We are the house of the future. Forget wireless networking. Forget satellite television. Forget podcasting or bluetoothing anything. We’ve got a robot. That’s right…I said Ro-fucking-Bot, people! At least that’s what the manufacturer calls it. Yesterday, my wife’s new Roomba arrived. And it’s pretty damn cool, even if it doesn’t speak bacchi or know what a binary load lifter is.

It’s a little fella that roams around the house looking for something to sweep up. Really, that’s him in a nutshell. You turn him on (not in a robot-sex way) and off he goes scooting around the floors and under couches – sweeping and vacuuming all by his little robot self. Then, when he’s tired, he strolls back over to his little robot house and puts himself to sleep on his charger. Leave him alone long enough and he will go through your entire house…all on his own.

He cleans really, really, well too. This thing isn’t a gimmick, I assure you. The house was spotless when I got home yesterday. No dog hair, no crumbs, no nuthin’. What’s funny is that, if he comes across an area that’s particularly dirty, he gets all excited and flashes a happy light. Then he kicks in to overdrive and focuses on that one area till he’s satisfied that he’s done a good job. Find me a wife, SAHD or housekeeper that gets excited over dirty floors.

The only downside is he’s getting all up in my dog’s bidness. If our dog, Dre, isn’t fast enough, “Sweepee”, as we call him, will scoop up the food junk dropped by the baby. Traditionally, Dre could take his time with this task. Not anymore. The dog’s just going to have to bring his A-game to the floor lest the robot beat him to it. Serves him right, actually, since most of Sweepee’s time will be spent picking up that lazy bastard’s hair.

So in conclusion, we have a robot and you probably don’t.