Nov. 18, 2024
Look, I’m nursing my fourth bourbon of the morning – don’t judge, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere – and trying to wrap my pickled brain around this latest piece of news about AI managers. Turns out the machines aren’t just coming for our jobs anymore; they’re coming for our bosses’ jobs too. And honestly? I’m not sure how to feel about that.
Some professor at Wharton (yeah, that fancy-pants business school where they teach people how to maximize shareholder value while minimizing human dignity) spent seven years studying Uber and Lyft drivers who basically answer to an app instead of a flesh-and-blood manager. Seven years. That’s longer than most of my relationships, including the one with my current bottle of Jim Beam.
Nov. 18, 2024
Look, I wouldn’t normally write about this horseshit while nursing the mother of all hangovers, but sometimes the universe hands you comedy gold wrapped in a ribbon of pure absurdity. Pour yourself something strong – you’ll need it for this one.
So here’s the deal: Sam Altman, tech’s favorite poster boy for “responsible AI,” decided to poke the hornet’s nest by asking Elon Musk’s supposedly “anti-woke” chatbot Grok who’d make a better president. And wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing picked Kamala Harris over Trump. I just spat bourbon all over my keyboard laughing.
Nov. 18, 2024
Listen up, you beautiful train wreck of readers. Pour yourself something strong because this one’s a doozy. Our favorite rocket-building, car-launching, social media-destroying billionaire has a new hobby: playing doctor with your medical records. And the best part? People are actually falling for it.
So here’s the deal. Musk, in his infinite wisdom (or perhaps during one of those 3 AM tweet storms that remind me of my own questionable decision-making), asked folks to upload their medical scans to Grok. You know, that AI chatbot that’s basically ChatGPT’s rowdy cousin who got kicked out of community college.
Nov. 18, 2024
Another morning, another hangover, another tech “solution” that makes me want to pour bourbon in my coffee. Today’s topic: AI writing your cover letters. Because apparently, we’ve all collectively decided that the job application process wasn’t soul-crushing enough already.
Look, I get it. Writing cover letters is about as fun as a root canal performed by a drunk dentist. Trust me, I’ve written enough of them to wallpaper my entire apartment, including the bathroom where I spend most of my mornings regretting last night’s decisions. But here’s the thing - using AI to write your cover letters is like using a dating app to write your wedding vows. Sure, it might sound good on paper, but something essential gets lost in translation.
Nov. 18, 2024
Look, I’m three bourbons deep and my hangover’s finally wearing off, which means it’s time to talk about the latest round of corporate fortune-telling about how AI’s gonna save us all. Or kill all our jobs. Same difference, depending on which executive’s LinkedIn post you’re reading.
Some fancy new report just dropped about how AI’s gonna replace full-time careers in 2025. The suits are all excited about it, like kids who just discovered their dad’s liquor cabinet. But here’s what they’re really saying: “Hey wage slaves, we found a way to make you even more disposable!”
Nov. 18, 2024
Listen, I’ve been staring at this screen for three hours trying to make sense of the latest cybersecurity bullshit that landed in my inbox. Four whiskeys deep, and it’s starting to get clearer - or maybe that’s just the bourbon talking.
Here’s the deal: remember when being a criminal required actual skills? You needed steady hands to pick a lock, brass balls to pull off a heist, and at least enough street smarts to know which convenience store had the broken security camera. Those were simpler times, my friends.
Nov. 18, 2024
I’ve read enough bad poetry to fill O’Malley’s dumpster twice over, most of it mine, scrawled on bar napkins somewhere between my third and seventh bourbon. But here’s something that’ll really make you question your life choices: apparently, the average Joe prefers computer-generated verses to human ones. And the worst part? I can’t even blame this on the whiskey - it’s an actual peer-reviewed study.
Some labcoats over at Nature Scientific Reports just dropped this bomb on what’s left of my faith in humanity. They ran this experiment where they had people read poems - some written by humans, others by AI - and wouldn’t you know it, folks couldn’t tell the difference. But here’s where it gets interesting: they actually preferred the robot poetry.
Nov. 18, 2024
Another day, another bourbon, another load of academic bullshit landing in my inbox. This time it’s about how humans and AI are supposedly “coevolving” together like some kind of digital rom-com. I’d laugh if I wasn’t already crying into my Wild Turkey.
Let’s get something straight: evolution took millions of years to turn fish into land-dwellers, but somehow we’re supposed to believe that six months of ChatGPT usage is restructuring human consciousness? Give me a break. And pour me another drink while you’re at it.
Nov. 17, 2024
Listen, I’m three bourbons deep and still trying to find my car keys from last night, but we need to talk about this whole “second brain” nonsense that’s making the rounds. These tech wizards have apparently decided that my regular brain - already pickled in Jim Beam and running on four hours of sleep - needs a digital twin to function properly.
The latest buzz is all about these fancy AI productivity apps that promise to turn your scattered thoughts into some kind of organized masterpiece. It’s like having a digital personal assistant who doesn’t judge you for showing up to meetings with yesterday’s clothes and bourbon breath.
Nov. 17, 2024
Listen, I’ve spent enough time in emergency rooms - both as a patient and killing time between bars - to know that doctors aren’t exactly the infallible gods they pretend to be. But here’s something that’ll make you spill your drink: ChatGPT just spanked a bunch of MDs at their own game, and I’m not talking about golf at the country club.
Let me set this straight while I pour another bourbon: Some docs at Beth Israel Deaconess (fancy name for a hospital, right?) decided to pit ChatGPT against real flesh-and-blood physicians. One guy, Dr. Rodman, thought he knew exactly how it would play out - AI would be the trusty sidekick, like my liver to my drinking habit. Boy, was he wrong.