"Making it male is not just a factory flaw!"
The two groundskeepers stood arguing over the miniature discarded body lying in the mud. From the clothes and the current state of the fairgrounds, it was clear the Persocom was left behind by the circus troupe after their departure two days ago. The spring rains had slowed cleanup, else he would've been recovered sooner and returned to the troupe.
But given the time and the fact the troupe were probably half-way to Hong Kong via boat by now, this left a problem.
"What do we do with it, boss?"
"Don't know, looks damaged."
The puddle stirred. Bubbles came up.
The older of the two groundskeepers pulled the midget up by the back of his band-leader jacket. The younger groundskeeper was greeted by a blast of mud from the midget's mouth.
"Tu pudieras tomar mi vida, !pero nunca la tomas...mi libertad!"
<You may take my life, but you'll never take...my freedom!!!>
Face half-covered in mud, hair matted from the rain, his tartan flailing around, the mad midget punched and kicked furiously. The old man strained as he pulled on the midget's jacket, to keep the mad little persocom from launching himself fiercely at the young confused groundskeeper.
"Eeek! Make it stop!" the young man cried.
"Give it a command, dummy!" The old man said.
"Eeek-er...uh...we come in peace?"
The midget kept flailing, shouting: "Eduardo Longshanks era el rey mas peor en el historia del Inglaterra!"
"What language is that?"
"Spanish, I think."
"Oh uh....Donde esta el bano?"
The midget stopped.
"Necesito limpiar mi cuerpo. Mis sensores son sucios."
<I need to clean my body. My sensors are dirty.>
The groundskeepers looked at each other.
"Oh this is a fine pickle. Must be some kind of auto-program."
"No wonder the circus left it behind."