Professor Veidor’s House of Tomorrow
Prepare to be astonished as we take a peek inside the smart home of the year 2040...
1. ENTRANCE
As you enter the driveway of your security-gated estate, you can voice activate various commands via your selfdriving car’s virtual assistant - meaning that the central heating and every fucking light that they’ve left on whilst you were out shopping will be turned down or off.
2. SON’S BEDROOM
Mechanical arms will extend from the wall to make the bed every day whilst a 3D scanner monitors the room 24-7 and automatically changes the duvet and sheets when needed. Droids will roam the floor, picking up socks and tissues, because for some reason they seem incapable of doing it. Dirty clothes will be washed, ironed and put back in the ungrateful bastard’s drawer or hung up in his fucking wardrobe where they’re supposed to be.
3. BATHROOM
Special infra-red detectors placed around the toilet will detect urine and automatically clean it up, because why they can’t hit the bowl like a civilised person I’ll never know. A barcode-style reader will monitor the U-bend, triggering a powerful underwater laser to burn away skidmarks. Because will they use the bloody brush that’s there for that purpose? Will they bollocks. Computerised showers will be pre-programmed to detect when the user’s skin is clean and immediately shut the water off at that point, otherwise they’ll just stand there and drain the fucking tank leaving no hot water for the poor sod who pays the gas bill, the selfish gets. Toilet paper will be dispensed through a slot, and when it runs low it will be autonomously ordered from the internet and delivered by drone, because they seem incapable of putting a new roll on when they’ve used up the last bloody sheet.
4. KITCHEN
Robots with extendable arms will clear up toast crumbs on kitchen surfaces and wash and dry bowls encrusted with week-old cereal that were found in the bedroom before putting them back in the cupboard. Half-eaten pizza boxes left in the bin - with the bin lid left open for flies to get in - will be re-sorted and recycled. When the kitchen bin gets full, it will automatically go outside and empty itself into the wheelie bin by the back door, which is presumably what the lazy fuckers think happens now anyway. An artificial intelligence fridge organiser will put half-melted butter back in the fucking fridge and wrap cling film around the half-opened fucking cheese, so it doesn’t go hard and you have to cut half of it off and throw it away because this lot think that money grows on fucking trees. Robots will also put the fucking milk back in the fucking fridge.
5. LIVING ROOM
Fucking trainers and shoes scattered about on the floor will be scooped up by a mobile collection robot, before being cleaned and deposited in the correct fucking storage place. Selfdriving vacuum cleaners will roam the house 24 hours a day, cleaning up the fucking mud that they’ve tramped all through the house because they can’t be arsed to take their bloody shoes off at the front door like they’ve been asked to a thousand fucking times. The bloody TV will be voice activated in case it has been accidentally left locked on to MTV Grime Cribs and you don’t know the fucking password and they’ve farted about with the remote somehow and you don’t know which button to press. Any scratches to a table that occurred because you were stupid enough to trust the little bastards to look after the fucking house while you went for your first fucking holiday in years and they decided to hold an impromptu facebook party will be smoothed over and revarnished by a French polishing robot.
6. FRONT / BACK GARDEN
Beer cans, cigarettes and any drugs paraphernalia left in plant pots or in an expensive garden water feature at the back that cost you £1500 and their fucking mates have come back from the pub and pissed in - will be cleared up by a solar-powered garden work droid that lives in the shed. Finally, front and back doors will open and close on ultra low friction ‘mag-lev’ tracks and use pneumatic soft closure technology to ensure the bastards can’t slam them when they fucking rock up at fucking three in the fucking morning.