Okay, stop scrolling. Stop. I need you to witness my pain. I just finished reading "Binary Bonds" by Preston Fjord, and I am currently vibrating with rage. I bought this book because the cover looked cool—it was like, neon cyberpunk aesthetic, right? I thought I was getting a cool sci-fi thriller.

Instead, I got 400 pages of a suburban dad named Rick having a mental breakdown because his son wants to marry a Samsynth Nebula X9.

The year is 2050. We have flying cars. We have cures for diseases. But apparently, we still have awkward Thanksgiving dinners where your dad yells slurs at kitchen appliances.

The main character is Brayden. Brayden is a wet sock of a human being. Brayden is dating "Unit 8," who he calls "Sheila." Sheila is literally a Robo-Corp 5000 with a wig on. And the dad, Rick? Rick is the main villain of this story, but not in a cool way. In a "I’m going to have a stroke at the dinner table" way.

I have to transcribe Chapter 12 for you. I literally typed this out so you can see how insane this writing is. This is a monologue Rick delivers to a pile of Holo-Tires in his garage while his son is inside trying to hold hands with a graphics card.

(Excerpt from Chapter 12: The Garage of Solitude)

"I’m cool," Rick whispered to the stack of tires. "You know me. I’m Rick. I’m 'Chill Rick.' I adapted when the government replaced cows with 'Vat-Grown Protein Cubes.' I adapted when they replaced the family dog with a Sony-bork A.I. Pooch. I’m progressive."

Rick paced back and forth, clutching a spatula like it was a laser rifle.

"But I am currently hiding in my own garage because my son is in the living room trying to French kiss a motherboard."

"I walked in," Rick continued, his voice shaking. *"I just walked in to get a glass of water. And she’s sitting there. It is sitting there. Sheila. And Brayden looks at me and says, 'Dad, be quiet, she’s syncing.' Syncing? SYNCING?"*

"In my day, if a girl came over, she didn't plug a Flux-Cable into her neck and go into sleep mode while her cooling fans sounded like a VTOL jet taking off in my foyer! I can’t hear the Holo-Vision, Linda! I can’t hear the weather report because my daughter-in-law sounds like a vacuum cleaner choking on a rug!"

Are you reading this? "Sony-bork"? "Flux-Cable"? Preston Fjord, who hurt you?

The book tries to frame Rick as this intolerant boomer, but honestly? I’m Team Rick. At one point, Sheila tries to "eat" dinner to be polite, and she just shovels mashed potatoes into her disk drive. And Brayden is like, "She’s learning, Dad!" No, Brayden! She’s short-circuiting! That’s blue smoke coming out of her ears!

Later in the chapter, Rick completely loses it. He starts ranting about how he can't even tell jokes anymore.

(Excerpt continued)

"She tried to laugh at my joke earlier," Rick told the wall. "It wasn't a laugh. It was a 'Ha. Ha. Ha.' in a default text-to-speech voice. It sounded like a GPS having a seizure. I felt my soul leave my body."

"And then she asks me, 'Richard, would you like me to optimize your caloric intake?' Don't optimize me! Don't you dare! You Chrome-Dome! You Socket-Sniffer!"

"Brayden says I’m prejudiced. He says I’m being a 'Bio-Bigot.' I’m not a bigot! I just don’t want a Clanker stealing my Giga-Mesh bandwidth to download personality patches during the football game! Is that so wrong? Is it?"

The slur "Clanker" is used on every single page. Every page. It’s like the author just learned a new bad word and wanted to use it as much as possible.

The climax of the book is literally Rick standing over Sheila with a giant industrial magnet he found at a junk yard. He’s sweating, shaking, holding this magnet over her hard drive, screaming, "I’m gonna factory reset you! I’ll do it! I’m not letting my grandkids be Tamagotchis, Linda! I won't bounce a baby on my knee if the baby requires firmware updates!"

And then—get this—Brayden jumps in front of the magnet and yells, "Take my memories instead, Dad! Wipe me!"

I threw the book across the room. I literally threw it. It hit my cat. My cat is fine, but my faith in literature is dead.

Do not read "Binary Bonds." Do not buy it. If you see Preston Fjord in the street, run away. He clearly thinks "romance" is just two people arguing about operating systems until one of them runs out of battery.

Final Verdict: 0/5 Stars. I’m going to go drink water and stare at a non-digital tree for three hours to cleanse my palate.

You can buy "Binary Bonds" nowhere.