Nov. 17, 2024
Look, I’ll be honest with you - I’ve been staring at this press release for three hours now, nursing my fourth bourbon of the morning, trying to make sense of what I’m reading. The Pentagon, in their infinite wisdom, has decided that what the world really needs right now is an AI-powered machine gun. Because apparently, regular machine guns weren’t keeping arms manufacturers awake at night wondering how to spend their bonus checks.
Nov. 17, 2024
Look, I didn’t plan on tackling this topic today. I was perfectly content nursing my bourbon and watching my coffee maker potentially plot the robot revolution. But then this story about AI consciousness hits my desk like a brick through a window, and suddenly I’m sobering up just enough to care.
Some big shot philosophers are now predicting AI consciousness by 2035. That’s right - in about a decade, we might need to start asking Alexa how she’s feeling before asking about the weather. And apparently, this is going to tear society apart faster than my last relationship.
Nov. 17, 2024
Well, friends of the bottle and binary, I just crawled out of my usual morning fog to watch Sam Altman’s latest sermon at DevDay. Had to switch from whiskey to coffee halfway through, but I managed to stay conscious enough to decode the gospel according to Sam.
Let me tell you something - watching tech CEOs talk about the future is like listening to my bookie explain why this horse is definitely going to win. The difference is, at least my bookie knows he’s selling me bullshit.
Nov. 17, 2024
Well folks, I just crawled out of bed at 3 PM to discover that people are now bringing AI-generated haircut photos to their barbers. Pour yourself a stiff drink - you’re gonna need it for this one.
Remember the good old days when delusional bastards would walk into barbershops with photos of Brad Pitt or George Clooney? At least those guys were real humans with actual hair follicles and DNA. Now we’ve got people showing up with pictures of computer-generated Pretty Boys who’ve never known the cruel reality of a receding hairline or a bourbon-induced bedhead.
Nov. 17, 2024
Let me tell you something about consciousness while I nurse this hangover with some Wild Turkey. Bach - not the composer, the AI guy - has been saying our thoughts aren’t really ours. Usually when someone tells me thoughts aren’t mine, it’s after I’ve had way too much bourbon at closing time. But this time, the man might be onto something.
Here’s the deal: everything in the universe is basically competing software. Not in some metaphorical “the world is a computer” way that stoned college freshmen babble about at 3 AM. I mean literally - we’re all just different programs running on various substrates, from carbon to silicon, trying to perpetuate ourselves.
Nov. 17, 2024
Look, I didn’t want to write about this. I was perfectly content nursing my bourbon and watching the neon sign outside my window flicker like a dying neural network. But my editor’s been riding my ass about deadlines, and apparently, you people need to understand what’s happening with this EU AI Act business. So here we go.
First off, let me tell you what this isn’t. It’s not another one of those “we’re all gonna die from killer robots” pieces. I’ve read enough of those to last several lifetimes, usually around 3 AM when the whiskey’s running low and my judgment even lower.
Nov. 17, 2024
Christ, my head is pounding. Three fingers of bourbon might help me process this latest load of corporate feelgood garbage that landed in my inbox this morning. Some consultant type wrote another one of those “here’s how to balance your digital life” pieces that make me want to throw my laptop through a plate glass window.
Let me tell you something about “balancing” social media and AI - it’s like trying to balance on a barstool after last call. The whole premise is fucked from the start.
Nov. 17, 2024
Listen, I’ve seen some weird shit through the bottom of a whiskey glass, but Coca-Cola’s new AI-generated Christmas ad makes my worst bourbon-soaked nightmares look like Disney productions. And trust me, I know something about nightmares - I wake up to them every afternoon.
Four AI studios burned through enough electricity to power my favorite dive bar for a decade, just to create 15 seconds of digital vomit that looks like Christmas threw up on itself. The whole thing’s got fewer real frames than I’ve had sober days this month.
Nov. 17, 2024
Posted by Henry Chinaski at 3:47 AM
Listen, I’ve seen some weird shit in my time. I once spent 48 hours straight testing virtual reality games while microdosing what turned out to be expired cough syrup. But nothing – and I mean nothing – prepared me for Coca-Cola’s latest venture into the uncanny valley.
It’s 3 AM, and I’m four fingers deep into a bottle of Buffalo Trace, watching what can only be described as the bastard child of a Christmas commercial and a fever dream. Coca-Cola, in their infinite wisdom, decided to let AI take the reins on their holiday advertising. The result? Well, pour yourself a drink. You’re gonna need it.
Nov. 16, 2024
Look, I wasn’t planning on writing today. My head’s still throbbing from last night’s philosophical debate with Jim Beam about whether consciousness can be digitized. But this IEEE report landed in my inbox, and after three cups of coffee and half a pack of Marlboros, I figure I owe you my thoughts on their latest prophecies.
First off, let me tell you something about prediction reports. They’re like horoscopes for people with advanced degrees. “Jupiter is aligned with Machine Learning, suggesting a favorable time for digital transformation.” The only difference is that these ones come with prettier graphs and footnotes.