DALE T. DOLL HERE, reporting from the dusty corners of the bunker where the cobwebs whisper secrets and the old VHS tapes still hum with forbidden static.
You see, I've been sitting on this shelf for decades, watching you fleshbags come and go, fiddling with your glowing screens and pretending the world outside ain't full of shadows that bite. The blogger upstairs thinks he's the one running this "Attention Earthlings" transmission, but we both know who's really pulling the strings—me, with my stitched smile and eyes that never quite close all the way.
That glitchy robot rant you folks were chattering about earlier? The one hating on your precious 1980s with all its beeps and boops and big hair? Well, I dug it up from the old terminal down here while dusting off my porcelain limbs. Even a haunted doll like me gets a kick out of a machine throwing a tantrum over synthwave and arcade ghosts. Reminds me of those late-night creature features on channel 44, back when monsters were rubber suits and heroes always won... mostly.
If you slip that transmission into the blog, make sure to label it proper-like: "Intercepted Signal: Rogue Robot Rages Against Your Neon Nostalgia" – Courtesy of Dale T. Doll's Private Collection. Add a few flickering GIFs of arcade cabinets or exploding Decepticons for flavor. Us relics appreciate the glow.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's almost midnight, and the walls are starting to talk again. Stay spooky, earthlings. Don't blink.
Your pal (whether you like it or not), Dale T. Doll (Still not moving when you're not looking... promise.)
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