A man bought a brand-new gadget online after being lured in by the description: “Innovative. Sleek. Life-changing.” He wasn’t sure what it actually did, but the reviews were glowing, and it had more buttons than a spaceship, so obviously it had to be amazing. When it arrived, it came in a box the size of a small fridge, filled with more parts than a NASA satellite and an instruction manual that looked like it had been written by a committee of confused poets.
Determined to prove his technical genius, he laid out all the parts on the floor and cracked open the manual. Step 1: “Align the primary sprocket with the quantum stabilizer.” He stared at the pieces. None were labeled. Nothing even looked remotely like a sprocket—or quantum anything.
Step 2: “Ensure your assembly environment is existentially balanced and free of irony.” He blinked. Was this a gadget or a philosophy exam?
He tried reading the rest of the instructions, flipping pages like he was decoding ancient prophecy. Every time he thought he understood a sentence, it would end with “(see Diagram X)”—and Diagram X was just a blurry sketch of a stick figure shrugging.
Four hours later, his living room looked like an exploded IKEA store. There were screws in the carpet, a plastic panel somehow stuck to the ceiling, and his cat had claimed a mysterious coil spring as its new chew toy. The gadget now resembled a futuristic art sculpture titled “Confusion in Chrome.”
Finally, in a moment of pure desperation, the man sought help. Not from tech support—he’d tried that, and their chatbot asked him for help. Not from a handyman—he didn’t want witnesses to this disaster. No, he did the only thing a broken man with an unassembled gadget and bruised ego could do.
He called his mother.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived, looked at the chaos, sipped some tea, and then, with surgical precision, picked up three random pieces, twisted them together, pressed a hidden button—and the gadget turned on. Lights flashed, a soft hum filled the room, and the screen displayed the words: “Welcome, Master.”
The man blinked. “What… how…?”
His mother smiled sweetly. “Oh, I didn’t read the instructions. I just followed my instincts. And also, this part looked like your father’s old toaster.”
The man stared at her in awe. “So what is it?”
She shrugged. “No idea. But it just ordered a pizza.”
Turns out, the gadget was a combination smart-home assistant, air purifier, karaoke machine, and pizza-ordering hub. Possibly also a blender.
The moral? Never underestimate a mom with tea, instincts, and zero time for nonsense.
