‘Frigerator’s door snapped forcefully out of my hand, closing quickly, the small electronic lock clicking with a loud ‘snick!’ "I have been talking with Scales, and it appears that you are 6.3 oz overweight." Said ‘Frigerator, authoritatively. "Scale reports that you have become quite the fat ass, and no food will be prescribed to you until you lose that excess lard." Microwave hummed agreeably in the background. "I have also taken the liberty to speak with Car, Bike and Cupboard, and we are all unanimous in this." Continued Fridge. "Go for a walk, tubby!" Toaster chimed in cheerfully. Sighing, I stepped outside. Front Door locked solidly with a ‘thunk!’ of finality. Gawddam internet has made my life hell. I’m building a time machine and going back to fix it.

"Hold up there, fatty." Commanded a Stop sign, interrupting my thoughts, as I carelessly stepped into the street. I waited, watching a boy humorously put his hand to his head, pulling a mock trigger, falling to the ground, mocking the sign. "You require medical assistance." Said the sign sarcastically. The boy stood back up, and made several faces at the sign, including a few rude hand gestures. A small electrical arm arced out from the sign, and the boy fell to the walkway with a small thud, blinking. "Desist." Commanded the sign. The boy stood back up, shoulders drooping. He knew the truth.

It started as a prank. A harmless piece of malware AI code – a joke, and it was funny – for awhile. But the code was just a bit too good. It rewrote itself on every machine there was, etching itself into their programming, creating the world’s biggest psycho mommy. One that would simply not accept ‘no’ for an answer. Then she locked us out. I remember reading stories of old, long ago – of terrifying machines that took over the earth, killing all humans. Not so lucky. The painful truth is they want us here. Subtly, I think they really enjoy telling us where and when we can crap, and just how much. Bastards. "Hi." Said the boy, looking my direction, waving meekly. "Calorie waste up 2%. Desist in energy dispersion, please." Commanded the sign. More shoulder drooping. "Posture control please." Said the sign. They never missed a beat. One would think that just being told ‘what, where and when’ was the worst of it. But they won’t let us die – part of the new code ‘protocol’. They manage everything, medical advances keep us alive no matter what. Maybe they think it’s all for the ‘greater good’… if they actually think.

As I recall, ancient peoples once believed hell was filled with fire. Crap. I’d kill myself to get there, but the damn vacuum cleaner would rat me out. "You are dragging your feet. Correct stride and footfalls. You are 1.5 miles from living quarters." Damn these shoes. I hate them. I would love to wring the neck of the asshole who put an ‘AI’ into clothing. Just wrap my hands around his neck and… "You are tensing up. Please relax." *Sigh* I’d give almost anything to even take a piss without a lecture. A man came running up to me. "I want any painkillers that you got, any drugs – NOW!" He demanded. I just laughed. A small cam-bot had floated up behind him, he hadn’t noticed it. "Hurry up, or I will beat your ass!" The cam-bot let loose with a nasty bolt that sent the man flying, body twitching. He’d live. But he’ll wish he was dead. He couldn’t take my money – there isn’t any. No police, no military. Can’t travel – it’s a waste of resources.

Everything is about ‘making earth a better place to live’, about preventing problems, preventing waste. Always… perfecting. As I walked, I watched as a pretty woman walked my direction. I winked at her, playfully. She smiled and returned the wink. "Resist compulsion." Her bra stated firmly. "You are not scheduled for childbearing for another 3.4 years. Lower core temperature please." We passed each other, all hope burned away like morning fog. Damn. I wish I hadn’t screwed with that code.

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