J’s blood-curdling war cry to “shut that damn thing up” was not what severed the arm. That cry was followed by reaching down and picking up the robot by the arm. Not unexpectedly the arm wasn’t up to the war-fighting durability standards for toys in our house and J ended up with a disembodied arm and Mr Roboto continued luffing and sound a beautiful music on the floor. It was left to me to grope around the diodes on his left side to find the power switch.