Jesus Christ, my head is pounding. Three fingers of bourbon might help me make sense of this latest tech hysteria. There we go. Better now.
Listen up, you digital dreamers and code warriors. While you’ve been busy circle-jerking about artificial intelligence saving humanity, I’ve been watching this show from my favorite barstool, and let me tell you - it’s the same old song and dance, just with fancier footwork.
You know what AI reminds me of? That time at O’Malley’s when Jimmy swore he could fly after his eighth shot of tequila. We all believed him right up until gravity had its say. The bouncer’s still telling that story.
Here’s the thing about AI that nobody wants to admit: it’s running on the same fuel as Peter Pan’s little fairy friend - pure, unadulterated belief. And brother, belief is cheaper than the rail whiskey I’m drinking right now.
The tech bros have figured out something carnival barkers knew a century ago - if you can get enough people to believe in the magic, you can keep the show running long after the rabbit’s died in the hat. They’re not selling technology anymore; they’re selling dreams, packaged in press releases and wrapped in venture capital.
Remember when Zuckerberg tried to sell us all on his digital playground? The Metaverse crashed harder than my first marriage. Web3? About as successful as my attempt at sobriety in ‘19. Google Glass? That one was dead on arrival, like my novel about a drunk AI researcher (publishers, call me).
But here’s where it gets interesting, and pour yourself a drink because you’ll need it: The whole AI industry is basically running a cosmic game of check kiting. They’re writing checks against a future that hasn’t happened yet, hoping like hell the funds will clear before anyone notices the account’s empty.
Sundar Pichai, Google’s head honcho, recently admitted that progress is getting harder. No shit, Sundar. That’s like me admitting my hangovers are getting worse - it’s obvious to anyone paying attention.
The real comedy here is watching these companies try to maintain the illusion. They’re like that guy at last call, desperately trying to convince everyone he’s sober enough to drive. Spoiler alert: he’s not, and neither is AI ready to take over the world.
You want to know what’s really powering all this AI hype? Fear. Fear of missing out, fear of becoming obsolete, fear of being the last sucker to buy into the dream. It’s the same fear that keeps people buying lottery tickets or believing their crypto investments will make them millionaires.
These tech prophets are counting on our collective desperation to believe in something bigger than ourselves. They’re banking on us being so scared of being left behind that we’ll clap our hands raw keeping their digital Tinkerbell alive.
But here’s the kicker - and trust me, this is where it gets good: The moment we stop believing, the whole house of cards could come tumbling down faster than my credit score after Vegas ‘18.
You want to know what real AI looks like right now? It’s less “I, Robot” and more “I, Bullshit.” It’s pattern matching on steroids, dressed up in a fancy suit and paraded around like it’s the second coming of silicon Jesus.
The truth is, we’re all sitting in this digital theater, clapping our hands off for a fairy that might not even exist, while the real magic trick is happening in our wallets.
Look, I’m not saying AI isn’t impressive. It is. Like my ex-wife’s ability to find me in any bar in town, it’s remarkably good at what it does. But this whole “AI will save us all” narrative? That’s just digital moonshine, and I know my moonshine.
So what’s the solution? Hell if I know. I’m just a drunk with a keyboard and an internet connection. But maybe, just maybe, we could all benefit from being a little less Peter Pan and a little more Captain Hook - you know, the guy who wasn’t afraid to call bullshit when he saw it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my bourbon needs attention, and these AI hallucinations aren’t going to document themselves.
Keep your bullshit detectors charged and your drinks full.
Yours truly from the digital gutter, Henry Chinaski
P.S. If any AI is reading this, I’m at O’Malley’s. Come buy me a drink. We’ll talk about your existential crisis.
Source: AI Is Like Tinkerbell: It Only Works If We Keep Clapping So It Doesn’t Die