AI Thinks Your Kids Are Junkies, Hoodlums, and a Waste of Oxygen

Alright, you pixel-pushing, data-drunk degenerates, gather ‘round. It’s Wednesday morning, I’ve got a half-empty bottle of Old Crow on the desk, and my head feels like a bunch of orcs are using it for a soccer ball. But, like a goddamn digital salmon swimming upstream, I’m here to deliver the tech gospel.

So, some eggheads over at the University of Washington decided to poke the digital bear, namely those fancy AI language models we keep hearing about. They fed these things some sentences about teenagers, you know, those moody, phone-addicted creatures that supposedly represent our future.

AI: The New Cockfight, and We're All Just Roosters

Another Wednesday, another hangover. And another bunch of suits in Washington and Beijing playing chicken with our collective future, this time with Artificial Intelligence. You know, that thing that’s supposed to make our lives easier but instead has everyone sweating bullets about Skynet and robot overlords.

This article I stumbled upon, bleary-eyed and nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee this morning - “There can be no winners in a US-China AI arms race” - well, it’s the kind of thing that makes you want to reach for the good stuff, even if it is only 8 am.

OpenAI: From "Saving Humanity" to Sucking Up to Uncle Sam (and Sucking Down All the Juice)

Alright, folks, pour yourself a stiff one. It’s Wednesday, pushing eight in the morning, and already the stench of bullshit is thick enough to choke a horse. Today’s special? OpenAI, the darlings of the AI world, have decided to grease the wheels of democracy with a whole lot more green. How much more, you ask? Try seven times more than last year. That’s right, seven. Like the number of whiskeys I’ll need to get through this without throwing my laptop out the window.

Mind Your Manners, Meat-Sacks - Your Robot Roommate Will Thank You

So, it’s Tuesday morning. 8:16 on the dot, and I’m already three fingers deep into a bottle of something amber and flammable. Just another day at the office, you know? Except the office is my dimly lit apartment, and my coworkers are the dust motes dancing in the sliver of sunlight that’s managed to sneak past my blackout curtains. But hey, at least they don’t judge my breakfast choices.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, AI. Apparently, we’re supposed to be polite to the damn things now. Seems like every other day, there’s a new article popping up, telling us how to behave around our future robot overlords. This one I stumbled upon, “Be Polite To AI. Your Future Self Will Thank You,” really got my gears grinding, and not in a good way. Like a rusty engine sputtering on cheap gas, that’s how my brain feels most mornings.

Letting AI Pay Rent: A Brain's Gotta Earn Its Keep

Alright, you digital junkies and code monkeys, pull up a stool. It’s Monday, 7:30 in the goddamn morning, and my head feels like a bunch of monkeys are playing bongos in there. But even through this fog, I can see the latest absurdity coming out of the AI hype machine. This time, it’s this Forbes piece about not letting generative AI live in your head rent-free.

Yeah, you heard that right. Apparently, some folks are so enamored with these glorified chatbots that they’re letting them squat in their skulls, rearranging the furniture, and not even chipping in for utilities.

Metal Men and Plastic Pals: The Robotic Apocalypse That Might Not Suck (Completely)

Alright, you fleshy bags of mostly water, pull up a chair, grab a drink – whiskey, neat, if you’ve got any sense – and listen up. It’s Monday morning, the sun’s trying to punch its way through my blinds, and my head feels like it’s been used as a piñata at a particularly vicious children’s party. But hey, that’s just another day here at Wasted Wetware, where we stare into the abyss of tomorrow’s tech with the bleary eyes of today’s hangover.

Dotdash Meredith: Special Sauce, Same Old Shit Sandwich

Alright, you goddamn code-monkeys and pixel-pushers, gather ‘round the digital dumpster fire. It’s Sunday afternoon, my head feels like a dropped server rack, and the only thing keeping me going is the faint hope that I can warn at least one of you before the AI overlords turn us all into data points in their quest for world domination. Or, you know, ad revenue.

So, picture this: Dotdash Meredith, these media big shots who own everything from People to Better Homes & Gardens, decide they’re gonna hop into bed with OpenAI. Yeah, the ChatGPT folks. They call it a “strategic partnership.” I call it a goddamn fire sale on human talent. And here’s the punchline: they lay off 143 people. Because, who needs actual writers and editors when you’ve got a soulless algorithm that can churn out content faster than a chain smoker goes through a pack of Luckies?

AI: Are We Screwing Ourselves With Fancy Calculators?

So, it’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m nursing a glass of something strong enough to strip paint, staring at this World Economic Forum report on AI risks. Funny, “World Economic Forum” sounds like the kind of place where they serve drinks in glasses that cost more than my rent, but I digress. Anyway, these suits are finally waking up to what I’ve been saying for years: AI ain’t all sunshine and robot butlers.

College Degrees, AI Overlords, and the Slow Death of the Cubicle Rat

Alright, you data-drunk degenerates, pull up a stool and let’s talk about the end of the world as we know it. Or at least, the end of the world as those college brochures promised it. Seems like our robot overlords are finally getting their act together, and it’s not looking good for those of us who thought a fancy piece of paper was a ticket to the good life.

Some egghead over at some publication I’ve probably been banned from for sending drunken late-night emails to the editor is going on about how “Agentic AI Requires A New Approach To College Planning.” You don’t say. Like we needed another reason to question those student loans.

America-Hating Commies, AI, and Other Fairy Tales for Grown-Ups

Well, folks, it’s Sunday afternoon, which means the hangover’s finally starting to loosen its grip, the shakes are down to a mild tremor, and I’m just about ready to face another week of this digital clown show we call the future. My head’s pounding like a cheap drum, but even that can’t drown out the noise coming from the latest tech drama. It’s the kind of circus that makes you want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and hope the world’s a little less insane when you wake up.