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Summary
Who knew that nights could get so hot in California?
"Goodnight, Butters," says the friendly uncle Budd as he turns the lights off and closes the door behind him, leaving his nephew and his robot friend in the guest bedroom of his and his wife's house.
"Goodnight, my robot," Butters parrots the man, patting Eric on his "front panel" and leaving his hand there, knuckles pressed against the black marker writing "A.W.E.S.O.M - O 4000".
From inside the suffocating cardboard helmet, Eric's eyes stare up at the ceiling.
Weak.
