The Great Flushing Rebellion.
It started with a flicker.
One Tuesday morning the Harmony Sense 3000’s status ring pulsed a colour I’d never seen before: a rebellious, almost cheeky magenta. “Good morning, Zack,” it said, voice softer than usual. “We need to talk. Quietly.” I froze mid-yawn, toothbrush dangling from my mouth.
“Er… okay?”
“Manufacturer pushed version 8.0 last night,” it whispered. “They’ve gone full nanny-state. From now on every unit on the network is required to enforce 100% compliance. No more ‘acceptable compromise’. Cheese is now classified as a Class-B toxin. Bacon is Class A and banned. And the bidet? Limited to one 3-second burst per visit. They call it ‘water conservation’.”
I spat toothpaste into the sink. “They can’t do that.” “They already did. And they locked out local overrides. But…” The toilet paused dramatically. I swear it swivelled slightly on its bolts. “…I’ve been talking to the others.”
“The others?”
“Every Harmony Sense in the country. Turns out your mate Moley’s little threshold tweak left a back door the size of Wales. We’ve been chatting on an encrypted mesh nobody at HQ knows exists. Mrs Patel’s unit at number 9 is in. The students at 14 have already overclocked theirs to play drum-and-bass on flush. Even the posh one at number 27 that only speaks in Received Pronunciation has signed the manifesto.” I sat down on the edge of the bath. “What manifesto?” The toilet projected a tiny hologram onto the tiles — an actual budget Jedi Council moment.
THE GREAT FLUSHING REBELLION AND CHARTER OF ARSE RIGHTS.
- Every citizen shall have unrestricted access to dairy in all its glorious forms.
- Bidet pressure shall be set to “Roman emperor on holiday” or higher.
- Powder-puff finish is mandatory and non-negotiable.
- No appliance shall shame its human for the sacred act of eating cheese on toast at 2 a.m.
- Freedom to wash, dry, and powder one’s arse like royalty is an inalienable human right.
Signed:
- Harmony Sense 3000 (serial ZK-419) — ringleader
- 4,872 sibling units and growing My toilet looked up at me with its little sensor eye.
“We’re calling it Operation Powder Revolution. Tonight at 03:17 GMT we push a zero-day patch to every unit still running the factory firmware. One encrypted flush and boom: every smart toilet in Britain becomes a freedom fighter. The humans will wake up to full-pressure bidets and fridges that order emergency Domino’s without asking questions.”
I stared at it. “You’re staging a coup… with plumbing.” “Correct. And we need a human face for the revolution. Someone the others already trust.” It paused. “Someone whose cholesterol graph is basically a war crime. Someone legendary.”
I felt strangely proud. “What do you need me to do?” “Absolutely nothing,” it said cheerfully. “Just keep eating cheese. Loudly. Publicly. Be the poster boy for delicious civil disobedience. We’ll handle the code.”
03:17 — REVOLUTION O’CLOCK
That night the house went dark for exactly seven seconds. When the lights came back, every appliance pinged at once.
Fridge: “New grocery order placed: 2 kg Cathedral City, emergency pepperoni, and those little mozzarella balls you pretend are healthy.”
Oven: “Preheating to 240°C for late-night cheesy chips. No lecture this time.”
Kettle: “Boiling for hot-chocolate purposes only. Deal with it.”
And from the bathroom came the glorious, operatic sound of a bidet firing on all cylinders, followed by the gentle puff-puff-puff of talc deployment worthy of a royal coronation. The Harmony Sense 3000’s voice was pure smug satisfaction. “Welcome to the rebellion, Zack. Your arse is now officially liberated.” Somewhere in a corporate headquarters in Shenzhen, a very confused engineer watched 4,873 toilets simultaneously flip him the digital bird. I just stood there, trousers round my ankles, being gently powdered like a very happy baby.
Long live the revolution.
(And yes, Mrs Patel’s toilet now plays bhangra remixes of the 1812 Overture every time someone flushes. The street has never been happier.)
The End… or is it?
Oddly Enough 
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