Jan. 11, 2025
Look, I’d start this piece sober, but it’s already 3 PM and my bourbon’s getting warm. Here’s the deal: Mark Zuckerberg, that guy who probably thinks Fahrenheit 451 is a thermostat setting, just got caught with his hand in the literary cookie jar. And not just any cookie jar – we’re talking about the whole damn bakery.
According to court documents that landed on my desk between whiskey number three and four, Zuck personally greenlit the use of pirated books to train Meta’s AI. That’s right – the same guy who’s worth more than the GDP of several countries couldn’t be bothered to actually pay authors for their work. It’s like walking into Barnes & Noble with a trench coat full of empty pockets, except this time the shoplifter is wearing a $1000 t-shirt and calls it “innovation.”
Jan. 11, 2025
I should’ve known better than to write this with a hangover, but here we are. Last night’s bourbon isn’t mixing well with this morning’s news about how AI is literally making us dumber. And the funny part? It took 666 test subjects to prove what any functioning alcoholic could’ve told you for free.
Let me break this down while I pour my fourth cup of coffee. Some researchers just published a study showing that people who rely heavily on AI tools have worse critical thinking skills than those who don’t. The kicker? It matters more than education. That’s right - your fancy PhD means jack shit compared to how much you let ChatGPT do your thinking for you.
Jan. 11, 2025
Listen, I’ve been around long enough to know a shakedown when I see one. And between pulls of Jim Beam at 3 AM last night, reading about OpenAI’s latest stunt, I couldn’t help but flash back to that time Joey “The Wrench” explained to me how protection money works. Only difference is, Joey had the courtesy to look you in the eye while he was squeezing you.
Let me paint you a picture through my whiskey-tinted glasses: There’s this small Ukrainian company called Triplegangers, seven honest workers doing honest digital work, selling 3D scans of real humans. Think digital mannequins for the cyber age. They’re minding their own business when suddenly - BAM! - OpenAI’s digital goons come knocking, not with baseball bats but with 600+ bot IPs hammering their servers like it’s a game of digital whack-a-mole.
Jan. 9, 2025
Listen, I’ve spent enough time in bars to know that getting people to cooperate is about as easy as convincing my landlord that the rent check is “in the mail.” But at least drunk people eventually figure out how to share the last bottle of bourbon. AI, as it turns out, can’t even manage that basic courtesy.
So here’s the deal: Meta - you know, Facebook’s midlife crisis rebrand - just announced they’re planning to populate their platforms with AI-generated users. Because apparently, the current mess of MLM schemes and your aunt’s conspiracy theories isn’t quite dystopian enough.
Jan. 9, 2025
Look, I didn’t want to write this piece. I was perfectly content nursing my hangover with coffee that tastes like it was filtered through an old sock. But then some genius had to go and build a robot that can shoot guns while taking voice commands from ChatGPT. Because apparently, that’s where we’re at in 2025.
Let me set the scene: Picture a contraption that looks like someone welded together parts from a washing machine, a rifle, and whatever they could steal from a defunct Chuck E. Cheese animatronic. Now imagine this unholy creation being controlled by the same AI that helps teenagers cheat on their homework. Sweet dreams, everyone.
Jan. 9, 2025
Listen, you beautiful bastards. It’s 9 AM, I’m nursing my third cup of coffee laced with whatever bourbon survived last night’s bender, and I just read this fascinating piece about how human writers are supposedly making a comeback in 2025. The irony of writing about this while fighting the urge to puke isn’t lost on me.
Here’s the deal: for years now, we’ve been told that AI was going to replace us ink-stained wretches. Every venture capital dipshit with a PowerPoint deck has been promising that algorithms would make human writers obsolete. Well, guess what? They were wrong. And the best part? They spent billions figuring that out.
Jan. 8, 2025
Look, I didn’t want to write about this today. My head’s pounding from last night’s philosophical discussion with Jack Daniel’s, and the news isn’t making it any better. But here we are, discussing how some Green Beret decided to get ChatGPT to help him turn a Cybertruck into confetti outside Trump Towers.
Remember when the scariest thing about AI was that it might write better poetry than your college girlfriend? Those were the days.
Jan. 8, 2025
Another hangover, another day watching my inbox fill up with AI-generated love letters from robots pretending to be my best friend. Christ, at least the Nigerian Princes had personality. These new digital con artists are like that guy at the bar who went to a Tony Robbins seminar once and won’t shut up about “scaling his authentic self.”
Let me tell you something about authenticity while I pour myself another bourbon. Last week, I got 47 “personalized” emails telling me how much they loved my latest blog post. Problem is, I hadn’t written one in two weeks because I was too busy trying to figure out if my therapist had been replaced by ChatGPT. The jury’s still out on that one.
Jan. 8, 2025
Look, I’d normally be three bourbons deep before tackling another Sam Altman prophecy, but my doctor says I need to cut back. So here I am, disappointingly sober, reading through Sam’s latest blog post about how OpenAI has “figured out” AGI. And buddy, let me tell you - this hangover would’ve been easier to stomach.
You know what this reminds me of? Every guy at my local bar who’s “figured out” how to get rich quick. They’ve got systems, they’ve got plans, they’ve got everything except actual results. But hey, they just need a little more cash to make it happen. Sound familiar?
Jan. 8, 2025
Look, I wasn’t planning on writing today. My head’s still throbbing from last night’s philosophical debate with a bottle of Wild Turkey about whether consciousness is just a cosmic joke. But then I read about our impending digital ascension, and well… somebody’s got to keep the record straight while we’re all busy planning our upload to the great cloud in the sky.
Let me pour another drink before we dive into this mess.