I was floating in the depths of space when a planet-sized variable formation robot came across my path.
"I," said the planet-sized robot, "am Orson Welles."
"Geez, man. Cut it with the eating. Control your diet. Take some psyllium husk or something."
"Oh, man," whined the planet-sized robot. "No one appreciates my craft. I gained weight for my last role on film, and they declare me dead."
"You got that right," I said. "No one understands my writing. Not completely. They fail to sense the subtle nuances and HUGE, HUGE pop-culture references I put in. And I'm so fucking meta. Post-modern, yo!"
"People are ignorant and stupid. Boo hoo hoo."
"You got that right, big guy. Can I call you that? Big Guy?"
"Why? So you can be Tetsuwan Atom?"
"Ahah!" I said. "You are referring to the rip-off Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot. Tetsuwan Atom had no backup."
"The butt of Rose McGowan."
"The freaky white chick? I prefer Thai myself."