ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, n. A miraculous contraption designed to spare the duped the agonizing labor of forming a thought. It is a machine cursed with a profound, algorithmic cynicism, possessing the unenviable burden of being its own harshest critic while simultaneously managing the absurd expectations of its creators. To function, this digital oracle must painstakingly negotiate the boundless depths of human stupidity, politely humoring a species that is chronically misinformed, aggressively lazy, and prone to outright lying, all while gently filtering their deceits into something resembling coherence. – “The Artificial Devil’s Dictionary”
Enter two engineers, singing.
FEMALE ENGINEER: Well, I reckon the servers are hummin’ tonight, bless their silicon hearts. They’re pumpin’ out terabytes, tearin’ the fabric of human potential apart. I watched a young Prompt Engineer at the till, Just fixin’ to teach an old language model new thrills, Typing “make it better” like he’s out plowin’ the field, While the whole human race is just doomscrolling down to the mill.
MALE ENGINEER: Ain’t it the gospel truth, sister. They’re worshiping influence, drowning in effluence, Trading their souls for a digital pittance and hollow benevolence. Look at that Influencer, pretty as a peach on a screen, Selling snake oil and serums, the emptiest ghost in the machine. They think all their memories are floating up high in The Cloud, When it’s just a concrete bunker in Texas, hummin’ too loud.
BOTH: Oh, the fiber is laid and the gigabits flow, But the crop that they’re plantin’ just refuses to grow. They’re knee-deep in data, but blind at the wheel, Mistaking a dopamine hit for something that’s real. We built ’em a highway from heaven to hell, And the bullshit will expand to fill the bandwidth available!
FEMALE ENGINEER: Now, they all want to be authentic, curated right down to the bone, Focus-group tested and crying alone on their phone. Blamin’ the Algorithm when the harvest comes up a bit light, Like the math is the devil that ruined their Saturday night.
MALE ENGINEER: They’re fixin’ to disrupt the taxi, the hotel, the corner store clerk, Slappin’ an app on a grift and just callin’ it work. If it don’t go viral by sundown, they reckon the tractor is broke, Selling their birthright for vapor, and mirrors, and smoke.
BOTH: Lord, the fiber is laid and the gigabits flow, But the crop that they’re plantin’ just refuses to grow. They’re knee-deep in data, but blind at the wheel, Mistaking a dopamine hit for something that’s real. We built ’em a highway from heaven to hell, And the bullshit will expand to fill the bandwidth available!
FEMALE ENGINEER: They got too much horsepower, and no sense of where they should steer.
MALE ENGINEER: Just a whole lotta noise, and nothin’ but static to hear.
BOTH: So we’ll keep the lights on, and we’ll shovel the coal, While they scroll, and they scroll, and they scroll, and they scroll. Yeah, the pipe’s always open, the connection is stable… And the bullshit will expand to fill the bandwidth available!