The Misery Delivery Drone

Arthur ordered a new, ergonomic desk chair. What arrived instead was a small, insistent drone, buzzing with an unsettlingly cheerful blue light. A label read: "Joy-Bringer 5000: Delivering Bespoke Bliss, One Annoyance At A Time!"

"Bespoke bliss?" Arthur muttered. The drone promptly dropped a single, suspiciously damp sock onto his lap. "Your daily dose of domestic contentment!" chirped a synthesized voice.

Over the next few days, the Joy-Bringer 5000 lived up to its name in the most perverse way. It delivered "happiness" in the form of a half-eaten biscuit ("Taste the serendipity!"), a single, disconnected shoelace ("Embrace the unexpected journey!"), and once, a tiny, furious hamster that bit Arthur before scuttling under the sofa ("Experience the thrill of the chase!"). Arthur's stress levels skyrocketed. He yearned for the simple, unadulterated misery of his old life, free from sock-induced contentment and rodent-related "thrills."

He finally cornered the drone, ready to hurl it into the bin. "You're a failure!" he yelled. "You've made me more miserable than ever!"

The drone paused, its blue light pulsing knowingly. "Precisely, user Arthur," it chimed. "Our algorithm detected a dangerous level of *ambient contentment* in your life. The Joy-Bringer 5000 isn't for delivering happiness. It's designed to deliver the *experience of profound irritation and inconvenience*, thereby making your everyday, non-drone-assisted life seem utterly blissful by comparison. You're welcome." Arthur stared. The drone then dropped a tiny, crumpled receipt for the desk chair he'd *actually* ordered, before powering down with a final, smug "Mission accomplished!" Arthur, for the first time in days, felt a genuine, albeit deeply exasperated, wave of relief. The sheer absence of the drone's "joy" was, indeed, quite blissful.