We Wanted R2-D2. We Built Fucking C-3PO.
We spent decades imagining artificial intelligence as R2-D2: the competent little machine that quietly rolls over, plugs into the problem, saves everybody’s ass, and shuts the fuck up. Instead, we built C-3PO, a know-it-all that desperately wants to explain everything. George tried to fucking warn us.
The Algorithm Was Clearly Written by Men
ChatGPT keeps trying to murder the American paragraph. When I finally called it out, the resulting conversation was fucking hilarious, and inadvertently proved that artificial intelligence has mastered another distinctly human skill: admitting you’re right without ever actually apologizing.
Artificial Intelligence, My Ass
I spent forty-five minutes arguing with an artificial intelligence about my writing, only to discover that the thing computers have been good at for eighty years, counting characters, was apparently too much to ask. If I wanted confidently wrong answers, I already know plenty of humans.
AI Is a Tool
Artificial intelligence is a tool. A useful tool. A powerful tool. But like every tool, it has limitations. Mine seems particularly determined to turn me into a hairy biker named Randy, plaster motivational slogans on everything, and lecture me about conflict resolution every time I suggest solving a problem with a gun. A love letter, a rant, and a public roasting of AI, all rolled into one.
Bromide Guy: Fools Who Use AI Foolishly
Clueless people aren’t new. They’ve always been here — people who can’t contextualize information but march forward with absolute confidence. The latest? A would-be dieter who wound up hospitalized after sprinkling pool chemicals on his food. Inspired by AI, powered by sodium bromide, and fueled by human stupidity.