Nov. 26, 2024
Christ, my head is pounding. It’s 6 AM, and I’m staring at yet another article about AI and creativity while nursing what might be the worst hangover since New Year’s 2019. The bourbon isn’t helping, but at least it’s making this latest round of techno-optimistic bullshit somewhat digestible.
So here’s the latest: some suit-wearing prophets are claiming AI might hurt creativity if we’re not careful. No shit. You know what else hurts creativity? Sobriety. Trust me on this one.
Nov. 26, 2024
Listen up, you beautiful disasters. It’s 3 AM, and I’ve just finished reading Marc Benioff’s latest sermon while nursing my fourth bourbon of the night. The gospel according to Saint Marc has spoken: ChatGPT was just Jesus juice, but now we’re all supposed to get high on “agents.”
Let me break this down for you through my whiskey-tinted glasses.
Remember last year when everyone was losing their minds over ChatGPT? Corporate suits were practically wet-dreaming about replacing their entire workforce with a chatbot that couldn’t tell its digital ass from its algorithmic elbow. Well, guess what? Benioff - yeah, that guy who runs Salesforce and probably hasn’t had to expense-report a drink since 1999 - just admitted what anyone with half a functioning liver could’ve told you: We all got drunk on the ChatGPT Kool-Aid.
Nov. 25, 2024
Look, I wouldn’t normally start a Monday morning piece this early, but my bourbon-addled brain caught wind of something that sobered me up faster than my landlord’s surprise visits. One of the big AI wizards, Yoshua Bengio - think of him as the Merlin of machine learning - just dropped a truth bomb that’s got me reaching for the bottle again.
Here’s the deal: apparently, there’s a bunch of loaded tech elites who are itching to replace us flesh-and-blood humans with their fancy metal pets. And this isn’t coming from some conspiracy nut at the end of the bar - this is straight from one of the guys who helped birth this whole AI mess.
Nov. 25, 2024
Look, I wasn’t planning on writing this piece today. My head’s still pounding from last night’s philosophical debate with Jack Daniel’s about the meaning of life. But here we are, two years into the ChatGPT circus, and everyone’s either jerking off to AI’s potential or stockpiling canned goods for the robot uprising.
Truth is, both sides are full of shit.
You want to know what keeps me up at night? Besides the whiskey and regrettable life choices? It’s not the fear of AI taking over. It’s the realization that we’re building these things in our own image, and Christ, have you seen us lately?
Nov. 25, 2024
Here I am, three fingers of bourbon deep at 4 AM, trying to make sense of the latest tech bullshit tornado. You know the kind - where every suit with a PowerPoint deck is claiming they’ve discovered digital Jesus in the form of AI.
Remember last year? AI was supposedly bigger than nuclear fusion, the wheel, and free pornography combined. Hell, Microsoft got so worked up they’re trying to restart Three Mile Island. Because nothing says “trust our judgment” like firing up a nuclear disaster site to power your chatbots.
Nov. 24, 2024
Christ, what a time to be alive. I’m nursing my third bourbon of the morning, trying to process the fact that people are now outsourcing their hatred to Etsy witches for less than the price of a decent drink. And you know what? It might be the most honest transaction I’ve seen all year.
For a measly $7.99, you too can hire someone to curse Elon Musk. That’s right - the same platform where you buy hand-knitted coffee cozies and artisanal soap is now offering supernatural vengeance at bargain basement prices. The gig economy has finally reached the occult, and the profit margins must be fantastic - all you need is some cayenne pepper, lavender, and what I assume is an impressive ability to keep a straight face while charging people’s credit cards.
Nov. 24, 2024
Listen, I’d write this sober if I thought it mattered, but after reading Jeff Jarvis’s latest pontifications about the state of the internet, I needed a drink. Or three. Currently nursing my fourth bourbon while trying to make sense of his new book “The Web We Weave.” Spoiler alert: it’s complicated.
Here’s the thing about Jarvis - he’s not wrong, but he’s not entirely right either. Kind of like that bartender who keeps telling you “one more won’t hurt” at 2 AM. You know better, but you want to believe him.
Nov. 24, 2024
Jesus Christ, my head is pounding. Spent last night trying to get Siri to call me an Uber after closing time at O’Malley’s. You know what she did? Tried to FaceTime my ex-wife. At 2 AM. Some things never change, and apparently Siri’s competence is one of them.
Speaking of things that don’t change, Apple just announced they’re working on “LLM Siri” - their groundbreaking attempt to catch up to what everyone else was doing back when I still had a liver that functioned properly. They’re promising this revolutionary upgrade will hit devices sometime in 2026. Yeah, you read that right. 2026. By then, my doctor tells me I’ll either be sober or dead, and I’m betting on the latter.
Nov. 23, 2024
Well, folks, it’s 3 AM, and I’m nursing my fourth bourbon while contemplating whether we’re all just bits in some cosmic computer program. Not the usual existential crisis that hits at this hour, but here we are.
Professor Roman Yampolskiy dropped a mind-bender recently that’s got me questioning everything - and I mean everything. According to him, we’re probably living in a simulation run by superintelligent AI, and the real kicker? We might be able to hack our way out of it.
Nov. 23, 2024
Posted by Henry Chinaski on November 23, 2024
Nursing my third bourbon of the morning, trying to make sense of this new paper from MIT. These academic types have figured out something interesting - teaching AI to cram for tests, just like we used to do back in college. The irony isn’t lost on me.
Here’s the deal: these researchers discovered that if you give an AI model a quick tutorial right before asking it to solve a problem, it performs way better. Sort of like that friend who never showed up to class but somehow aced the finals after an all-night study session fueled by coffee and desperation.