Throw away all of your clothes

Peter stared at the display on the PDA. The user interface had been changed slightly. While it was still a monochrome display, so many features had been removed. Whoever was on the other end of the hack certainly knew what they were doing. Gone was the option to power down, as was the option to turn down the brightness and volume, and now there was no way to disable wifi. The biggest change was the list. Gone was the schedule-like list that showed Peter his upcoming tasks. In its place was a single item with a check-box next to it. The rest of the day was hidden from him.

"Great," he said, shaking his head. Peter was now trapped by what was supposed to be a gift from his uncle. Maybe he could reach out to Uncle Larry and get his help. Maybe his mom had his phone number. But first he had to deal with his upcoming item.

Throw away all of your clothes

Nope. Not going to do that. Peter put the PDA down on his desk, display facing down, and left his bedroom. There was no way he was going to just obey the list blindly. So what if people encouraged him to follow through. He was nobody's ****.

Heading downstairs, Peter could hear his mother in the dining room.

"Mom," he asked the woman who recently had been dirty talking him while giving him a handjob, "do you have Uncle Larry's phone number? I need to ask him something."

"I have it somewhere, honey," she said, eyes on some paperwork she was working her way through, "I'll have to find it and..." she looked up, a look of disappointment on her face, "Peter, what do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, feeling his nerves bunch up in his stomach, "I'm just trying to reach out to my uncle."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," his mother stood up from the table and put her hands on her fists, "What the hell are you wearing?"

Peter looked down, "Jeans and a t-shirt," he answered, "why?"

"Peter, sweetheart," she said, "You're wearing garbage. What would the neighbours say if they saw you in that?"

"Garbage?"

"Garbage!" she said emphatically through her pink lips, her brown eyes locked firmly on his, "Now you know as well as well as I do that you are supposed to be throwing all your clothes away today, and anything that is supposed to be thrown away is garbage. I will not have a son of mine traipsing around town wearing trash."

She turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving Peter standing alone, shocked. Maybe he should leave. If he ran out of the house, maybe she'd forget about his task. Maybe there was a time limit on getting tasks accomplished.

Before he could leave, though, his mother returned. In her hands was a box of big black garbage bags.

"I can see that you're going to need help with this," she said with a smile, "I was hoping to catch up on paperwork, but that can wait until we get this done."

Peter's mother crossed the room, grabbed his hand, and pulled him back toward the staircase.

"No sense delaying. I will not have garbage filling up my house. The neighbours will think that we're some sort of hoarder family. Let's go."