Listen, I’ve been staring at this story for three days straight through the bottom of various whiskey bottles, and it just keeps getting darker. Not the whiskey - though that too - but this whole OpenAI situation. Pour yourself something strong, because you’re gonna need it.
Remember when AI was just about teaching robots to play chess and write shitty poetry? Those were simpler times. Now we’ve got dead whistleblowers, billion-dollar lawsuits, and enough corporate backstabbing to make Game of Thrones look like Sesame Street.
Let’s start with the elephant corpse in the room: Suchir Balaji. Twenty-six years old. Dead. Found in his San Francisco apartment right after blowing the whistle on OpenAI’s data practices. They’re calling it suicide, which is about as convincing as my ex-wife’s “headache” excuses. The kid had the balls to stand up and say, “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t be stealing everyone’s copyrighted shit to train our AI,” and now he’s taking the longest nap of all.
You know what really burns my bourbon? This whole “beneficial AI” smokescreen. OpenAI started as a nonprofit dedicated to saving humanity from evil robots or whatever. Now they’re getting sued by every newspaper this side of the Mississippi for essentially copying their homework without permission. The New York Times, The Intercept, Chicago Tribune - they’re all lining up to take their shot at Sam Altman’s digital empire.
And speaking of Altman - there’s a guy who could sell ice to an Eskimo during a blizzard. He managed to turn a nonprofit into his personal money printer faster than I can turn a paycheck into bar tabs. But here’s where it gets spicy: Elon Musk, that attention-seeking missile with a Twitter addiction, is now suing OpenAI because they’re too profit-hungry. That’s like Keith Richards telling you to lay off the drugs.
The real comedy show is watching all the bigwigs jump ship. The list of resignations reads like the credits of a Hollywood blockbuster: Brockman, Sutskever, Murati, McGrew - all gone faster than my last attempt at sobriety. When the people who built the damn thing are running for the exits, maybe it’s time to worry about what’s still inside.
But wait, it gets better. Trump wants to appoint an “AI Czar.” Because if there’s one thing that’ll fix a morally bankrupt tech revolution, it’s putting another morally bankrupt businessman in charge of it. That’s like making me the designated driver - technically possible, but probably not your best move.
The whole thing reminds me of those old monster movies where some scientist creates something they can’t control, except instead of a giant lizard destroying Tokyo, we’ve got AI models potentially stealing every creative work ever made. And just like those movies, everyone’s too busy making money to notice the destruction.
Here’s what keeps me up at night (besides the whiskey): We’re moving faster than our ethics can keep up. While lawyers argue about copyright law, AI keeps learning. While politicians debate regulations, companies keep building. While whistleblowers keep dying… well, you get the picture.
Moore’s Law says technology doubles in power every couple of years. But there’s no law about human wisdom keeping pace. We’re like kids who found their parents’ car keys - sure, we can make the thing go, but do we really know where we’re heading?
The truth is, we’re all screwed. Not because AI is going to become Skynet and kill us all, but because we’re letting the worst aspects of human nature - greed, power, control - drive the future of technology. And nobody seems to care as long as their stock options keep vesting.
You want to know the real kicker? This isn’t even rock bottom. We’re just getting started. The lawsuits, the deaths, the corporate exodus - this is just the pregame show. The real party hasn’t even begun.
So here’s my advice: Keep your eyes open, your bullshit detector charged, and your liquor cabinet well-stocked. Because if you think this story is dark now, just wait until tomorrow’s headlines.
Until next time, this is Henry Chinaski, drinking to forget what I just wrote.
[Posted from my regular corner at O’Malley’s, where the only thing artificial is the cherry in my Manhattan]