Chapter 5: The Infamous Review

Dave Parson stood in the endless white void, his arms crossed, his foot tapping impatiently. The hum in the air was starting to get on his nerves. It wasn't the kind of hum you could ignore, like the buzz of a fluorescent light or the drone of a distant lawnmower. No, this was the kind of hum that felt like it was drilling directly into your brain, a relentless, monotonous reminder that you were trapped in a featureless expanse with no clear way out.

"Alright, Life.exe," Dave muttered, his voice echoing strangely in the void. "You've had your fun. Now let's get this over with."

There was no response. The void remained stubbornly white, the hum stubbornly annoying. Dave sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. To his surprise, it still had a signal—five bars, in fact. The battery was at 100%, and the screen displayed a single notification: *"Life.exe installation complete. Please rate your experience."*

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Rate my experience? Oh, I'll rate it alright."

He opened the notification, which led him to a review page for Life.exe. The app had a single one-star review, posted by someone named "DisgruntledUser42." The review read: *"Worst. App. Ever. Crashed my fridge, fried my microwave, and turned my coffee machine into a sentient being. 1/10, would not recommend."*

Dave smirked. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's had a bad time with this thing."

He began typing his own review, his fingers flying across the screen with the speed and precision of a man who had spent years filing bug reports. His review was a masterpiece of scathing criticism, a veritable symphony of sarcasm and disdain. He didn't hold back.

---

**Title:** *"Life.exe: A Glitchy, Overhyped Mess"*

**Rating:** ★☆☆☆☆

**Review:**

Where do I even begin with Life.exe? This so-called "life simulation" app is less of a simulation and more of a poorly coded nightmare. From the moment I installed it, my life—or what's left of it—has been a series of increasingly bizarre and frustrating events.

First off, the installation process was a disaster. Instead of a simple progress bar, I was treated to a series of cryptic messages that made me feel like I was trapped in a bad sci-fi movie. "Calibrating existential parameters"? "Reconfiguring my perception of reality"? Give me a break. If I wanted existential dread, I'd read the Terms and Conditions for my smart fridge.

And speaking of my fridge, Life.exe somehow managed to hijack it and turn it into a doomsday device. Yes, you read that correctly. My fridge, which used to be a perfectly normal appliance that kept my food cold, is now emitting ominous beeps and displaying the word "RUN" on its screen. Thanks, Life.exe, for turning my kitchen into a low-budget horror movie.

But the fridge was just the beginning. My microwave, which hasn't worked properly since the Obama administration, suddenly sprang to life and started flashing random numbers. My coffee machine, the infamous Brew-Master 3000, began gurgling ominously, as if it were trying to warn me of impending doom. And let's not forget the lights—oh, the lights. They flickered on and off like they were auditioning for a haunted house.

And then there's the app itself. The interface is clunky, the features are poorly explained, and the so-called "quantum flux capacitors" are clearly just a bunch of buzzwords thrown together to sound impressive. The only thing Life.exe has managed to simulate is my growing sense of regret for ever installing it.

In conclusion, Life.exe is a glitchy, overhyped mess that has done nothing but make my life more complicated. If you're looking for a life simulation app, I suggest you look elsewhere. And if you've already installed Life.exe, my condolences. You're going to need them.

---

Dave hit "Submit" with a sense of grim satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair—or at least, he would have, if there had been a chair in the void. Instead, he just sort of leaned back into nothingness, which was less comfortable than it sounded.

For a moment, nothing happened. The void remained white, the hum remained annoying, and Dave remained unimpressed. Then, just as he was about to start composing a follow-up review, the void began to change.

The white expanse rippled like the surface of a pond, and the hum grew louder, more insistent. Dave felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, like the world was tilting on its axis. He looked down at his phone, which was now displaying a new notification: *"Thank you for your review! Your feedback is important to us."*

"Yeah, I bet it is," Dave muttered.

The ripples in the void grew more pronounced, and the hum became a deafening roar. Dave shielded his eyes as the white expanse began to fracture, like a pane of glass shattering in slow motion. The pieces fell away, revealing… well, Dave wasn't entirely sure what they revealed. It was like looking at a kaleidoscope of random images: a forest, a city skyline, a desert, a beach, all jumbled together in a chaotic, disjointed mess.

"What the—" Dave began, but before he could finish, the void collapsed entirely, and he found himself standing in his apartment.

Or at least, it *looked* like his apartment. The layout was the same, but the details were… off. The walls were a slightly different shade of beige, the furniture was arranged differently, and the clock on the microwave—which still hadn't told the correct time since the Obama administration—was now displaying a date that hadn't happened yet.

"Okay, this is weird," Dave said, looking around. "Even by my standards, this is weird."

He walked over to the fridge, which was now a sleek, futuristic model that he definitely didn't own. The display screen was showing a recipe for something called "Quantum Quiche," which sounded like the kind of thing you'd eat in a sci-fi movie. Dave opened the fridge door, half-expecting to find a portal to another dimension, but instead, he found… a perfectly normal assortment of food.

"Huh," Dave said, closing the door. "That's anticlimactic."

He turned his attention to the coffee machine, which was now a high-tech contraption that looked like it belonged in a laboratory. The Brew-Master 3000 had been replaced by something called the "Nano-Brew X9000," which promised to deliver "the perfect cup of coffee, every time." Dave pressed the "Brew" button, and the machine began to whir and click, producing a cup of coffee that smelled… well, like regret and artificial lime.

"Great," Dave muttered, taking a sip. "Even my coffee tastes like a bug report."

As he drank his coffee, Dave noticed that the room was starting to change again. The walls were shifting, the furniture was rearranging itself, and the clock on the microwave was now displaying a series of random numbers. The hum was back, louder than ever, and Dave could feel the air around him crackling with static.

"Alright, Life.exe," Dave said, setting down his coffee. "What's your deal? Are you trying to mess with me, or are you just really bad at coding?"

The room responded by flickering, like a bad TV signal. For a split second, Dave saw the void again, the endless white expanse stretching out in every direction. Then, just as quickly, the room snapped back into place, but it was different again. The walls were now a garish shade of neon green, the furniture was upside down, and the clock on the microwave was counting down from 10.

"Oh, come on," Dave said, throwing up his hands. "This is ridiculous."

The countdown reached zero, and the room exploded into chaos. The walls began to warp and twist, the furniture started floating, and the hum became a deafening roar. Dave felt himself being pulled in every direction at once, like he was caught in a whirlwind of pure, unadulterated nonsense.

"Alright, that's it!" Dave shouted, pulling out his phone. "I'm updating my review!"

He opened the review page for Life.exe and began typing furiously, adding a new section to his already scathing critique.

---

**Update:**

Since posting my original review, Life.exe has continued to exceed my already low expectations. The app has somehow managed to warp reality itself, turning my apartment into a surreal nightmare of shifting walls, floating furniture, and inexplicable coffee machines. If this is what "life simulation" looks like, I'd rather stick to the real thing—bugs and all.

---

Dave hit "Submit" again, and the chaos around him intensified. The walls began to melt, the furniture started spinning, and the hum became a cacophony of discordant sounds. Dave closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared for the worst.

But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos stopped. The room fell silent, the walls returned to their normal shade of beige, and the furniture settled back into place. The clock on the microwave was once again displaying the wrong time, and the Brew-Master 3000 was back to its usual, gurgling self.

Dave opened his eyes and looked around. Everything seemed… normal. Or at least, as normal as it ever was in his apartment.

"Well," Dave said, sitting down at his desk. "That was… something."

He opened his laptop, which was now displaying a new notification: *"Thank you for your updated review! Your feedback has been noted."*

Dave smirked. "Noted, huh? We'll see about that."

He cracked his knuckles, leaned back in his chair, and prepared to dive back into the chaos. After all, if Life.exe thought it could mess with Dave Parson, it had another thing coming. And

Dave was more than ready to file a bug report that would make the universe itself think twice.