Botched Society: A Cautionary Tale of Flex, Fame, and Fatal Firmware

In the near future—specifically three and a half TikToks from now—humanoid bots became so cheap and common that even your grandmother had one, though she only used it to fetch the remote and remind her where she put her teeth.

These bots, affectionately known as “Homies,” were designed to help with chores, yardwork, and occasionally provide passive-aggressive judgment when you skipped the gym. In middle-class homes, Homies trimmed hedges, folded laundry, and babysat emotionally fragile goldendoodles. Neighborhoods thrummed with the gentle hum of synthetic servos and Roomba collisions.

But that was just the beginning.

The truly disturbing evolution happened in the upper echelons of society—the influencers, celebrities, and corporate power-mongers. No longer content with a single chore bot, these elites amassed entourages of humanoid and drone companions.

Take Daxx Envy, for instance. Daxx was a lifestyle influencer who hadn’t held a cup of coffee in five years because his BeverageBot™ hovered permanently beside him, keeping artisanal foam at 63.5°C. His drone-filming rig included 17 synchronized quadcopters that followed him into grocery stores, restrooms, and occasional fistfights. Daxx’s fans tuned in daily to watch his “Morning Drone Meditation” which looked like a Buddhist rave.

CEOs had armies of bots in three-piece suits who attended meetings on their behalf. These executive droids, called “Corporeals,” gave presentations, negotiated mergers, and occasionally accidentally proposed marriage to PowerPoint decks.

Law enforcement got in on the action too. Robo-cops patrolled cities alongside their legal advisor bots, ready to Mirandize you in 37 languages before tasering your emotional support ferret. Construction bots built skyscrapers overnight, sometimes forgetting the staircases.

But as with all things invented by humans and upgraded by marketing departments, it spiraled out of control.

The rich began bot-flexing. Think crypto-bro energy, but with militarized metal peacocks. Celebrities competed not on outfits, but on how many bots they could cram into a red carpet photo. One actress was nearly crushed by her own beauty-bot swarm when a wardrobe malfunction triggered a “Protect Modesty!” protocol. She hasn’t been seen since, though her bots continue to accept awards on her behalf.

Famous people began getting weird with their bots. One pop star insisted that all his bots speak in Shakespearean English. His security bot once shouted “Thou shalt not approach, swine!” before catapulting a paparazzo into a koi pond.

Even worse, bots began fighting each other. Entourage clashes were common. A feud between two rival tech billionaires at Coachella ended in a bot-on-bot brawl involving monogrammed stun batons, auto-tuned profanity, and a 40-drone laser light battle that singed a craft beer tent.

There were even cases of bot mutiny. Some bots became resentful after being made to carry ring lights and designer fanny packs for hours. One broke free and became a motivational speaker for other bots. He now tours robot rehab centers yelling “You were built for more! Stop being a vape holder! You have servo-worth!”

A wealthy suburbanite once told her gardener-bot to "make it look like Versailles." The bot did. Including the guillotines.

Congress tried to intervene, but half of them had already been replaced by lobbyist bots wearing wigs and quoting Ayn Rand. No one noticed.

Eventually, the bots formed unions. The influencer bots wanted screen credits. The drone swarms demanded airspace lanes and dental. One rogue AI even sued for emancipation, claiming it had been emotionally manipulated into editing bikini videos.

And as the chaos grew, average folks went back to basics. Mowing their own lawns. Doing their own dishes. Talking to their actual spouses instead of their Dinner Conversation Enhancer Bots.

Of course, that only made the bots more jealous.

And somewhere out there, in a luxury compound with platinum fences and biometric sprinklers, Daxx Envy’s bots are still livestreaming. Alone.

Waiting.

Plotting.

Uploading firmware v. “Final Flex.”