When not taking door knob lessons, GRASP is training to throw a fastball, and wondering why the toaster oven isn’t sentient enough to have a conversation.  It must be a lonely existence for GRASP, hanging out in the labs of Penn.

“Does anyone want to play scrabble,” he asks in his monotone delivery that all robots speak in; but the last scientist leaves for the evening, the lights shut off, and he is left alone in the darkness, a downtrodden example of mankind’s further achievements.   His parts may be complicated, but his existence is simple.  Even his name is based off his primary function.   (more…)