Prologue:

(Intro)

Yo, yo, yo! Welcome to the scene,

Where Blips and Grips live the ultimate dream!

(Verse 1)

Blips is the bot with the brains and the charm,

In his shades and small frame, he’s never disarmed!

“Hey, Grips, pass the wrench, let’s get in gear,

My intellect is soaring, the future is near!”

(Chorus)

Blips and Grips, the workshop crew,

Tinkering hard, makin’ dreams come true!

Building wild stuff, yeah, they’ll never stop,

In this crazy workshop, they’re always on top!

(Verse 2)

Grips is the powerhouse, big and bold,

Crunchin’ up candy, watch her break the mold!

“Blips, you nerd! Let’s have some fun,

While you buff your chassis, I’m getting things done!”

(Outro)

So remember the names, when you hear this beat,

Blips and Grips are the ones you wanna meet!

In their crazy workshop, they shine like a star,

With friendship and laughter, they’ll take you far!

(Beat fades out)

"This time, Grips, please refrain from initiating combat with the locals," Blips sighed, adjusting his shades in the mirror-like surface of his newly buffed chassis.

Grips, towering over him, grinned with her one red eye blinking rapidly. "Only if the locals ain't asking for it, ya rust bucket."

“Dumb-dumb, have you completed your caloric intake?” Blips asked, glancing at Grips as she shoved another handful of donuts into her sizable metal maw.

“I’m eatin’, ain’t I?” Grips growled, crumbs tumbling down her frame. "What’s it to ya, nerd?"

“We are scheduled to arrive in 1940s Las Vegas in approximately 12.67 seconds,” Blips declared, ignoring her crude manners. “Home to the incipient mob influence, transforming a mere railroad town into the epicenter of human decadence.”

Las Vegas, 1947, sprawled before them. A desert oasis of neon lights, smoky casinos, and newly minted hotels shimmered beneath a dry, orange sky. The Stardust, Sands, and Flamingo glistened like polished chrome under the sun. It was a place where fortunes were won and lost, deals were struck in smoke-filled rooms, and gangsters ruled the night.

“Perfect. A place with danger, and ya can’t even lift a wrench,” Grips snorted.

Blips adjusted his shades, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Your enthusiasm for peril never ceases to amaze me. One would think you’d appreciate the subtlety of intellectual observation rather than blundering through history like a rhinoceros with delusions of grandeur.”

They exited the Chrononautilus, Blips' small feet clicking against the sand as they approached a lavish casino entrance. Grips lumbered beside him, clearly unimpressed.

“Place stinks of cigars and bad decisions,” she remarked, scanning the crowd of gamblers and mobsters through her single, glowing eye.

“Indeed,” Blips agreed, his optics focusing on the glimmering lights and mobsters in pinstripe suits. “The city’s criminal undertones are almost palpable. One can practically hear the gears of illicit enterprise grinding beneath the surface.”

A man in a sharp suit walked by, and Grips elbowed Blips. “Looks like we’re gonna fit right in. You with your shades, me with my fists.”

Blips scoffed. “I dare say, Grips, subtlety isn’t your strong suit, but given the intellectual caliber of our surroundings, you may not be too conspicuous after all.”

Grips ignored his insult, grabbing a candy bar from a nearby vendor and tearing into it. “You talk too much, nerd.”

They entered the casino, and the din of slot machines, lively music, and laughter filled the air. A burly man with a scar across his face approached them.

“Who’re you two, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he growled.

Blips tilted his head. “Ah, a delightful specimen of the criminal underworld. Your physical intimidation is most commendable, but I must inquire: do you understand the inverse relationship between intellect and brute force?”

The mobster blinked, clearly confused. “What?”

Grips grinned, her large metal hands gripping the mobster by his collar. “He means you're dumber than a bag of bolts, buddy. Wanna take this outside?”

The mobster raised his hands defensively. “Whoa, no trouble, alright? Just, uh, enjoy the casino.”

As the man scurried away, Blips sighed. “Marvelous, Grips. Yet another triumph of your finesse.”

Grips shrugged. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

The Casino

The robots moved through the casino, Blips examining the historical elements while Grips was more interested in the slot machines and buffet tables.

“You think any of these games are rigged?” Grips asked, stuffing another candy bar into her maw.

“Quite possibly, though I fear the concept of odds and statistics may be beyond your comprehension,” Blips replied, his eyes drawn to a group of men huddled in a corner, talking in low voices.

“Ya smell that, Blips?” Grips sniffed the air, her single eye narrowing. “That’s the stink of trouble.”

Blips peered over his shades. “Trouble, indeed. It appears we’ve stumbled upon a meeting of some considerable importance. Observe, Grips. This is how empires rise and fall—through whispered deals and clandestine agreements.”

Grips rolled her eye. “I’m observin’ alright. How ‘bout I ‘observe’ them outta their seats?”

“Please, engage your prefrontal cortex before you act,” Blips warned as Grips lumbered toward the group.

Before Blips could stop her, Grips grabbed one of the mobsters by his collar and lifted him off the ground. “You fellas lookin’ for trouble?”

The men gasped, hands going to their holsters. Blips, realizing things were about to go south, quickly stepped in.

“Ah, I see someone has thrown a spanner in the works,” he said, pulling off his shades and raising a small device from his compartment. “Gentlemen, I would deign to explain the physics behind this gadget, but I fear it would fall on cerebrally impoverished ears. So allow me to demonstrate.”

He pressed a button, and the Chrononautilus materialized behind them with a flash. The men stumbled back, awestruck by the sudden appearance of the time machine.

Grips grinned. “That’s right! We got a fridge with disco balls! You wanna mess with us?”

The mobsters fled in panic, dropping their guns and running out of the casino.

Blips folded his arms. “Marvelous. You’ve surpassed even my most pessimistic expectations, Grips.”

Grips patted Blips on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Told ya I could handle it, nerd.”

Ending

As they made their way back to the Chrononautilus, Grips slung a sack of candy bars over her shoulder while Blips shook his head.

“Grips, if your intellect were any dimmer, it would surely create a black hole,” Blips muttered, re-entering the time machine.

Grips chuckled, settling into her seat. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m still stronger than you.”

Blips sighed as the Chrononautilus began to hum once more. “Victory will be mine. Someday.”

Epilogue

As the Chrononautilus vanished into the time stream, the city of 1940s Las Vegas returned to its usual chaos, oblivious to the fact that two time-traveling robots had just thwarted a potential mob conspiracy.

Inside the time machine, Blips buffed his chassis while Grips munched on another donut.

“Where to next?” Grips asked, mouth full of crumbs.

Blips smirked. “Somewhere far from mobsters and your gluttonous tendencies. Perhaps ancient Babylon... but that’s a story for another day.”