"It's pretty simple," She replied, showing me a variety of glossy eight by ten white-papers. "We implant the worm at the base of your skull. It takes over your mind, and you go unconscious. Three months later, we remove it."
"Why would I want that?"
"Oh, it pays bills regularly, saves up money, exercises a lot, does chores, gets dental work, has uncomfortable but necessary personal conversations, and so forth. It does all the things that you don't want to do, but want to get done. When you wake up, you'll have no memory of it, but you'll have improved your life tremendously."
"Isn't that just a little bit creepy and horrifying?" I had to ask.
"Oh. Oh no," she said, blanching, "I hadn't thought about that. You're totally right. Now that I think about it, it's really weird and monstrous. I think I need to stop now. Big mistake on my part. Look, uh, sorry, and thanks for pointing that out."
She closed down the shop, for good, within ten minutes.