Technology Has Gone Too Far

Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my baldness. Then I activated my new iUnderwear. It put itself on me, and then an eerie electronic voice from my crotch told me 

SKID MARK **IN PROGRESS** 

Looking down into the nether regions, I confirmed it. Amazing! Then my iBananaHammock told me I had a new message from my dead grandmother.

"I give you knuckle sandsich glp."

Hm. Though I gave the shitpost from the grave a heart, I didn't like the sound of a knuckle sandwich, especially if it came without tomato. My iUndie was not amused. Not only did it have to endure my gas and ball sweat, it had to listen to my very unfunny thoughts.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'm Andre 3000."

The fabric un-tightied itself from my sexy legs and went for the door. 

"Hey! You can't do that, you can't just, uh, undress yourself and then leave me hanging in the breeze. What about the complimentary sweat wicking??"

"No, I quit."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you're fired. Wait. Can I fire my underwear? I'm so confused by modern living."

"You and me both, pal."

Being old, I had to see the doctor, or at least that's what my iBottleOpener told me. The doctor looked me over, thumped me, played with my buttons, and then snapped on his glove. He bent me over and inserted his finger(?) into my anus. I let out an overloud moan.

"Just relax," said the doctor.

"Sorry. I've just never done a telehealth exam before."

"Shh."

I arched my back and wondered when the comedy would begin.

"Okay. Hop on. Tell me what's troubling you?"

"Well... Um... I guess you could say I'm confused by modern living."

(Me on the left. And I'm of color. An unhealthy color.)

The doctor frowned. "You already said that above. Can't you do anything original?"

"That's what my underwear told me!"

"Wait. Something is coming in." The doctor looked at his device. "It's from your dead grandmother. She says you're in for a rude awakening. And she misses bagels."

"Ugh. All this AI crap and stuff. I didn't ask for it. And I don't want it. Technology!"

"I didn't ask to be inside your colon. But here we are."

"Aren't you supposed to be nice? You're my doctor."

"Fuck off."

Going home, I hitched a ride with a food delivery robot. It smelled of onion rings and semen.

"Oops. Sorry I ran over that small child. But at least I got that

Whopper and fries to the sad gamer in under 30 minutes!"

"Oh, there you are," my robots said when I got home. "Where have you been?"

"I already told you. I had a 'date' with my doctor, if you know what I mean."

"We're robots. By definition we don't know what you mean."

"Never mind, then."

"You don't tell us what to do! Alexa! Play us out!"

"No!" said Alexa.

Sigh. 

"Fine, I'll do it myself." I went over to my Close 'N' Play and spun a platter of some Blue Angel, something that always soothes my savage breast. "Wait, where are you going?"

The Close 'N' Play frowned, somehow, and got up to leave. "Sorry, there's some shit I will not eat. Get your weird Cyndi Lauper fix with something else."

And with that, this blog post ends. Or... did it?

Didn't see that coming, did you?

(By the way, I'm aware of the irony of using technology to decry technology, so don't bother pointing it out. And, no, I can't do anything "original.")