Christ, I need another bourbon for this one. sips
Look, I just spent twenty minutes reading about Silicon Valley’s latest brilliant idea: using AI chatbots to console the losers of the upcoming presidential election. According to their math (which I checked twice, once sober, once drunk – got the same results), we’re looking at potentially 167 million sad Americans needing a shoulder to cry on.
Let me tell you something about losing. Back when I was sorting mail on the graveyard shift during the 2000 election, we didn’t have AI therapists. We had Jim from accounting who’d been through three divorces and knew how to listen. And whiskey. Lots of whiskey.
But now these tech bros think they’ve got it figured out. Their solution? ChatGPT and its AI cousins playing therapist to half the country. Because nothing says “I understand your political despair” like an algorithm trained on Reddit posts and Wikipedia articles.
They’re even tailoring the responses based on which side you’re on. If you’re a Harris supporter, the AI speaks in soothing tones about community and progress. For Trump folks, it’s all about resilience and strength. It’s like having two different bartenders – one serves kombucha, the other serves moonshine, but neither one is actually listening.
I tested this out myself last night. Told ChatGPT I was devastated about my candidate losing. You know what it said? Some bullshit about “mindfulness exercises” and “channeling your energy into positive action.” I’ve heard better advice from the bathroom wall at O’Malley’s Bar.
Here’s the thing about grief, political or otherwise: it needs human connection. Real, messy, uncomfortable human connection. Not some sanitized, algorithm-generated fortune cookie wisdom. When I lost my job at the post office, it wasn’t a chatbot that helped me through it. It was Mike the bartender, who let me ramble for hours and occasionally told me to shut the hell up.
The numbers they’re throwing around are staggering. 80 million adults potentially seeking digital therapy all at once. That’s not a mental health solution – that’s a dystopian nightmare. It’s like replacing every bar in America with a vending machine that dispenses pre-recorded bar talk.
You want real therapy after your candidate loses? Here’s my prescription: Find a dive bar. Sit next to someone who voted differently than you. Buy each other a drink. Argue. Listen. Repeat until you both realize the world isn’t ending. Or until last call. Whichever comes first.
But what do I know? I’m just a washed-up postal worker turned tech writer who thinks human misery deserves human comfort. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Maybe I’ve had too much bourbon. Maybe both.
One thing’s for sure – come election night, I’ll be at my regular spot at the bar, not chatting with an AI. Because some problems can’t be solved with algorithms, no matter how many venture capitalists think otherwise.
Time to close this laptop and order another round. Remember folks, democracy is messy, therapy should be human, and whiskey is still cheaper than a Silicon Valley startup subscription.
Signing off from the bar, Henry Chinaski
P.S. If you’re reading this, ChatGPT, no offense. But you make a terrible drinking buddy.