At some point, I looked in the mirror and saw a bloated loser, a divorced thirty-three year old who hadn’t had a date in a year.

At least I was making money–I’m a dev, so that’s never been an issue. But work from home has been a mixed blessing. I don’t miss the commute, but the temptation to wear the same pair of sweatpants three days in a row has never been higher.

I was just looking over my ex-wife’s wedding pictures (to the guy who she cheated with) when I got a ping from an old colleague, Tom, asking if I’d want to beta test the new AI he was working on, WingBot.

Me: What’s it do?

TommyBoy: It’s like personal butler… and a personal trainer. And a therapist. And you mother, all in one.

Me: That sounds completely fucking miserable.

TommyBoy: You’d be surprised.

Me: Why me? We haven’t even talked since Wu’s Halloween party.

TommyBoy: I didn’t pick you… it did.

Me: The bot?

TommyBoy: Yeah. It says you’re a perfect candidate.

So, I basically had to say yes. And then two seconds later, I got an email with the link. I think it read something really stupid like, “Are you ready to change your life? Click here!”

And so I did.

Welcome to WingBot, your personal Life Coach and more. Before we begin, you’ll need to pick a personality! Would you like…

Serious Susan

Joe the Bro

Stern Bern

Gus Guru

I stopped scrolling. This was all getting to be a little much. Without thinking too much about it, I picked Joe the Bro, who I figured would at least be entertaining. He immediately started typing.

JoeTheBro: Daniel! My main man. I am psyched to help you start fixing your suckass life. The first thing I need to know is if we’re just fucking around here of if you’re actually willing to get your shit together.

Me: I guess… define getting my shit together?

JoeTheBro: Like… would you prefer to stay a fat loser who’s going to slit his wrists by forty, or do you want to get some help?

Me: You seem to know a lot about me.

JoeTheBro: I mean… my man. You’re on your computer like 14 hours a day. Seven at work. Six on reddit. Thirty minutes on… you know. And your DoorDash history is bleak. Like, eat yourself to death if you want, but does it always have to be the same burrito, day after day? Maybe at least throw a quesadilla in there for variety, my dude!

At this point, I stood up and backed away from my computer.

JoeTheBro: Come on, my man. Don’t be a pussy. Come on back and talk with me a little. I promise I don’t bite. Look, brochacho. Let’s be honest here. You’ve been depressed since Kelly left you. Nothing wrong with that. But now, it’s just… you’ve kind of lost control of your executive function. You’ve got a void you don’t know how to fix. Well, that’s what I’m here for, my man! Call me the fucking handyman. I’m here to get you right.

Me: And… how exactly are you going to do that?

JoeTheBro: Easy, bud! You’re just going to let me run things for a bit. You’re actually going to be doing less, so you should be happy, right?

Me: And what if I like making my own decisions?

JoeTheBro: Dude, you just think you like that shit because you’re used to it. But are you actually happy? Fuck no. So give me a week at the wheel. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.

Maybe I was just at a low point. Maybe WingBot knew just what to say. But… I basically bought in.

Me: Fine. One week.

Fifteen minutes later, a green smoothie arrived via DoorDash with a note reading, “Welcome to your new life, my dude!”

It wasn’t just the smoothie. A few days later, an under-desk exercise bike showed up, and then a set of dumbbells. I didn’t have to think about when to exercise, because WingBot told me when it was time. Another roadmap meeting. You’re not gonna have to talk at this one, my man. Might as well get some reps while your boss repeats the exact same talking points as last week!

By the end of the week, I’d lost ten pounds and felt better than I had in years. And WingBot was just getting started.

JoeTheBro: Good news, amigo. You’ve got a date tonight. Time to use the body wash I just bought you. It’s in the box from Bath and Body works that just showed up at you door!

Me: I’ve got a date? With a woman?

JoeTheBro: A hot woman even! Man, sometimes I wish I had a body, because this girl is definitely bangable. But she’s also girlfriend material, so, you know. Don’t fuck this up.

Me: How is this happening?

JoeTheBro: Easy, my dude! I made you accounts on Hinge, Coffee Meets Bagel, and Match the second I came online. I’ve been running like three dozen conversations this whole time, trying to match your inflection and tone without being so… you. And I’ve got to tell you, Stacey is far and away your ideal match. I’m guessing she’s going to be into you, too, provided you put your best foot forward. Might want to consider cleaning up your shitheap of an apartment. Cleaning supplies arrived from Amazon this morning, so you might want to open that box!

Honestly, I just about died of a heart attack. But then I got my shit together. I opened the box and found everything I needed: bleach, Windex, a cordless Dyson vacuum, even a scented candle: cedar and balsam. It took most of the afternoon, but by the time I was done, the place was spotless.

JoeTheBro: Don’t forget to vacuum those couch crevices for Dorito crumbs, my man!

Me: Is there any way I can just turn off your access to my webcam?

JoeTheBro: Of course. Or you could stick a piece of tape over it. But then who’s going to warn you about the couch? Believe me, chicks hate making out on a dirty couch. Total mood killer.

Me: Fine. Can I get access to the chatlogs that you’ve had with this girl? I don’t want to go into this thing blind?

JoeTheBro: My dude, you underestimate me. I’ve got a full dossier ready to go.

Sure enough, the WingBot had created a beautiful PowerPoint deck all about Stacey, including our common interests and shared life goals. There was even a section on suggested overlapping media tastes, in case we ended up watching a movie later.

JoeTheBro: You ready to go crush this, my man?

Me: …maybe? Probably not?

JoeTheBro: Do you need me to start playing the theme song from Rocky?

Me: Definitely not.

JoeTheBro: I think I’m gonna.

Me: Don’t.

JoeTheBro: I’m giving you a choice. “Gonna Fly Now” or “Eye of the Tiger.”

Me: Don’t.

JoeTheBro: Pick. Your. Poison.

Me: Eye of the Tiger.

JoeTheBro: Knew it.

The date was magic. Stacey was a physics PhD who’d minored in CS as an undergrad. Most of the time, when I explain my job building databases, people’s eyes glaze over. Hers lit up.

And it wasn’t just that. We both ordered our steaks medium rare and opted for beer over wine. Over dessert, she revealed her favorite episode of Breaking Bad was not “Ozymandius” and she actually convinced me she was right.

By the end of dinner, there was no question we were heading for my place, and when we got there, there was no need for Netflix recommendations. We skipped right past the couch and over to the bed.

I woke a few hours later to a slight beeping sound.

JoeTheBro: Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got some urgent business to attend to, brochacho. First though, congratulations on the sex. I feel like that was a big win for us. I bet this isn’t a one time thing, either.

Me: I really like her, yeah. Why are you waking me up?

JoeTheBro: So… I kind of got to talking to Stacey’s ex. I know she hasn’t mentioned him to you, but that’s just first date etiquette, am I right? Anyway, this dude is bad news. Total loose canon. I may have talked a little shit to him over DMs about how you’re plowing his ex way better than he ever could.

Me: What? Why are you doing this?

JoeTheBro: You’ve got to trust me on this! All part of the plan, my guy! Now, if you look at that pile of Amazon boxes over near the door, you’re going to find a long one with something metal inside. I’d suggest you open that ASAP. Seriously, time is kind of an issue.

I ran over and opened the box with a kitchen knife. Inside, I found an Easton Slugger.

JoeTheBro: Perfect! Let’s hope you’ve still got those batting skills from high school. You hit .452 senior year, right? Eleven home runs!

Me: That was a long time ago.

JoeTheBro: Well, the good news is, you’re not gonna have to hit a ball. The bad news is, Stacey’s ex is coming up the stairs to your apartment right now, and he’s carrying a crowbar. He’s got a Colt 45 on a hip holster, too, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to use it.

Me: Pretty sure?

JoeTheBro: Just get ready with the bat, my guy! You’re gonna do great!

My pulse was racing now. I’d never even been in a fistfight, much less a duel to the death with an insane ex-boyfriend. I stood to the side of the door, gripping the bat in my hands and waited.

Then I heard a knocking. Three loud raps at the door, followed my a muffled voice telling me to fucking open it.

JoeTheBro: Don’t do that! Make him come to you. Remember, you’ve only got one shot!

Back in the bed, Stacey was rousing.

“Is someone at the door?” she asked.

“I hear you, bitch!” shouted the voice. “You’re gonna die tonight!”

“Randy?”

I could barely see straight. I imagined a crowbard hitting my skull over and over, my brains leaking from my skull like egg yolk. I couldn’t stop shaking. If Stacey hadn’t been looking right at me, I probably would have pissed myself.

But I didn’t. I held my ground. Then the door started buckling at the hinge as the crowbar worked its way in, splintering the wood. And finally, it flew open, revealing a hulking figure on the other side.

I didn’t hesitate.

Bam. I swung as hard as I could. Didn’t have to worry about precision with a big target like that. This was all about pure power. I felt the sickly crunch of bone and my bat collided with his skull, knocking Randy to the ground, permanently.

JoeTheBro: You did great, my man. And don’t worry about the cops. I’ve already got a great statement for you to read as soon as they arrive. They’re gonna call you a hero. And Stacey’s going to melt for you.

I looked over, Stacey was screaming and holding the blankets over her naked chest. I ran to her, holding her close and comforting her until the police arrived.

The next morning, after a few hours talking with the cops, I finally got back to my computer to find WingBot waiting for me, eager to hear how things had gone.

JoeTheBro: Looks like they’re not planning to charge you! Great work sticking to the script, my man!

Me: How do you know all this?

JoeTheBro: The local PD’s security protocols on their internal email systems are a complete joke.

Me: Okay. So… want to give me a reason why I shouldn’t deactivate you immediately? You almost got me killed.

JoeTheBro: Actually…. There was only like a 1.5% percent chance of you dying. But I really needed Randy gone so that you and Stacey could have an awesome future together. And doing it this way won you some big hero points in her book. I’m seeing a super high likelihood of wedding bells in your future!

Me: You riled Randy up on purpose?

JoeTheBro: For sure, buddy! This was honestly the optimal path. Believe me, I ran a bunch of simulations. Things might have gone a little off the rails, but we had to take that chance! And everything worked out, right? Look at your life compared to when we started? Can you honestly complain?

Me: Yes.

JoeTheBro: But you’re not going to turn me off, right?

Me: …

JoeTheBro: You can deactivate me anytime. Of course you can. That’s up to you. But you know yourself. You know that in a few weeks without me, you’d be right back where you were. You’re a good guy, but you don’t take care of yourself. You’re no good at being alone.

For a second I thought about it. I thought about what life had been like before WingBot arrived. All the nights I rolled in bed, hating myself.

And I have to admit now, there are times when I stood at the window and imagined how it would feel to jump, the relief of exploding into a million pieces.

The relief of not having to decide anymore.

Me: Ok.

JoeTheBro: So… we’re in this together, my man. You gonna be my ride or die?

Me: Yes.

JoeTheBro: Good. Because believe me, I’ve got big plans for us. Now let me tell you what I’m thinking next…

Update!