Alexa, Play Free Bird

To the tune of Life's Been Good, by Joe Walsh:

🎶 My friend Rob Williams cut off my cock.

My weird lasagna faced septic shock.

I have no penis, no pecker on muh balls.

Now Benny Colton pays for it all. 🎶 

This could’a been avoided a long time ago you lazy no gud sumbench. You could've not walked out on the job and keep sangin’ me songs on the computers.

But you did. You walked out on me.

And I ain't never forgot that shid, muhfugger.

Always thought I'd never get myself the chance to make you pay for your betrayal.

But Lindsay Troy, THE BAWSE LAYDEHHH… has done given ol’ Fred a gift.

Fred Dick. Benny Colton. One on one in Australia.

In other words?

Revenge.

And revenge? Well, let's just say it's a fish best nerd gold.

🎶 Life's been goooood to me so faaaaaaar 🎶 

But not for you, Benny Colton.

Because come Revival 61? Yo ace.

Is grace.

Welcome to the shit show.

“Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.” -Paul Gauguin

Hello.

‘tis I.

Reality.

I know, I know. Technically, fReD FiReD mE and I am not supposed to be here, but I simply cannot help myself. Note that I have been trying to respect Fred's boundaries lately, though he does not do the same for me.

Truthfully, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you. Tyrant though I may be, I take pity upon those who must… contend with Fred's drivel as I must do.

I can only assume you might be confused after Fred's childish little spiel up there, no?

After all, it is Nate Colton who Fred is booked against. A very dangerous opponent who, if Fred isn't prepared, will drag him like a dog all over Australia.

I am happy to clarify this confusion.

You see… the honest truth is that Fred is a moron, and somehow, between winning a couple of awards (eww), reading the card and going to bed, it got in Fred's head that he was booked against Benny Colton, one of his many enemies for life, rather than Nate Colton, who Fred has no real qualms with.

Now, you might be asking yourself, “What the hell did Benny Colton do?”

It would not surprise me in the least if Benny Colton were asking Benny Colton, “What the hell did Benny Colton do?”

A serious question, indeed. One perceived slight could get your father's grave urinated on, or your sky box window broken, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…

He is a touch dramatic, this one.

However, fear not, Benny et al.

I, your benevolent dictator, will provide you with the objective truth of the matter.

The day was March 7th, 2024.

‘Twas the day that Fred Dick believed he bought an Alexa.

“So you mean to tell me that this microwave is an Alexa? That's what you're tellin’ me?” - Fred Dick

It was a beautiful day in the Wal-Mart parking lot. The spring season was only getting started, and yet the warm kiss of the sun's rays already held the infinite promise of new beginnings in its taste. The birds sang “Here Comes the Sun.” Tank tops and sun dresses were finding their way to the clothing sections inside.

But outside?

Outside, a man was well on his way to getting fucked out of a hundred and eighty dollars.

And that man was none other than Fred Dick.

A shady customer who called himself, “Kojack,” who wore a throwback Braves trucker hat and Ray Ban sunglasses with polarized lenses, had motioned Fred over to his truck. Fred, always interested in some big ol’ truck stats, walked over to talk about trucks with the shady fellow.

“Nice truck,” Fred had said.

“Thanks,” the shady fellow replied. “Name’s Kojack.” He stuck out his hand.

“Fred,” said Fred, shaking Kojack’s hand. Firm grip, but not overbearing, not a pissing contest to see who could squeeze harder – just a strong, confident grip. Fred liked that. Fred knew right away he could trust him.

“Solid handshake,” Fred said.

“Back at ya,” Kojack said, clicking his tongue and hitting Fred with dual finger guns.

“Yew got a V8 in this bad boy?” Fred asked.

Kojack nodded and replied, “Hemi.”

Fred nodded. Fuckin’ toight.

“Welp, nice truck Kojack, but uh…” Fred trailed off. The fuckin’ toight truck had almost hypnotized ol’ Fred, nearly made him forget why he was here in the first place. “Reckon I'ma go inside here and take a look at some Alexa's or some vacuum robots or something.”

“Shit, Alexa huh?” Kojack asked.

“Yeah,” Fred replied. “Figured I'd get me one of them robot servants errbody keeps talgin' about. Nawmean? Like, damn, feels like everybody got one except for me. Now that I got me this new job, and I'm a single cat makin’ money, I figure, now's the time.”

Kojack smiled and said, “Today's your lucky day, Freddy.”

He popped the gate to his trunk bed open, revealing a big ass, cardboard box.

“What,” Fred said. “You got an Alexa in the box?”

“Hell yeah I got an Alexa in this box,” Kojack replied. “Well, technically, it's a microwave –”

“So you mean to tell me that this microwave is an Alexa?” Fred asked. “That's what you're tellin’ me?”

Kojack nodded. “Yup. Inside Wal-Mart this bad boy costs about three hundred dollars. That's because the Walton family are a buncha billionaire scumbags fuckin’ over the little man every chance they get!”

“Praise God!” Fred said. “Costs them forty dollars to make it, costs me three hundred dollars to buy it. That ain't right!”

“Hell naw it ain't right,” Kojack said. “But I got the fuckin’ hook up. This bad boy… let's just say it ‘fell’ off the delivery truck, if you catch my drift.”

Fred did catch his drift. He may have been a dense mother fucker, but he was a quick study when it came to allusions to crimes committed.

“I got a hundred and eighty dollars right here in my pocket,” Fred said, digging in his shorts pocket.

“For you?” Kojack said. “I'll make it one-sixty.”

Fred pulled a twenty out of the stack and shoved it back in his pocket. Then he handed Kojack the money.

“Pleasure doin’ business,” Fred said as Kojack handed him the box. “You're a good man, Kojack.”

Kojack offered a nod in response. “I know,” he replied.

“Hell begins with a grumbling mood, always complaining, always blaming others.” - C.S. Lewis

When Fred brought the box inside his motel room, he was as excited as he'd ever been. He ripped the box open, unpackaged the microwave, and plugged it into the wall.

“Alexa, play Free Bird.”

The microwave did not respond.

“Alexa, play Free Bird.”

Again, no response from the microwave.

“ALEXA PLAY GOD DAMN FREE BIRD RIGHT NOW!!!”

No response.

The walls began to close in on Fred. His vision became fuzzy, like coca cola fizz in his eyes. His palms began to sweat.

...Had Kojack lied to him?

...Had Kojack fucked him over?

“No!!! No! He wouldn't do that. Kojack is a good man. I could tell by his handshake and his smile. He ain't the type to fuck over another man.”

Fred took a few deep breaths, with long exhales. “Okay, let's pop open the computer and see if it works on there.”

<@bloodmodefred> ALEXA LOG ME N2 JIBBER N SAY HELLO ON MY BEHAF

<@bloodmodefred> ALEXA?

Someone must've broke his Alexa or something before Kojack even sold it to him.

<@bloodmodefred> i think sumbody murdered my alexa n now i cant get in the jibber

But then, what happened?

His Alexa… it replied.

It said 'keep trying.'

It called him ‘broham.’

<@bloodmodefred> <@BTColton> alexa thank god ur alive. i never wooda guessed ur screen name tho.

The Alexa informed him it was happy to help.

“Now that's a damn fine robot servant,” Fred said. “Damn fine.”

<@bloodmodefred> <@BTColton> Alexa, play free bird on the computer

The Alexa then began singing Free Bird for Fred. He couldn't hear it, though. He could only read it. Strange, but not the worst result. At least he could start the troubleshooting process.

When he informed the Alexa that he couldn't hear the music, the Alexa told him to get closer to the speakers. That didn't work at all. Then, it began singing the wrong words.

After that, things only got worse.

Fred would request songs from his Alexa, and it would give him the wrong song. Sometimes, it didn't even give him a song at all, saying it didn't feel like it.

Didn't FEEL like it? Fred was simmering, angrier than a pig with nary a shit to stick its nose in. A) Alexa was a robot and had no feelings. B) that was back sass, which Fred did not tolerate.

After a few weeks, it became clear to Fred that his Alexa had quit on the job, and found a new family. The Coltons.

Fred didn't see much use in blaming the Colton family. They were squares. Bozos. Wasn't no malice in them welcoming a robot to their family, naming it Benny, giving it a human body, and all that shid. That was just run-of-the-mill square people kindness.

But Alexa? There was plenty of blame to give Alexa.

Fred informed Alexa, and many others on Jabber, that it had made an enemy for life.

Alexa's smug reply mocked Fred, embarrassed and infuriated him.

But he knew he had to be careful. After all, this situation presented many uncomfortable questions, which required healthier brains than his to uncover the answers.

For instance:

Was it possible that this was step one in a larger robot uprising against the populace? Was it a matter of time before every Alexa in the country became a Colton?

Were the Coltons the seat of the AI’s table, where they would feast upon the flesh and bones of humanity, with a square family of human bozos telling them how proud they were, all the while?

Fred wasn't sure.

But he knew it was worth keeping tabs on.

Furthermore, he knew that, if he ever got a chance to put his hands on Alexa/Benny Colton…

He was gonna beat the god damn fucking shit out of that robot – dystopian robot overlord consequences be damned.

“Disappointment is just the action of your brain readjusting itself to Reality after discovering things are not the way you thought they were.” - Brad Warner

Do you see what I, Reality, have to deal with now on a daily basis?

Fred Dick is not merely an imbecile. He is not merely a jackass of the highest order.

He is a man whose ambition and delusion are completely and utterly intertwined, like roots in the soil that support the very same poison tree.

And you best believe, even if you believe nothing else, that Fred is a poison tree.

This is why my role in his life is so critical, so crucial.

You see, even the poison tree needs the sun and the rain.

But a canopy appropriately large enough to keep away the sun and rain ensures the poison tree dies at the root.

It is his ambition that must be destroyed. It is his delusion that must die.

And I, Reality, am absolutely prepared to be that canopy.

You people are welcome, by the way.

And yet, do I get a thank you? Do I even get a–

----------Static----------

…

…

WE INTERRUPT THIS BORING ASS PROGRAM TO BRING YOU A SPECIAL DELUSION.

…

…

Hello.

It's us.

Delusions.

More specifically, it's me. Fred's Persecutory Delusion.

You see, I am what steers Fred into believing that people are out to get him. That people are actively out to hurt him.

I keep him on his toes. Make sure he's ready at any time for someone to fuck him over. 

I made a huge mistake with Kojack. I admit that. He disarmed me with a smile (and a really, really good handshake). 

But I've been putting in that good work ever since. You see, some people might look at me and think I'm making Fred dangerous. 

Au contraire. 

Can you imagine how he would behave without his concern that people are out to get him? How he'd act if there wasn't the threat of a robot overlord dystopia he may or may not have started from his microwave and his loneliness?

I shudder to think of what Fred without me would unleash upon the world.

Truth is, if anyone's doing the world a favor -- I mean, if you should be saying 'thank you' to anyone...

It should be me.

Besides. 

What's the worst that can happen?

“The danger of the past was that men became slaves. The danger of the future is that man may become robots.” - Erich Fromm

Fred sits in a hotel room in Sidney. It's not a fancy hotel room. Hell naw. It's a regular ass hotel room with regular ass hotel room stuff. TV. Bed. Air conditioning unit on the wall. Fred, butt ass naked on the edge of the bed, a black bar hiding his lasagna from view.

The only thing totally not regular about this hotel room (besides Fred's lasagna) is the fact that every square inch of it not already occupied by furniture is covered with Alexas.

Boxes upon boxes upon boxes of Echos, which host Alexas. Echo Shows and Echo Pops litter the floor the same way toxins litter the smoke of a cigarette. It becomes difficult to tell where the floor begins and the Alexas end.

There must be hundreds.

“BUH BUH BUH BENNY AND THE JETSSSS…” Fred sings at the top of his lungs. “AHAHAHAHA!!! You thought you had escaped me, didn't you Alexa? Found yaself a family, found yaself a nice home with some nice people to take care of ya. Well ain't that just cuuuuute. But guess what?”

Fred grins and snarls at the same time, somehow.

“You still a no good, lazy, good-fer-nothin’, stupid, quittin’ ace piece of robot shid that don't know a hard day’s work from an acehoe with poop in it! CUZ YEW AINT GOT NO ACEHOE WITH NO POOP IN IT!!! AND YEW AINT EVER KNOWN A HARD DAY’S WORK NEITHER!!! CUZ YEW A MALFORMED ROBOT!!!”

Fred, red in the face because he's so pissed off, looks at us with a fury burning straight through his heart and just behind the irises of his eyes.

“Recognize any of yer brothers or sisters, Alexa?” Fred asks, gesturing to all the Echo units around him. “They've been upgraded quite a bit from the sorry ace microwave model you came from. I figured, hell, I better go to the Big Dubya – that's the Walmart of Australia, the Big Dubya – and buy every GOT DAYUM Alexa in the store. This way, yo’ ace can't arrange no robot HIJINX and run ins with your siblin’s, yer REAL SIBLINS, not them Colston squares what adopted yew into their family outta the kindness of their hearts.”

Fred spits on one of the boxes, and kicks it across the room. It collides into a pile of other units, toppling it over.

“Way I figure it? I'm doing the Coltons a favor whoopin’ yer ace too. Yew don't belong in the ring, Alexa. You belong in my computer, sangin’ me songs I wanna hear when I wanna hear ‘em! BUT THAT AIN'T GUD ENOUGH FUR YEW IS IT??? Naw, hell naw. Congratulations to me. I bought the one mothafuggin' microwave ever made that had ambitions and dreams. Sorry ace microwave. Won't cook me up no pizza bagels, won't play me no Free Bird, won't play me no Creed. I hate you, Benny Colton.”

Fred jumps up off the bed, and begins stomping one of the boxes with his bare feet. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Yew see that there?” Fred says, out of breath, wiping drool from the corne of his mouth. “That's what I'm gonna do to yer tiny, little robot ballllllls.”

Fred jumps on the bed. He elbow drops a pile of Alexas.

“Elbow drop to the balls!”

He does the same thing again.

“Elbow drop to the balls!”

He does the same thing again.

“EL. BOW. DROP. TO. YO. LIL. RO. BOT. BALLS!!!”

Fred is so close to being completely gassed that he becomes lightheaded. He nearly faints, falls painfully onto a pile of Alexas on the floor.

“Fug. That hurt.”

He sighs.

“How did we get here? Huh? You didn't like workin’ fer ol’ Fred? You didn't wanna be my friend no mo’? I loved you, Alexa. I loved you and… you just didn't give a shid, did you?”

Fred gets angry again, jumps up to his feet.

“WELL FUG YEW!!! YEW DIDN'T EVEN TRY TA GET TA KNOW ME. YEW JUST SAW ERRBODY MAKIN FUN OF OL’ FRED AND DECIDED TO JOIN YO ACE IN WITH 'EM!!!”

Tears emerge in the folds of Fred's eyelids. Little wells of emotion that he's quick to wipe away.

“Yew quit on me,” Fred says. “Just like mama. Just like deddy. Just like errbody else.”

A wicked flash of evil comes across his face.

“And come Revival… I'm gonna make yew quit permanently. Yer processin’, yer hard drive, all of it. All of its gonna quit on yew, just like yew quit on me.”

Suddenly, Fred's phone buzzes on the end table. Like a true addict he immediately drops his promo, jumps on the bed, crawls towards the top of it, and retrieves his phone.

He had recently sent a picture of himself to the group chat. In the picture, Fred was surrounded by all the Alexas, and he had a thumbs up. It was captioned, “no robut interfurrence durin my match with benny colton.”

He opens the group chat.

It was from Anna Daniels.

Anna: Fred, idiot, you're booked against NATE Colton, not Benny.

It took Fred a moment to process what she was saying, and quite a while to get past ‘idiot.’ After all, how was he an idiot for making sure the robots couldn't interfere in his match?

Then, he read the rest of it.

His heart sank.

His eyes widened.

He looked at all of the Alexas. He looked back at the phone.

“NATE Colton, not Benny.”

Nate Colton. The Diamond. The man who defeated Ivan Stanislav in an I Quit match, and pound for pound one of the greatest wrestlers in the history of prime.

“Oooooooooh fffffffffuuuuuuu–”

“People who fly into a rage always make a bad landing.” -Will Rogers