for whatever you've got on your desk!"

Webby gasped, having noticed the blue umbrella that her dad placed a hand over. Scrooge smiled in response, lifting the laced parasol with both hands under it, making sure it was secure before shuffling over to Webby who bounced around on her feet.

It was an ongoing mystery to how she had any amount of energy this early in the morning, and Scrooge was sure he'd never truly find out.

"Now...careful dear, this is my Aunt (Y/n)'s beloved parasol. Technically I own it, she never did pay me back."

Scrooge mused, the last bit of the sentence hushed under his breath while he counted up the combined interest of what he should of been paid by now. Not that he ever forgot, every year he counted up what his aunt and others owed him. Like his uncle Jake who owes $8362 of accumulated interest.

"Aunt (Y/n)," Webby repeated quickly, excitedly looking over the parasol "Pothole McDuck's wife! Originally daughter of Blackheart Beagle, but after she married she took the McDuck name! She saved you and Angus during a steamboat race against Blackheart and the Beagles."

"Aye, she did. She jumped into the muddy Mississippi just for me dime too."

Scrooge added onto the list of facts that Webby was enthusiastically reciting from memory. Letting his shoulders relax as the duckling with messy white hair took the parasol from his hands and held it delicately in her own.

Reaching into his coat Scrooge pulled out the familiar dime that hung around his neck 24/7 while talking about the experience.

"Thought she might not come back up after she went headfirst in," Scrooge murmured, the vague feeling of terrified desperation that his younger self had been frozen in was crawling up his neck as he turned the dime over in his feathered hands.

It's face was a bit rough but that would be expected for how long Scrooge has kept it. The fact that it was still shiny and readable was a miracle.

Holding it in front of him the older duck briefly thought over just how much panic he went through when the dime had rolled off the edge of the boat all those years ago.

"Both my uncle Pothole and I couldn't believe it, but she managed to grab it in time and then single handedly stopped 'em from throwing us over!"

"Wow, she sounds so cool! I've been wanting to learn more about aunt (Y/n) and uncle Pothole - I mean I know they lived in Louisville for awhile and Pothole sold his steamboat to you but I couldn't find anything about the actual race itself-- ...."

Webby trailed off, noticing the cane wielding duck was only half-heartedly listening.

Gazing at the shiny silver coin, Scrooge let a fond expression take over his features before moving the dime out of view to focus on his daughters face again, noticing her abrupt silence.

She was watching him closely, hugging the parasol closer in an upright position and probably wondering where Scrooge had just gone to in his memories.

A hopeful grin tugged at the corners of Webby's beak, having recognized the mood that her father was in. A story telling one.

She quickly grabbed his hand, rushing them both back to Scrooge's desk without any warning. Webby always knew when the billionaire was stuck in reminiscing something that had happened years and years ago in his oh-so daring life, a telltale sign being when Scrooge had his eyes glued to his number one dime.

A piercing but glazed over gaze, when ranges of emotion from sadness and happiness and everything in between suddenly became very apparent on his face.

"Tell me everything," Webby all but squealed, a dash of wonder sprinkled her eyes and wide smile.

Almost shoving her father back into his large lounge chair, Webby plopped the parasol down before scrambling after it onto the desk. Completely oblivious to the previously important paperwork that was now rather unimportantly laying on the ground.

Chuckling nervously at just how much joy seeped through Webby's small body at potential McDuck information, Scrooge took a few moments to get comfortable in his chair.

It was moments like these that the small girl loved, moments that were few and far between where she would spot Scrooge staring ahead (usually at his dime,) but in his head he was far away. She would practically corner her dad and lovingly ask (force) him to tell her about whatever memory he was thinking about.

Moments when it was just her and Scrooge.

"Well, what do ye want to know, lassie?" Scrooge asked slowly, stuffing the precious dime down his red coat.

Placing his cane on the ground so it leaned on the chair, the McDuck reached out over the edge of the desk and grabbed Webby by the armpits and dangled her in the air like a wet cat for a few moments before placing her on his knee with an expectant stare.

"Everything! Tell me everything -- oh oh! How'd you meet them? Were they nice-? How about every single detail about the race, how did you guys find the treasure in such muddy water-?! Uhm- also what about the parasol? How'd aunt (Y/n) get it -- what was she like? Why did she jump into perilous waters for your dime? Was uncle Pothole really a writer? Is he as stingy as other McDucks? How did he know the location of the Drennan Whyte? Did he really sell his steam boat to you at a cheap price?!"

Webby rambled on, intense hand motions flaring everywhere while squirming in Scrooge's lap.

"Well-!"

"And who's Porker Hogg?!"

Scrooge stared down at the duckling bewildered, not because he was cut off nor was it from all the overwhelming questions. He was far use to that, it was mostly because she mentioned Hogg. He wasn't aware Webby even knew vaguely the name, let alone the guy.

The white feathered duckling in his lap craned her neck slightly to look up at him, blinking a couple times before pointing behind her at the somewhat crumpled letter Scrooge found in the parasol that sure enough had Hogg's dastardly name signed at the bottom.

Forming his beak into a slight 'o' shape, the older duck nodded in understanding.

Clearing his throat after a couple seconds had passed by of more winded questions, Webby stopped short and excitedly began to shake about a bit in her seated position.

She looked like she was going to burst at the seams with more questions if Scrooge didn't start talking now. So he did, placing a comforting hand behind his daughters shoulder as a support while she leaned into his side.

Scrooge let her settle down a little more before he used his other arm to spread out as far as it would go, pointing to a slightly large round oak picture frame that held the image of two white feathered ducks on the wall, just to the left of his parents grand photo.

One duck, the taller and gruffer looking one, had a scruffy white beard under his beak with eyes that looked permanently grumpy, much like his fathers stern face in the aforementioned picture next to this one.

A long wooden tobacco pipe was held between his beak, and a sailor outfit adorned his body. A bright blue sailor's captain hat sat perfectly on his head, tuffs of short feathered hair poked out slightly.

The boatman had an arm in a bent position, having offered it to the other duck in the photo who had her dainty arms wrapped tenderly around his. She had a large giddy smile and kind eyes, long lashes curled a bit above them.

Her hair was short and a little wild, and she wore a short sleeved blue collared dress that was buttoned up on the right. A blue lace parasol was held tight in her hand, casting a shadow above her in protection from the sun that beat down that day.

Both ducks were facing a little tilted from the camera in a candid sort of way as if just having noticed the camera during a normal walk, and despite the gloomy attitude of the sailor, Scrooge knew he absolutely adored the woman next to him more then anyone else.

His uncle Pothole was happiest with (Y/n)…and maybe a little money here and there that he horded. Mainly aunt (Y/n).

Webby followed Scrooge's hand all the way to the photo, beaming as she noticed who it depicted.

"Let's start with meeting my uncle Pothole and aunt (Y/n), eh?" Scrooge began, restating their names as if introducing characters in a book.

A playful tone went along with his words and he leaned forwards slightly again to fondly touch the parasol one last time before diving into retelling the long and daring adventure of childhood memories.

Tilting backwards, the old miser thought for a bit before opening his mouth. Webby sat impatiently by his side, fidgeting with her hands as she anxiously waited.

"It all started when I got a job as a cabin boy on a cattle ship from Glasgow, heading to New Orleans."

Scrooge spoke, and with each word Webby saw her father become more and more sucked into the past. Starting to truly relive past events, and the white feathered duck swore he could smell the ocean salt that wafted in the wind while he stood on the deck of the boat.

He was suddenly there, transported to the stylish streets of New Orleans and feeling the murky river water of the Mississippi that he travelled up. Hearing the constant chatter and buzz of enthusiasm upon reaching the dock in Louisville, Kentucky.

He made sure to tell Webby just how marvelous the gala he had docked on was, how the air tasted of fortunes being made. How exciting the view of this bustling town meant to him.

Scrooge chuckled, recalling his wonderment for the whole event that never really did stop phasing him. Glancing down, the duckling that was stuck between his side and the firm armrest could bearly contain her excitement any longer, and Scrooge knew he should probably get on with the tale.

"Quite a sight for a penniless lad from Glasgow, but I still needed to find my uncle."

END . next chapter: Bet on Drennan Whyte!

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I'm going to be changing around certain aspects of each story to try and fit, so this is very much canon-divergence in both universes. Keep in mind, some parts about reader are already predetermined but other things are customizable!

Thank you so much for reading, I have no idea how to tag things :)

#dt17 scrooge #dt17 webby #angus 'pothole' mcduck #porker hogg #ducktales 2017 #the life and times of scrooge mcduck #ducktales x reader #reader is a anthropomorphic duck #a silly goose if you will #more like a silly duck more accurately #Ducktales Parasol #female reader

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bucketofbonesandaus · 4 years

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sift: *finds the origin of the trend everyones using*

sift: HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE *KICKS LEGS AND SMILING* i found it and now i can use it

Human: *walks by*

sift: heYA

Human: h-

sift: *SAYS THE MEME*

Human: *gotta blast-*

RC: AND WHAT WAS THAT FOR

sift: *says the m e m e *

RC: I SEE THAT EVERYWHERE ON UNDERNET HOW DARE YOU

#the hashtags has begun #peersure AU #undertale AU #sans au #sans aus #sift and RACECAR #and now to draw it #;;;;

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sparrownatural · 3 years

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weechesters with Dean having fallen off his bike and Sam is like. 5 and really serious that his racecar bandaids and make it better kisses will fix him

Sam let out a screech when he saw his brother tumble off his bike and onto the hard pavement. More than once he'd been the recipient of a painful embrace with the concrete and Dean had been the one to heal him from it with bandages and antiseptic and kisses to the affected area.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, dropping his bike and grabbing the first aid kit out of the basket of his bike. He was already opening it before he fell to his knees beside his brother.

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean said, though he grimaced as he examined the scrapes that had taken the skin off of both of his knees. "Really. You ain't gotta worry about me, okay?"

He forced a smile.

There was no humor in the gesture.

Sam grimaced in response. "No, you're not," he insisted, opening up the tin. He sifted through it, looking for what Dean typically used on him when their roles were reveresed.

Dean just watched.

How many times had their roles been reversed? Him tending to Sam and Sam on the pavement, crying over the injuries the hard ground had given him?

He couldn't even consider how many times at this point.

Something about Sam tending to him now was both tender and heartbreaking.

He was the older brother. This was his job. And yet here Sam was, taking care of him, patching him up the same way Dean had done with him so many times.

He couldn't imagine himself being any luckier than he was right now.

Dean waited until Sam was done patching him up before he stood, praising Sam for how good of a job he'd done making sure he was alright. He ignored the pain in his kneecaps as they headed back from the neighborhood they'd ventured into to the motel where they could see the Impala parked, catching the last of the sun's rays.

Sam kept glancing back anxiously at his brother as they traversed the parking lot to the space before their room.

Dean's heart twinged every single time.

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the-blomster · 5 years

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Jello Biafra VS The Forces of Corruption 16

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all relation to real individuals is done purely for parody purposes. I am not associated with any of the people named in this work of fiction and this is not intended to reflect negatively upon anyone.

Chapter 16: Jello Gets Lucky

It seemed that the world of punk rock had entered the age of evening calm. You know, one of those peaceful lulls that always seems to inevitably follow after some chaotic and eventful period. It’s nice. It’s relaxing. But it’s oddly uneasing. It’s like shellshock for relaxation; it’s been so long since you’ve relaxed, that just relaxing feels out of the ordinary.

Jello walked slowly down the street. Like a knight returning from battle, he had his guitar slung over his back like a sword. Once again, Jello had failed to be fairly financially compensated for his hard work, but then again Jello was not one to be so swayed by the scam that is capitalism. Jello huffed and puffed as he walk up Lombard Street back to his apartment. It would at least have been nice if he had enough money for dinner though.

The Jello got lucky. Sitting perfectly still on the ground right in front of our titular protagonist was a crisp Lincoln staring him directly in the eye. That’s right, you heard me correctly, a whole five dollars!

Jello held the bill up to the sun. “God bless America,” he said audibly as he confirmed that it was, in fact, a real five dollar bill. Jello attempted to place the five dollars in his pocket, but his pocket caught on fire and the bill fell out. Jello quickly scooped it up before anyone else could discover this treasure and looked at his finding once more, this time considering how he should spend it.

Jello’s stomach growled, and his vision grew foggy due to starvation. So Jello decided to buy some new records.

Jello stepped into the record store with his eyes closed and took a big whiff of the beautiful scent of musty old records. Jello opened his eyes. Records lined every nook and cranny. Some of them good, some of them absolutely awful, and some of them mediocre. Either way, those records had a place in Jello’s collection. Presuming that Jello spent approximately 20 cents for each record, he could potentially squeeze 25 records out of this five dollars.

Jello immediately began sifting through records in the bargain bin. But, much to Jello’s dismay, the only records in the bargain bin were absolute fucking garbage. In a fit of rage, Jello threw the box of records on the floor. But Jello had made a mistake. Hidden between the discs of utter garbage, there was a single album by Hawkwind. Jello sunk dramatically to the floor, and clutched the album desperately. In Jello’s fit of rage, the album was rendered completely unlistenable, but that was listenable enough for Jello!

Jello turned to the cashier who was now looming angrily above. “Hello good sir, I would like to purchase this fine record of yours.”

“I don’t suppose you also intend to pay for all the other records you just threw on the floor?” The cashier placed his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean?” Jello asked.

“You break it, you buy it!”

Jello scowled. “You have no right to talk to me like that you capitalist swine!” Jello pulled a lighter and his five dollar bill out of his pocket and laughed as he lit the money on fire. Jello ran out of the store laughing, his Hawkwind album tucked neatly beneath his left arm.

Jello went to sleep in his racecar bed that night content with his recent finding. He still had had nothing to eat that day, but you know, Jello cares about what’s important.

And now, with our hero deeply engrossed in boredom, what awaits Jello in the future? Will something actually happen? Find out tomorrow on this very special 12 days of content edition on Jello Biafra VS the Forces of Corruption!

#Jello Biafra #punk rock #music #writing #creative writing #short story

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whipplefilter · 7 years

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Gale's taking Jackson on a road trip for w/e reason, but her tires puncture near Radiator Springs.What happens next?

Gale and Storm run into some tire trouble on the way to Storm’s very first Piston Cup race. Radiator Springs has no reason to know who he is yet. But oh, they will.

The Hard Way

It’s Otis who finds them. He sputters to a stop at the top of a hill and coasts his way down it until his face slams against the edge of Storm’s trailer.

“Ouch!” he exclaims. Then he takes stock of what he’s run into–the trailer, askance; Gale, with one set of tires just a limp collection of jagged rubber streamers; Storm, parked beside her.

“Boy are you lucky you ran into me!” says Otis, amicably.

“You can’t be serious,” replies Storm.

But Otis is serious, because he’s always serious about these kinds of things. Otis breaks down like clockwork, and Mater should be along any time now to come pick him up. Mater’ll know what to do about these out-of-towners, too.

These out of towners, it turns out, had been sitting in the desert for a while. A few miles back, Gale had intuited something strange–what, she couldn’t tell, but the premonition was strong enough that she’d left the Interstate and slowed way down. But the premonition turned rapidly into a problem and there, straddling the distance between I-40 and whatever stretch of 66 this was, her tire rolled its last wobbly, oblong track. And then it was gone.

Storm should have gone for help. Gale told him as much. But he refused.

It wasn’t cruelty, or laziness. He played it off as loyalty–not wanting to leave her behind to the unknown–but Gale knows that Storm doesn’t quite have it in him to believe in that. Maybe one day, but not now. He’s too new, too drawn in the lines to have that kind of spirited conviction. After all, he’d only just mastered the one–the desire to win–and even that’s still got that new car smell to it.

She tells him that if he doesn’t go find help, he’s going to miss his race. His first race. But even that can’t move him.

Gale looks off at the horizon, squinting for the outline of a town she hopes is out there somewhere. But the wind is up, and so is the dust, and all she can see is haze. Again, Storm says, “No.”

His body betrays nothing, and his expression never wavers, but it’s terror that holds him there–even if he doesn’t know that’s what it is, isn’t familiar enough with the feeling to identify it. He’s scared of the desert, because he doesn’t know deserts; he’s scared of things not going according to plan. He’s scared of being alone.

“Ray told me I needed to stick with you,” Storm reasons aloud. “I’m not going to leave you, Gale.”

Storm sounds like loyalty but isn’t; he is fear, but doesn’t look it.

“You’re going to miss your race. Do you understand that?” Gale asks, for the last time.

“I don’t care.”

And because Gale is Gale, she resolves to let him ride this out. She believes that if you’re young enough to crash and burn and get right back up and learn from it, then far be it from her to stunt that growth. If this ends Storm’s career as a racer before it’s properly begun, he’s young enough to find something else to do. Maybe he’ll need to learn the hard way.

But along comes Otis, and soon enough, the tow truck he promised. In the span of one introduction from Mater-like-tuhmater-but-without-the-tuh, Storm shifts from quiet terror to deep mistrust to obvious displeasure.

“Yep, my friend Luigi can get you fixed up, no problem! He’s got all kinds a’ tires, he’s got–” Mater explains at length, hiking Otis up into the air every time he swings his tow cable around for emphasis.

Storm fixes Mater with an absolutely withering glare, but the tow truck’s enthusiasm is impervious.

“Tell you what, I gotta get Otis over to Ramone’s back in town, and I can’t exactly tow your friend here. But if you just wanna sit tight I got a good guess about what you need and I can just come back and–”

“I’ll go with you,” Storm interrupts tersely. “I know what kind of tires she needs. I can pay.”

Storm doesn’t trust Mater within an inch of him. He doesn’t trust Mater’s memory, he doesn’t trust his guesses, and he certainly isn’t ready to stake his and Gale’s lives on the reliability of some deranged, backwater tow truck. Whatever his other terrors, the terror of placing trust in this guy is far stronger. “I’ll go,” he says.

Mater beams. “Always happy to get to know a Route 66-er,” he says. “But shoot, we can talk more on the road!”

They can talk a lot more. The road is rough, far rougher than anything Storm’s ever felt beneath him. He takes it at a crawl.

It’s mortifying.

He’s not used to roads like this.

“Well, here’s the road,” says Mater, playing tour guide. Ten miles and almost an hour later, Mater says, “And here’s more of the same road.”

Mater has been obligingly matching Storm’s pace. It’s a constant modification, his mind leaping forward and his whole body set to bound across the desert like he usually does–before he remembers to reign it in.

Suffice to say, treading bottleneck-slow into town is not one of Mater’s favorite things in the world. But he perseveres.

“You know, I could probably listen to your whole life story before we even hit the outskirts,” he says, which is for Mater a silver lining and to Storm sounds like a death threat.

“Probably,” says Storm. “It’s short.” He gives Gale’s receding silhouette one last glance as he takes a particularly jagged piece of road sideways. The road into town is old, and desperately needs to be re-paved.

“I’m all ears,” says Mater. “Well, windows, mostly. But–”

“Once upon a time, the end,” says Storm.

That’s the most they ever get out of Storm. He doesn’t speak to anyone. Not to Flo, who offers him a cool drink that he does not accept.

“It’s not poisoned, honey,” she jibes, riffing off the suspicion vivid on Storm’s face.

Not to Ramone and Red, who offer a complimentary wash and wax to their dusty newcomer.

Not to Lizzie, who freely offers her own hypothesis as to his identity–Arab sheikh. For all Radiator Springs knows, Storm is Middle Eastern royalty. He has the build, and he’s definitely busy acting like this whole life is a government secret.

“What’s your business here?” Sarge asks. It’s not an interrogation, but it is.

“Leaving, ideally,” says Storm, all acid. The tire guys were taking their time sifting through their inventory in the back. Apparently it’s not often rigs like Gale drop in off the Interstate, and the truck tires are in deep storage.

“Mack always brings his own, for some reason,” muses Sally. “Something about rubber sensitivities. I don’t know.” She’s talking more to the town at large than to Storm. She’s the only one who hasn’t tried to push anything on him.

She seems distracted.

“They were supposed to leave an hour ago,” Storm overhears her whisper to the Sheriff. “If they can’t find the tires easily, just make this guy wait! Lightning’s expecting them. He needs–”

“Lightning?” Storm asks.

“McQueen,” Sally clarifies. She flushes; she hadn’t meant for this stranger to hear all that. “There’s a Piston Cup race at Copper Canyon today. Uh, down in Phoenix.”

Storm’s aware.

“Lightning… McQueen lives here?” he says slowly.

Mater is only too happy to confirm. “He sure does! Well, when he’s not Piston Cup racing and all. He’s my best bud! Didn’t you see the billboard?”

Storm hadn’t. He’d been too busy staring at the ground, daring its horrible, uneven surface to sabotage him. But when he looks around at all these cars, he could choke on their sentimentality.

They’re all so proud of him. They’re all so proud Lightning McQueen.

The whole dumb town.

Storm’s jaw tenses.

Eventually, Guido and Luigi locate the tires Gale needs, and the Sheriff gamely police-escorts their party back to Gale’s resting spot.

“Never did catch your name, stranger,” says the Sheriff.

They pass the billboard again. Radiator Springs–racing headquarters of one Lightning McQueen, seven-time Piston Cup Champion. Every part of the sign has been freshly repainted, except for the seven. As though the artist expects that that number might change.

“Oh, you will,” Storm assures him, and leaves it at that.

“How was your field trip?” asks Gale, once they’re back on the road. The two Italians Storm brought back with him evidently had someplace to be, because they’d zipped off towards the Interstate well ahead of her.

“I hate that town,” says Storm.

“They seemed friendly,” Gale counters, his Devil’s advocate.

“That’s their problem,” says Storm.

Gale wishes she could get Storm face to face right then. Look him in the eyes. Not that it would change much, she supposes; Storm has a wicked gift for appearing illegible.

But being and appearing are not the same thing. “It’ll come,” she assures him. “You’ll find your place.”

“First,” says Storm. His place is first place. That’s all that matters.

Gale thinks it’s a stupid answer, but Storm is not the first racecar she’s hauled. They all say that.

Because he’s her favorite, Gale assures him again. “It’ll come if you let it. Trust me.”

Maybe one day, he will. And perhaps the next, he will listen.

For now, they head to Copper Canyon.

#cars fandom #pixar cars #jackson storm #gale beaufort #mater #otis from cars 2 #radiator springs #cars 3 #whipple words #asks #cars fanfiction

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megadarkbouquettidalwavethings · 6 years

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24 Hours in Bachelor Nation

There are two ways to watch “The Bachelor.”

The first is, in “Bachelor” parlance, to be swept away on the “journey” and suspend any disbelief that suitors are “here for the right reasons.” For most viewers, though, the only way to sit through a two-hour episode is to accept the polyamorous spectacle as one big social experiment.

It’s hard to imagine that the millions of intelligent women (and men) who tune into the show are sold on its premise. Yet many of them consumed six hours of “Bachelor” programming per week this month. That’s not including the time they spent reading recaps, listening to “Bachelor”-adjacent podcasts or scrolling through contestants’ Instagram feeds.

Just as the internet can act as a (very dangerous) political echo chamber, it can also function as a “Bachelor” hall of mirrors, wherein the franchise’s offshoots become unavoidable. In turn, immersing oneself in Bachelor Nation can be accidental.

Or it can be a completely intentional, journalistic pursuit.

6 a.m.: Meeting Arie, Belatedly

I am watching 29 women compete for a Bachelor whom America did not want, “the human equivalent of a beige driving moccasin,” a man Kareem Abdul-Jabbar characterized as “shallow, bland, stiff and inarticulate.” (Though he added a disclaimer: He didn’t know the guy personally.)

Arie Luyendyk Jr., a racecar driver turned real estate agent, may soon pick a fiancée on television, after narrowing a pool of mostly white 20-somethings on Season 22 to three women. In the season premiere there were four Laurens; now we’re down to one. There was a “Bachelor” first: a woman with a pixie cut.

The lack of diversity isn’t new. The first African-American lead, Rachel Lindsay, was cast in 2017, a whopping 15 years after “The Bachelor” had its premiere.

On NPR, Linda Holmes described the franchise as a metaphor for white privilege: Talent hops from one “Bachelor” program to another. It’s “a story almost entirely of a white person picking the next white person,” she said, “and of that white person then picking another white person, and everybody shrugging and saying, ‘I just went with my gut!’”

I’m late to watching this season, but I can’t say I missed much. “The Bachelor” is a self-sustaining ecosystem with few surprises.

7:15 a.m.: Sifting Through the #Spon

Social media has only made the show easier to spin off. While it’s live on television, the “Bachelor” faithful go on Twitter to analyze the relationships and dissect manipulation by producers. Watching the commentary can be more fun than watching the show.

And then there’s Instagram. I tap through photos, starting with the fan favorite Ashley Iaconetti, known as “Crying Girl.” The list of accounts she follows is a pipeline of “Bachelor” contestants, and I absent-mindedly burn through 45 minutes.

Here, the contestants gain what they seem to have auditioned for: internet fame. Many alumni pepper their feeds with sponsored content, advertisements for products that purport to improve lives: the meal kit delivery service HelloFresh, “detox” concoctions like Flat Tummy Tea, whatever a FabFitFun box is.

Each contestant sells a lifestyle: She is happy. She is effortlessly chic. She is usually on vacation. She is what the show implies a woman is supposed to be: white, affluent and hyperfeminine.

8 a.m.: Podcast Time

I scroll through podcasts created by fans and contestants and eventually land on “Bachelor Party,” hosted by Juliet Litman, of The Ringer. Her guest is a juicy get: the ABC executive Rob Mills, who shares that one of Mr. Luyendyk’s 25-year-old suitors has previously been engaged twice.

Then I read “Bachelor” blogs en route to the taping of another podcast, “Here to Make Friends,” produced by HuffPost. The hosts, Emma Gray and Claire Fallon, spend about an hour recapping an episode with Caila Quinn, a contestant envied for her bouncy, shiny hair.

Ms. Quinn, a focal point of misleading editing on the spinoff “Bachelor in Paradise,” is reserved and gracious, and asks if I’d like to wear her faux-fur coat for a photo. As she helps me into each sleeve, I silently acknowledge that I am the kind of person who is a bit star-struck by reality television personalities.

I ask the hosts why we binge on “The Bachelor.”

The 24-hour news cycle is overwhelming, Ms. Gray says, so there’s something very satisfying about watching a show based in an alternate reality. “The stakes feel high, but they’re actually low.”

The franchise is also appealing, Ms. Fallon says, because it taps into our basic desire for human connection. It’s nice to imagine that love can be this simple.

12:30 p.m.: Too Many Contestants in the Kitchen

As I stock up on wine for an evening “Bachelor” viewing party, I listen to Mr. Luyendyk’s “favorite tunes” on Spotify. Then, at home, I bake cupcakes from a recipe on Ms. Quinn’s blog while watching the series premiere of “Bachelor Pad.” I also arrange a platter of deli meat, inspired by the contestant Chad Johnson, and scan stories on Snapchat and posts on Off the Vine, a Facebook group started by the former Bachelorette Kaitlyn Bristowe.

The content never ends. The limit does not exist.

2:10 p.m.: Working on That ‘Bachelor’ Body

If a woman for some reason wants to be on “The Bachelor,” she can fill out an application that relies largely on photos and video. The Season 16 winner, Courtney Robertson, advises women to “save producers time by wearing a bikini in the photo.”

That reminds me: It’s time for my “Bachelor” workout. Exercises are tied to episode plot points. A date card shows up: 10 jumping jacks. The Bachelor kisses a woman: 10 mountain climbers.

Feeling uninspired, I switch to Krystal Nielson’s YouTube channel for an 18-minute total body workout.

Ms. Nielson is the villain on Mr. Luyendyk’s season, so America doesn’t like her. Eleven minutes in, I dislike her, too. I’m out of breath. My legs are on fire, but they’re still not hot enough to lounge poolside at Villa de la Vina, better known as the “Bachelor” mansion.

3 p.m.: The Spoiler

Stephen Carbone is a thorn in ABC’s side. Mr. Carbone has run the website RealitySteve.com for years, and since Season 13 of “The Bachelor” he has spoiled the show’s endings.

He now records a weekly podcast too, and holds an annual fan appreciation party at the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino in Las Vegas. The show’s creators do not acknowledge Mr. Carbone, aside from threatening him with legal action.

But what would they say if they did? “They can’t say, ‘That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about,’” Mr. Carbone says. And “they can’t say, ‘Oh, he’s right.’”

Would Mr. Carbone call himself a fan? “The fun part for me is while it’s filming and spoiling it while it’s happening.” When he watches in retrospect, he says, “I can’t believe anything out of these people’s mouths.”

4 p.m.: What Really Happens on Set

It’s hard to trust what contestants say on camera because editors can recut dialogue and interviews using a trade technique known as “frankenbiting.” Amy Kaufman, a Los Angeles Times reporter and the author of “Bachelor Nation,” knows all about this. For the book, she consulted former producers and contestants who told all, including the following:

Sleep-deprived or intoxicated contestants are taken into a sort of solitary confinement for questioning. Some say what the producer wants simply to end an interview.

Chris Bukowski, a five-time contestant, was pressured to propose to a woman he didn’t like very much. (He didn’t go through with it.)

Clare Crawley, a four-time contestant, was made to appear as if she confided in a raccoon.

“I wouldn’t advise the smartest, most independent-minded friend I have to come on this show,” she says. “I don’t think you can control what happens.”

5:05 p.m.: Love as a Spectator Sport

Sean O’Leary is part of a “Bachelor” fantasy league, in which he and 20 co-workers at a public relations firm in Virginia try to predict the semi-predictable. The participants choose contestants they think will advance to the next episode. Bragging rights, and maybe a gift card, are at stake.

The brackets are taped to a conference room wall, Mr. O’Leary says: “Most people when they visit the office, it’s the first thing they notice.”

Adam Hoover’s league is a tad more complicated. Like the N.F.L., “The Bachelor” has its own language: First impression rose. One-on-ones. Hometowns. Fantasy suites. Points are awarded for all in Mr. Hoover’s league, which he and his wife run with another couple.

“At the end of every season, we say if so-and-so is the Bachelor, we might not do this again,” Mr. Hoover says. “And we always do.”

7 p.m.: The Viewing Party

I serve contestant-endorsed cheese pasta and cheese pizza, along with plenty of wine, to my “Bachelor” support group, which has convened for the premiere of “The Bachelor Winter Games.”

We end up talking through the Games, stopping only to acknowledge how cheesy the meal and the premise are. (The show finished a distant second in the ratings to the actual Olympics.)

11:15 p.m.: Switching Channels

“UnReal,” a Lifetime drama that takes place behind the scenes of a “Bachelor” look-alike called “Everlasting,” was a show I’d never watched until now. It focuses on the manipulation contestants endure at the hands of producers and exaggerates what we see in the “Bachelor” franchise, but not beyond recognition.

Sarah Gertrude Shapiro, a co-creator of “UnReal,” was a producer of “The Bachelor.” Part of her job during that time, she told The New Yorker, was to get contestants to “open up, and to give them terrible advice, and to deprive them of sleep.”

12:25 a.m.: Time for a Reading Break

“Bachelor” contestants aren’t allowed to read while filming. A former contestant, Ashley Spivey, said that producers confiscated her copy of “Life of Pi” even before cameras were rolling. Now she runs a 6,000-person book club on Facebook.

Currently, the club’s members are reading “An American Marriage,” by Tayari Jones, but Ms. Spivey suggested that I break up my “Bachelor”-thon with “The Light We Lost,” which explores a relationship shaped by outside events: a love story nothing like “The Bachelor.”

After an hour of blissful escapism, I turn the “Bachelor” switch back on and crack open “Single State of Mind,” by the former contestant Andi Dorfman. I can’t relate to much in Ms. Dorfman’s book about post-reality-TV life, but I laugh when she is shocked to learn, while apartment hunting, that for one place in the West Village, she must earn 90 times the monthly rent. Welcome to New York, Ms. Dorfman.

2:35 a.m.: The Parody

I am at the zenith of Bachelor Nation, but I have 27 think pieces and a parody called “Burning Love” on my agenda.

I’ll save delving into an on-set sexual misconduct allegation for another day, because that deserves the kind of thought and attention that is rarely present past midnight.

It occurs to me that if I sleep, I may dream about “The Bachelor,” and that technically I’d be consuming “Bachelor” content.

5:59 a.m.: So Close, but So Far

I have a nightmare about writing this article.

CARLA CORREA

The post 24 Hours in Bachelor Nation appeared first on dailygate.

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bobsweepmop · 7 years

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The Best Of The Best Robots 2017

With thousands of robots out there, it might be hard to navigate among the different products and find the best one for you. That’s why all the RobotShop experts have gathered for you this list of the best of the best robots.

On a budget and looking for more affordable suggestions? We got you covered with our guide The Best Robots on a Budget 2017

Looking for something more specific? Don’t forget to check out our other Gift and Best of Guides: The Best Vacuum Robots 2017, The Best Robotics Learning Kit 2017, The Best Drones 2017, The Best Microcontrollers 2017, and The Best Robot Building Kit 2017.

Also take a look at our Top 5 Best Robots for your Home 2017, Top 5 Best Robots for School 2017, Top 5 Best Robots Toys 2017, and Top 5 Best Robots for Kids 2017.

Who is this for?

If you want the best products out there, with the best quality for the best price, then our selection below is for you.

Why should you trust us?

At RobotShop we’ve been among the pioneers of robotics. With about 15 years of experience of selling robotics, we’re among the few unbiased experts in the world when it comes to robotics products and which ones are the best.

_____________________________________

The best robot for the Home – Litter-Robot III Open Air Automatic Self-Cleaning Litter Box

The Litter-Robot III Open Air Automatic Self-Cleaning Litter Box makes cat ownership easier every day. It is the first major revision to the highly successful Litter-Robot platform. The larger, more ergonomic entry and litter chamber along with the new self-adjusting cat sensor accommodate all cats, large and small. It sifts clumps and waste out of the litter seven minutes after a cat uses it and drops the waste into a receptacle drawer for easy disposal.

The best robotic litter

Our team’s verdict: One of our best-selling products that has been adopted by thousands of cat-owners all around the world. Say goodbye to scooping chores and smells today.

The best robot for School – MakeBlock mBot v1.1 Blue STEM

The default program of MakeBlock mBot v1.1 Blue STEM Educational Programmable Robot (2.4G) is an all-in-one solution to enjoy the hands-on experience of programming, electronics, and robotics. Working with mBlock inspired by Scratch 2.0, connecting with computers or smart devices via 2.4G (by different version), this easy-to-assemble mBot provides infinite possibilities for you to learn STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics).

The best robot for schools

Our team’s verdict: The mBot is a great learning tool that has already inspired thousands of students. It offers a complete solution to initiate pupils to robotics.

The best robot Toy – Ozobot 2.0 Bit Starter Pack

The Ozobot 2.0 Bit Starter Pack (Cool Blue) blends coding and creativity in endless fun experiences. Bit uses optical sensors to read lines and OzoCodes—short color code sequences—that you draw with markers and paper. Use OzoCodes to command the bot to speed up, slow down, spin and more to complete mazes and challenges. The Starter Pack includes all of the necessary tools to ignite imaginations in ages 6 and up. Whatever your child can dream up, Ozobot Bit can do!

The best robot toy to learn with

Our team’s verdict: The Ozobot has been a best-selling product for years and has amazed thousands of kids (and adults). The only limit with Ozobot is your imagination.

The best robot for Kids – Hatchimals Surprise – Giraven

Hatchimals Surprise – Giraven are finally here and they have an unEGG-spected treat in store for you! For the first time ever, you can hatch TWO adorable Hatchimals! These loveable twins are hidden inside a magical speckled egg. Use your love and care to help them hatch! Hold and play with your egg and the Hatchimals inside will make delightful sounds that tell you how they feel! When its time to hatch, you’ll see rainbow eyes!

The best robot toy companion

Our team’s verdict: Hatchimals were the top-selling toys for the Holidays in 2016 and are beloved companions.

The best vacuum robot – Neato Botvac Connected Robot Vacuum Cleaner

The Neato Botvac Connected Robot Vacuum Cleaner has a patented laser-guided technology scans and maps the room, plans, and methodically cleans, automatically moving from room to room. The robot can be paired with a home Wi-Fi network and the Neato app, to remotely set up a regular vacuuming schedule, start a full house or spot clean, stop or pause the robot and get instant notifications about the status of the vacuuming run.

The best vacuum robot

Our team’s verdict: The Neato robots are the best vacuum robots. Their design and features are the best you can find today. This model also comes with full-fledged remote control from a compatible smartphone.

The best robotics learning kit – littleBits Gizmos & Gadgets Kit 2nd Edition

The littlebits Gizmos & Gadgets Kit 2nd Edition is the ultimate invention toolbox. Motors, wheels, lights, switches, servos, buzzers, even the tools to build a remote control – snap it all together to spark creativity and fun. Want to invent a remote control racecar? Do it. Create an automatic bubble blowing device? Go for it! Make a wireless doorbell, a bumper ball game, even a mischief machine to scare the pants off friends and family. Start with step-by-step instructions for 16 inventions, then break out of the box and hack your world for fun. Start inventing the minute you open the box. The Gizmos & Gadgets Kit comes with 15 electronic building blocks, a detailed instruction handbook, and all the accessories and tools you need to unleash the inventor within. Create, play, remix, then share your creations with the world. Need some inspiration? Check out the thousands of inventions on the community pages and the free littleBits app.

The best robotics learning kit

Our team’s verdict: littleBits’ products are among the best robotics products for kids and this one is no exception. This is the best robotics learning kit in the market and offers limitless applications and inventions. It can truly help you develop skills for careers that haven’t been invented yet.

The best drone – MakeBlock Airblock Modular Hexacopter Drone

The MakeBlock Airblock Modular Hexacopter Drone is an easy to assemble modular and programmable drone. It can be transformed among multiple forms like a drone, a hovercraft, integrated to a Lego construction or attached with everyday objects. With graphic software, Airblock inspires creative ways to play. Block assembly is simple and quick. This well-designed Plug & Play uses magnetic connections, perfect for creative transformation and infinite fun. Airblock’s main control module comes with three integrated LED lights (color and brightness are individually controllable), a barometer for altitude sensing, an ultrasonic sensor for distance measuring, a gyroscope (measuring and maintaining orientation), and a Bluetooth module for connectivity.

The best drone

Our team’s verdict: This modular drone offers a great assembling experience and an even greater flying experience.

The best Microcontroller – Arduino Uno R3 USB Microcontroller

The Arduino Uno is a microcontroller board based on the ATmega328 microchip. It has 14 digital input/output pins (of which 6 can be used as PWM outputs), 6 analog inputs, a 16 MHz crystal oscillator, a USB connection, a power jack, an ICSP header, and a reset button. It contains everything needed to support the microcontroller; simply connect it to a computer with a 1.5m USB Cable Type A to B or power it with an Wall Adapter Power Supply – 9VDC 650mA or DFRobot 7.4V Lipo 2500mAh Battery (Arduino Power Jack) to get started. The Arduino Uno differs from all preceding boards in that it does not use the FTDI USB-to-serial driver chip. Instead, it features the Atmega16U2 programmed as a USB-to-serial converter. “Uno” means one in Italian and is named to mark the upcoming release of Arduino 1.0. The Uno and version 1.0 will be the reference versions of Arduino, moving forward. The Uno is the latest in a series of USB Arduino boards, and the reference model for the Arduino platform.

The best microcontroller on the market

Our team’s verdict: This microcontroller has been one of our top-selling products and it’s not without reasons! It’s powerful, versatile, reliable, and offers the best bang for the bucks.

The best robotic building kit – littleBits Droid Inventor Kit

With the LittleBits Droid Inventor Kit, kids can create their own custom Droid™ and bring it to life! Using littleBits electronic blocks and the free Droid Inventor app, they’ll teach their R2 Unit new tricks and take it on 16+ missions. Then kids can level-up their inventor expertise and reconfigure their Droid to give it new skills, or design any Droid they can dream up. The kit comes with everything kids need to create and customize their R2 Unit straight out of the box. Initial assembly is easy with step-by-step instructions to create their Droid, and control it in Drive Mode, Self-Nav, Force™ Mode, and more. After mastering their Droid Inventor skills, kids continue on to challenges that spark creativity and get them inventing brand-new Droids.

The best robotic building kit

Our team’s verdict: We’ve fell in love with the Droid Inventor Kit since the first day we saw it. We’ve made an unboxing and review video that you can see here. It’s an amazing kit for kids (or giant kids calling themselves “adults”).

_____________________________________

Also take a look at our Top 5 Best Robots for your Home 2017, Top 5 Best Robots for School 2017, Top 5 Best Robots Toys 2017, and Top 5 Best Robots for Kids 2017.

from RobotShop Blog Feed http://ift.tt/2zIKzXA via IFTTT

#IFTTT #RobotShop Blog Feed

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bobsweeppethairroboticuniverse · 7 years

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The Best Of The Best Robots 2017

On a budget and looking for more affordable suggestions? We got you covered with our guide The Best Robots on a Budget 2017

Also take a look at our Top 5 Best Robots for your Home 2017, Top 5 Best Robots for School 2017, Top 5 Best Robots Toys 2017, and Top 5 Best Robots for Kids 2017.

Who is this for?

If you want the best products out there, with the best quality for the best price, then our selection below is for you.

Why should you trust us?

_____________________________________

The best robot for the Home – Litter-Robot III Open Air Automatic Self-Cleaning Litter Box

The best robotic litter

Our team’s verdict: One of our best-selling products that has been adopted by thousands of cat-owners all around the world. Say goodbye to scooping chores and smells today.

The best robot for School – MakeBlock mBot v1.1 Blue STEM

The best robot for schools

Our team’s verdict: The mBot is a great learning tool that has already inspired thousands of students. It offers a complete solution to initiate pupils to robotics.

The best robot Toy – Ozobot 2.0 Bit Starter Pack

The best robot toy to learn with

Our team’s verdict: The Ozobot has been a best-selling product for years and has amazed thousands of kids (and adults). The only limit with Ozobot is your imagination.

The best robot for Kids – Hatchimals Surprise – Giraven

The best robot toy companion

Our team’s verdict: Hatchimals were the top-selling toys for the Holidays in 2016 and are beloved companions.

The best vacuum robot – Neato Botvac Connected Robot Vacuum Cleaner

The best vacuum robot

The best robotics learning kit – littleBits Gizmos & Gadgets Kit 2nd Edition

The best robotics learning kit

The best drone – MakeBlock Airblock Modular Hexacopter Drone

The best drone

Our team’s verdict: This modular drone offers a great assembling experience and an even greater flying experience.

The best Microcontroller – Arduino Uno R3 USB Microcontroller

The best microcontroller on the market

Our team’s verdict: This microcontroller has been one of our top-selling products and it’s not without reasons! It’s powerful, versatile, reliable, and offers the best bang for the bucks.

The best robotic building kit – littleBits Droid Inventor Kit

The best robotic building kit

_____________________________________

Also take a look at our Top 5 Best Robots for your Home 2017, Top 5 Best Robots for School 2017, Top 5 Best Robots Toys 2017, and Top 5 Best Robots for Kids 2017.

from RobotShop Blog Feed http://ift.tt/2zIKzXA via IFTTT

#IFTTT #RobotShop Blog Feed

0 notes