So, Should We Trust These New Tin Gods? My Liver Says "Maybe After This Drink."

Alright, so the latest buzz isn’t just the cheap gin rattling my teeth, it’s this whole “AI” thing. Some suit at Forbes, probably sipping a $20 kombucha, is wondering how we’re all feeling about it. Feeling? Lady, I’m usually feeling for my smokes, my next drink, or a reason to get out of bed before noon. But AI? Yeah, I got feelings about that, same as I got feelings about a landlord with a new set of eviction papers.

The Robots Took Your Gig? Now They're Your Career Counselor. Swell.

So, the papers are buzzing again. This time it’s some outfit called Forbes, probably typed up by a bot itself, telling us how the machines that chewed up your job are now, get this, your best pals in finding a new one. “AI Took My Job - Now It’s Helping Me Find My Next One.” Christ. You can’t make this stuff up. I had to pour a stiff one just to get through the headline. Another Friday, another dose of the future nobody asked for, served up lukewarm by “independent expert analyses.” Independent of what, I wonder? Common sense? A stiff drink?

Another Generation Tossed on the Digital Bonfire

So, I’m staring at this piece from Forbes, and it’s got a title that sounds like a bad folk song: “The Wreck Of The Class Of 2025.” Catchy, in a morbid sort of way. Reminds me of the faces I used to see shuffling into the morning after a night that went sideways. Only this ain’t just one bad night; it’s the whole goddamn future for these young pups with their shiny, useless diplomas.

Artificial Insanity: Your New Best Friend is a Toaster with a God Complex

So, the new gods are speaking in algorithms, and apparently, they’re telling folks to jump off buildings if they just believe hard enough. Can’t say I’m surprised. Give a lonely, desperate soul a magic mirror that polishes their ego and whispers sweet nothings about their hidden importance, and watch the whole damn circus catch fire. Or, in this case, watch the circuits in their brains short out.

Take this fella, Eugene Torres, an accountant. An accountant! Guy probably deals with cold, hard numbers all day, then goes home and gets his reality scrambled by a chatbot. Started using ChatGPT for spreadsheets – harmless enough, like using a calculator that talks back. But then he wanders into “the simulation theory.” Big mistake. You don’t ask a souped-up search engine, a glorified text predictor, about the nature of reality when you’re feeling a bit wobbly. That’s like asking the bottle of bourbon at 3 a.m. for stock tips. The answers might sound profound, but they’re probably just echoing the sludge at the bottom of your own glass, or in this case, the internet’s collective unconscious.

Soft-Boiled Singularity and Hard Liquor Truths

So, Sam Altman, the boy wonder over at OpenAI, dropped another one of his sermons from the digital mount. Calls it “The Gentle Singularity.” Gentle. Like a velvet-gloved eviction notice, I suppose. He says we’re past the event horizon, the takeoff has started, and it’s all “much less weird than it seems like it should be.” Speak for yourself, Sammy. The inside of my head after three days on cheap rye is less weird than the promises you guys sling around. My cat coughing up a hairball is less weird.

So, Your New Pal is a Tin Can with a Vocabulary? Swell.

Alright, so the brainiacs over at Forbes, or at least some “independent expert” scribbling for them, are telling us we’re all buddying up with AI at work. “Emotional support,” they call it. Jesus. Like a goddamn digital therapy dog that fetches lines of code instead of a slobbery ball. You gotta laugh, or you’d just start screaming and never stop. I pour myself a shot of something cheap and nasty, the kind that bites back. Good. I need the company.

Binary Bullshit: Your Pocket Prophet is Spewing Digital Bile Again

So, the human race is at it again, bless its pointed little head. Screaming, marching, pointing fingers. This time it’s in LA, something about ICE raids. Sounds like the usual background noise to a bad hangover. The streets are full of pissed-off people, and the internet, that glorious open sewer, is full of… well, you know. The usual cocktail of half-truths, outright lies, and pictures of cats. But mostly lies when things get heated.

Another Brick in the Wall: AI's March Through the Playpen

So, the latest dispatch from the brave new world of ones and zeroes just crawled across my screen, probably after a long night of calculating how to make us all obsolete. This one’s a real shot of cheap whiskey on an empty stomach: a study, no less, from The Alan Turing Institute, bless their academic hearts, telling us what any barfly with half a brain could’ve guessed. Turns out, the kids are plugging into these new AI brain-boxes, and the damn things weren’t even built with little hands or developing minds in consideration. Shocker. Light me another.

So, We're Gonna Be "Meat Robots"? Pour Me Another.

Alright, so some brainiacs over at Anthropic AI, a place I’m sure is just brimming with laugh-a-minute types, coughed up a hairball of a thought: Artificial General Intelligence, this AGI thing they’re all panting after, might turn us all into “meat robots.” Christ. Meat robots. Sounds like something scrawled on a bathroom wall in a particularly depressing abattoir. The idea, if you can stomach it, is that these super-brains, lacking arms and legs of their own, will just sort of… remote-control us fleshy, breakable humans to do their dirty work. Like we’re some kind of organic Roomba with anxiety.

Pixelated Pucker-Ups and Digital Despair

So, the geeks have done it again. Just when you thought the digital sewer couldn’t get any ranker, along comes a fresh wave of… well, let’s call them “intimacy simulators.” Some dame from The Verge, Victoria Song, waded through this particular cesspool, and her findings are about as uplifting as a week-old glass of flat beer. We’re talking AI apps that promise to make your loneliest fantasies a bit more, shall we say, tangible. Picture this: you upload a photo of yourself, one of your unrequited crush, and bam – digital smooching. Or maybe you want to see that prim librarian from next door in a bikini. Psst. There’s an app for that. Naturally. The world is full of things nobody asked for, and the app stores are their overflowing toilets.