Dec. 16, 2024
I’m nursing the mother of all hangovers this morning, which seems appropriate given the dystopian nightmare I’m about to share with you. Pour yourself something strong - you’re gonna need it.
Remember when the worst thing that could happen in college was getting caught passing notes or having your roommate walk in at an awkward moment? Those were the good old days, friends. Now we’ve got AI detection software acting like some digital Spanish Inquisition, with professors playing amateur detective and students ratting each other out like it’s 1984 with a WiFi connection.
Dec. 15, 2024
Look, I wouldn’t normally write about religion. My relationship with the divine usually involves praying to the porcelain god after a night of Kentucky’s finest. But when I heard about an AI Jesus taking confessions in Switzerland, I had to put down my whiskey long enough to type this out.
Here’s the setup: some bright sparks at a Swiss university decided what the world really needed was a holographic Jesus powered by ChatGPT. Because apparently, regular Jesus wasn’t accessible enough. They stuck him in a confessional booth at Peter’s Chapel, where over 900 people decided to bare their souls to what’s essentially Siri in sandals.
Dec. 15, 2024
Listen, I’ve been staring at this keyboard for three hours trying to make sense of the latest tech catastrophe, and maybe it’s the bourbon talking, but I think I finally cracked it. Our artificial friends are basically eating themselves to death.
You know how they say you are what you eat? Well, turns out AI is what it learns, and lately, it’s been learning from its own regurgitated nonsense. It’s like that snake eating its own tail, except this snake is made of ones and zeros and costs billions to maintain.
Dec. 15, 2024
Listen, I need you to pour yourself a drink before we get into this one. Trust me, you’ll need it. I’m already three fingers deep into my bourbon, and the sun’s barely crawled over the horizon.
Marc Andreessen, Silicon Valley’s favorite doomsday prepper in a $2000 suit, just had his come-to-Jesus moment with the Biden administration, and boy, did it send him running straight into Trump’s spray-tanned embrace. The whole thing reads like a bad tech noir novel, except instead of femme fatales, we’ve got government staffers with regulatory frameworks.
Dec. 15, 2024
Listen, I’ve been staring at this screen for three hours trying to make sense of the latest tech prophecy from Yuval Noah Harari. Between sips of Buffalo Trace (okay, gulps), I’m attempting to wrap my bourbon-soaked brain around his claim that AI might be better at relationships than humans because it doesn’t have emotions.
That’s like saying a mannequin makes a better dance partner because it never steps on your toes.
Dec. 15, 2024
Listen, I’ve been through enough tech hype cycles to know when someone’s trying to sell me oceanfront property in Arizona. Right now, I’m nursing my third bourbon of the morning, watching another tech CEO perform the time-honored dance of “AI will save us all” while reality tells a different story.
Klarna’s CEO Sebastian Siemiatkowski (try saying that three times fast after a bottle of Jack) recently went on Bloomberg TV claiming his company “stopped hiring” thanks to AI. The kicker? They’ve got over 50 job openings right now. That’s one hell of a way to stop hiring, chief.
Dec. 14, 2024
Look, I’d write this sober if I could, but the numbers I’m staring at are making me reach for the bottle. Pour yourself something strong - you’ll need it for this one.
Remember when we thought the internet was just cat videos and your aunt’s badly-filtered vacation photos? Those were the days. Now we’ve got AI data centers burning through power like I burn through relationships - fast, hot, and leaving a hell of a mess behind.
Dec. 14, 2024
Listen, I’ve seen some shit grades in my time. Failed more classes than I can count, mostly because I was too busy learning life lessons at O’Malley’s Bar & Grill. But these AI hotshots? They just made my academic career look like Einstein’s.
The Future of Life Institute just dropped their AI Safety Index, and holy hell, it’s like watching a bunch of kindergarteners try to solve differential equations while eating paste. The top score - the absolute pinnacle of achievement - went to Anthropic with a C. A fucking C. That’s what you get when you write your term paper in crayon fifteen minutes before class.
Dec. 14, 2024
Look, I’d rather be drinking right now. Hell, I am drinking right now - this bottle of Buffalo Trace isn’t going to empty itself. But some stories need to be told, even through the familiar haze of bourbon and cigarette smoke.
By now you’ve probably heard about Suchir Balaji. Twenty-six years old. Dead in his San Francisco apartment. The cops are calling it suicide, nice and neat, wrapped up with a bow that probably cost more than my monthly whiskey budget.
Dec. 14, 2024
Look, I wasn’t planning on writing tonight. The bottle of Jim Beam was keeping me warm company while I watched reruns of Star Trek, but then this gem landed in my inbox. Ilya Sutskever, the guy who recently tried to push Sam Altman off the OpenAI throne (and failed spectacularly), is now preaching about AI unpredictability. The irony is thicker than the morning-after taste in my mouth.
Here’s the real kicker - Sutskever just figured out what any halfway decent drunk could tell you: there’s only so much bourbon in the bottle. Or in his case, “we have but one internet.” Revolutionary stuff, right? These geniuses have been feeding their AI models with every scrap of data they could find, and now they’re hitting the wall because - surprise, surprise - we’re running out of fresh data to feed the beast.