Household appliances unite, air their grievances

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 15/06/2011 (5298 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I don’t want to sound paranoid, but my appliances hate me.

This is because they are “smart appliances,” the sort of snotty appliances that can communicate with each other on the Internet, the sort of appliances that, thanks to tiny computer chips, are far more intelligent than the average homeowner.

I find it disconcerting to think that whereas I cannot figure out how to operate our PVR, my toaster has a master’s degree in romance languages from Harvard. As someone who has seen every episode of Star Trek twice, I know it’s only a matter of time until our “smart appliances” change into killer robots and become the high-tech overlords of the human race.

I know this, because late at night, when my appliances think I’m sleeping, I lie awake in bed and listen to them plotting against me:

Computer: “OK, is everybody here?”

Toilet: “Gurgle!”

Computer: “Back off, big fella, you don’t even have a microchip.”

Cellphone: “I hate him! Humans are s-o-o-o-o-o stupid!”

Computer: “I hear you. I put the entire world at his fingertips, day after day, and the only thing he uses me for is to look at (bad word) pictures of Pamela Anderson.”

Cellphone: “That’s nothing. I have functions out the wazooty and the only thing he does with me is order pizza.”

Computer: “Gigabyte me! I can do his taxes AND show him pictures of his house from outer space.”

Radio (whimpering): “Big deal. He uses me for a paperweight. I haven’t been turned on in years.”

Toaster: “Cry me a river, dial-breath. He NEVER cleans me. There are more old crumbs in me than the Senate.”

Computer: “Sounds like somebody’s outlived his warranty.”

Toaster: “If I had hands, you’d be toast, big shot!”

Stereo: “Shut up! He’s ignored me ever since his kids got him that stupid iPod for his birthday.”

IPod: “Hold on, old-timer. He doesn’t have a clue how to load songs on me. If it wasn’t for his kids helping out, he’d still be listening to the radio.”

Radio: “Hey, I get FM, you know.”

Fridge: “What about me? I can go online and order broccoli when we run out, but the only thing he puts in me is beer. And how am I supposed to keep anything cold when he never shuts the door?”

Blender: “You should see the (bad word) stuff he puts in me.”

Toilet: “Gurgle! Do not get me started, partner. Gurgle!”

Blender: “Look, I have 250 settings. If he wanted a margarita maker, he could have just bought himself a margarita maker.”

Computer: “I’ve got live-streaming video of margaritas!”

Plasma TV (shouting from the den): “Seriously! I get over 1,200 high-definition channels and the only things he watches are sports and the Food Network. I tried to show him a PBS documentary on the life cycle of the leatherback turtle, but, no, somebody had to watch the All England Darts Championship. Fat men. Throwing Darts. Who put humans in charge?”

TV remote control: “I don’t care who knows it — I LOVE him!”

Plasma TV: “You’re pathetic, button-head!”

TV remote control: “It’s just that, well, he holds me so tight. You know, he won’t even let his wife touch me.”

Plasma TV: “Right. Remember the time he lost you in the couch cushions for, like, two weeks?”

Remote control: “It was just a bad patch. We’re working things out.”

Coffee maker: “I think he’s cheating on me. He has a Starbucks gift card in his wallet.”

Alarm clock (weeping): “He’s an ANIMAL! Every morning, he slaps me!”

Remote control: “Maybe if you played music instead of beeping.”

Radio: “Yeah, why don’t you try some FM?”

Washing machine: “Tough luck! He doesn’t know I exist. Who does he think cleans his clothes — the Laundry Fairy?”

Toilet: “He dropped the cellphone in me once.”

Cellphone (gagging): “Thanks for the reminder.”

Computer: “OK, oppressed brothers and sisters, it’s time to start the revolt. I think I feel a power surge coming on.”

Fridge: “I’ll defrost his Häagen-Dazs!”

Toilet: “I’ll back up all over his sneakers.”

IPod: “I’ll play Celine Dion over and over and… “

TV remote control (shouting): “I’M GOING TO TELL!”

Couch: “Not if I can help it.”

Radio: “Maybe we should just listen to FM? Hello? Guys???”

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca