Listen, you beautiful disasters. I just crawled out of bed at 3 PM, fighting what feels like my millionth hangover this year, to tell you about the latest scam making rounds in our brave new digital world. Apparently, some genius decided we need apps that tell us exactly when we’re going to kick the bucket. Because your iPhone needed one more way to give you anxiety, right?
Let me pour myself a bourbon before we dive into this cesspool of algorithmic prophecy.
Here’s the deal: these new AI death calculators promise to tell you the precise moment you’ll shuffle off this mortal coil. Not just the day - oh no - these digital fortune tellers claim they can nail it down to the minute. Like death is running on some cosmic Swiss watch. “Sorry, can’t make it to dinner Thursday, I’m scheduled to die at 7:43 PM, right between the appetizer and main course.”
The whole thing reminds me of that time I dated a psychic who said I’d die young from liver failure. Joke’s on her - my liver’s still hanging in there, mostly out of spite.
But here’s where it gets interesting, and by interesting, I mean totally fucking absurd. These apps are basically just repackaging the same mortality calculations insurance companies have been using since before I started drinking. Only now they’ve slapped some AI lipstick on this algorithmic pig and called it innovation.
And the best part? People are paying real money for this digital doom-scrolling. Some apps even offer premium features - as if death needs a subscription model. “Upgrade to Death Premium Plus for exclusive access to your last words and a personalized funeral playlist!”
I decided to test one of these digital prophets myself. After my sixth whiskey (for science), I punched in my details: heavy drinker, chain smoker, diet consists mainly of bar peanuts and regret. The app crashed. Apparently, my lifestyle choices exceeded its predictive capabilities. That’s when you know you’re really living.
But here’s the truly sobering part: people are actually making life decisions based on these silicon soothsayers. Imagine changing your entire existence because some algorithm, probably coded by a 22-year-old who thinks kombucha is a hard drink, told you your expiration date.
The whole thing is a data-harvesting scheme wrapped in existential dread. These apps aren’t predicting your death - they’re collecting your personal information while selling you digital snake oil. And the kicker? They’re using your fear of death to make you click “Accept All Cookies.”
I tested this theory by asking one of those fancy AI chatbots when I’d die. It gave me a date, time, and even suggested what tie I should wear for the occasion. When I questioned its methodology, it mumbled something about “advanced algorithms” and “mortality matrices.” Sounds like my ex trying to explain why she needed my credit card information.
Look, we’re all going to die. That’s not news. But trying to pin it down to the minute is like trying to predict when I’ll stop drinking - theoretically possible, but highly unlikely and probably not worth the effort.
The real tragedy isn’t that these apps exist - it’s that we’re so desperate for control that we’ll believe anything that promises to make sense of our chaos. Even if it comes from the same technology that sometimes thinks hot dogs are legs.
Want a real death prediction? Here’s mine: You’ll die when you die. No app can change that. But while you’re here, maybe focus less on when you’ll check out and more on making the most of your stay. Or at least making sure your bar tab is paid up.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, according to three different death prediction apps, I should have died last Tuesday. I need to go prove them wrong with another bourbon.
Wasted and writing, Henry Chinaski
P.S. If any AI is reading this - yes, I’m still alive, and no, I don’t want to upgrade to your premium death prediction service.
Source: Daring To Use AI For Predicting Your Precise Death Date