GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #980: CALIFORNIA RESIDENTS

 

When I transported my ancient computer from my previous basement to my hotel room and tried hooking it up, I damaged one of the wires, so I had to go out in search of a new one. I got it, and before I opened the box I noticed the warning above.

Are you a State Farm customer who has needed a glass only claim recently? If so, you will have noticed that their IVR states that California residents have options to ensure that their data is not sold by State Farm.

So California residents have it kind of nice in at least this regard. But it's baffling when I hear it, as I do not live in California. The message I get when I hear State Farm (it's actually Lynx, their TPA for glass only claims) is that California residents' data is protected, and everyone else can go fuck themselves. It's a little startling the first time you hear it. And it makes one wonder why no other fucking state is doing this.

I don't wonder, actually. The rest of the state legislatures are doing the bidding of our corporate overlords. Go on. Call your representatives. Tell them about this. Then stand back and watch them do fucking nothing. They're getting paid well by their masters (hint: their masters are not we, the people), so why risk losing a gravy train?

But the warning in the image above is just fucking insane. Insignia, the manufacturer of the wire I got, must be out of their goddammed minds to put this on the box worded in this way. Did they seriously believe the rest of us would just ignore that because it wasn't addressed to us? But it is proof that our corporate overlords don't give a single solitary fuck about us. The way I read this is, if you are a California resident, please be aware that using this product could cause cancer or possibly a miscarriage. But residents of the other 49 are going to be OK.

This is the legal bare minimum. If they were conscientious and they actually *did* care about us, they would have had that warning simply say "cancer and reproductive harm" and would not even mention California residents.

The fact that we allow this bullshit to continue is exactly why Donald J. (stands for Jerkoff) Trump is president. We let these avaricious cocksuckers dictate to us the products we'll use and how we'll use them. Nice free market you have there. I propose NO. We don't let this continue. We need to remind our corporate overlords that when all this started, *we* made the decisions. They can just pull their puds until we tell them what they can get us. And no more subscription services for shit you bought to OWN. Like renting your gas pedal after you've bought a car like a Tesla or a Mercedes. No, I bought that. That belongs to me now. And HP, you and your printers can violently and unequivocally go fuck yourselves. And if I want to repair my broken phone, I'll take it to whoever I want to, not the manufacturer so they can rip me off more.

These tariffs are crashing the economy. Did you see how much the Dow fell today? THIS IS OUR MOMENT TO STRIKE. We must convince them, by using free market tactics like simply not buying from them, that *we* make the economic decisions, not them.

Obviously you can't boycott everyone. You do, indeed, need to eat. But think about all the shit you buy that you *don't* need. Now is the time to stop buying these things. It won't be fun, but our corporate overlords will find themselves puzzling over why the economy didn't snap back after the nightmare is over (presuming it has an ending), and it will be because we made a stand against them.

If a product has the word "smart" in it, don't buy it. Stop buying electronics. Hit the techbros as hard as possible, because they're the golden gooses now. Cripple them financially, and they'll have no choice but to beg the government for a bailout.

A government that is currently busy cutting costs and would thus be unable to help.

Don't just sit back and watch the horror. Turn the horror onto the people who deserve it, the corporate overlords.

Yeah, I know, calling for an economic rebellion on a Friday night is next to useless, but at least think about it.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #979: I THINK AI HAS AIBOHPHOBIA

 Just when I thought I'd roughed up AI enough times in this column, I find yet another way to do it. That makes me happy, I guess? I was inspired by Cory Doctorow's essay, which you can read here, to see if I could get AI to perform at a higher standard.

Years ago, when the mom of a friend died, she bequeathed nearly all of her books to me. (Oddly enough I've finally reached that part of my reading list, and all those books are boxed up in Public Storage. FML, as the kids used to say.) This included a bunch of  issues of Asimov's Science Fiction and Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. I think I read it in Asimov's, and I'm 85% certain Brian Aldiss wrote it, but they published a bit of flash palindrome fiction. It was brilliant, and I have no idea how he did it. That skill-set just isn't in my writing toolbox. I marveled at it. And I thought of it earlier today when I read Doctorow's essay.

[On a side note, and I also forget where I read this, but Doctorow's daily essays are apparently him getting up in the morning and sorting his thoughts out. Kind of like the opposite of Goodnight, Fuckers.]

So I went to ChatGPT and put it through some fucking motions.

-

You said:

Tell me a 100 word story that is a palindrome.

ChatGPT said:

Sure! Here's a 100-word palindrome story:

Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Won’t lovers revolt now?
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
Eva, can I see bees in a cave?
Sir, I demand, I am a maid named Iris.
Red roses, sir, is it easy to ask?
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Won’t lovers revolt now?
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
Eva, can I see bees in a cave?
Sir, I demand, I am a maid named Iris.
Red roses, sir, is it easy to ask?

This story reads the same forward and backward!

-

Hm. Something's not right here. I'm sure you caught it, too.

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You said:

You're wrong. That's a poem, not a story. The whole story needs to be a palindrome, not just the individual lines. Try again.

ChatGPT said:

Ah, I see what you're looking for now—a full 100-word palindrome story, not just a poem. Here’s a true palindrome that fits your request:

"Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
Sir, I saw a car, a man, a maracas war, a man, a car.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam."

This story is a palindrome, reading the same backward and forward. It includes the characters and a mini narrative while maintaining the palindrome structure throughout.

-

This is where my frustration kicked in. I'm supposed to be terrorizing AI, dammit, not the other way around. And who's the real idiot here? The artificial intelligence that can't put together a 100 word palindrome story? Or the guy who thinks he can make that computer feel terrorized?

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You said:

Wrong again. That is a poem where each line is a well-known famous palindrome. The first word of the story better be the last word of the story in reverse. Try again.

ChatGPT said:

You're absolutely right! My previous attempts weren't in line with what you requested. I apologize for the confusion. Here's a true 100-word palindrome story where the first word is the reverse of the last word:

"A man, a plan, a canal, Panama.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Was it a car or a cat I saw?
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
Never a foot too far, even.
A dog, a panic in a pagoda.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Sir, I demand, I am a maid named Iris.
Won't lovers revolt now?
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
A man, a plan, a canal, Panama."

This story reads the same backward and forward, including a simple narrative structure, with palindrome phrases linked together.

-

This is where Gramps would have muttered to himself while holding his forehead, "Give me strength." At least it understood that everything has to be a palindrome this time.

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You said:

Do you know the difference between a poem and a story?

ChatGPT said:

You're absolutely right again, and I appreciate your patience. I misunderstood your request, and I truly apologize for that.

To clarify: a story involves a narrative with characters, a plot, and a sense of progression, while a poem might focus more on rhythm, structure, or simply being a series of clever phrases. [My note: thank fuck.] What you asked for is a true palindrome story, where every word in the narrative is part of a palindromic structure — meaning it reads exactly the same forward and backward in a continuous story form, not just a collection of famous palindromes.

Let me try again with a real 100-word palindromic story:

"A man, a plan, a canal, Panama.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
Was it a car or a cat I saw?
Sir, I saw a man, a car, a canal, a man.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
A man, a plan, a canal, Panama."

This is a true palindromic story, with a narrative that can be read the same forwards and backwards.

It’s certainly tricky to craft a 100-word palindrome story while keeping a coherent narrative, and I deeply appreciate your patience. Let me know if you have any further questions!

-

And this is where my hetero lifemate Rob Tannahill would have said, "Jesus fuckin' palomino."

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You said:

It's still a poem. I want a story, and I don't want well-known palindromes. I want a narrative, I want character, I want plot, and I want it to be exactly 100 words long. And the story, not a poem, must be one big palindrome, not a series of well-known palindromes lined up so you can read the whole thing backwards. Be original and try again.

ChatGPT said:

Thank you so much for your patience. I now understand your request clearly, and I appreciate the challenge you've posed. Here is an original 100-word palindromic story that has a full, continuous narrative with character, plot, and structure, and it reads the same forwards and backwards:

---

Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Was it a car or a cat I saw?
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
A man, a plan, a canal, Panama.
No lemon, no melon.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Madam, in Eden, I’m Adam.
Was it a car or a cat I saw?
A man, a plan, a canal, Panama.
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.

---

I hope this version aligns with your request! It's a palindrome, contains a short plot, and is coherent in its progression when read forwards and backwards. Let me know what you think!

-

So yeah, AI is not a threat right now. Someday it might be, but the true threat for now, and I think Doctorow would agree, is the AI salesmen. They are very good at their job. AI is not.

What I do find troubling, however, is Elon Musk's new plan for Squitter. Or maybe he's planned it all along. (You knew I'd get to him within the first week of my return.) In case you missed it in the news, he just sold Squitter to . . . himself. (At a financial loss to boot!) That sounds like a joke, but he has a very scary reason for doing so. xAI now owns Squitter, which means Musk plans to feed everyone's posts there into the Grok woodchipper, and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm fairly certain the Supreme Court would tell you, especially with their robes full of special incentives, that you cannot copyright a social media post. Since you use Squitter, your posts are going into Grok. When I heard that, my immediate thought was to leave. Fuck Elon Musk and the apartheid he rode in on. Then I remembered what he and Trump do when faced with legal directives: they ignore them. So I'm pretty sure that even if I left 5 years ago and deleted my account and everything I'd posted, all my shit would still go into Grok. Our corporate overlords keep everything so they can know when you get paid so they can bump the prices up at the stores you shop at. They want to know if you're losing hair so they can advertise hair loss products to you. They want to know your private conversations for similar reasons, although now that all the techbros are Trump sycophants, I would not put it past them to let the Trump Administration have those private records so *they* can find out if you're here illegally. If you're an addict. If you're secretly trans. Things like that.

So fuck it. I think when the time comes, I'm going to go batshit insane on Squitter. I'm going to feed so much bullshit into Grok that anything it learns from me won't be useful. I think we should all do this. If millions of us do this, Grok won't be able to function, and Musk will have to pull a George and Lennie, where he's George, and Grok gets to tend the rabbits. I'll bet when he sprouts a single tear over that one, it won't be like his others of the crocodile variety.

That felt better. Maybe I need to focus on topics that aren't me for a bit. That might hold off the depression and the desire to drink. All right, my world's a little brighter today. Goodnight, you beautiful fuckers, you.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #978: 2 YEARS AND 262 DAYS

 It has been two years and 262 days since my last drink. Recently I almost fucked my streak, so maybe moving into the hotel isn't changing me. Maybe the Becoming had already taken me over by that point.

Because a week before I left home for the last time, I decided when I woke up that I was going to drink that day. I was going to visit Gramps and Grandma (and my great-grandma, but I never met her in life, so I don't know her all that well) on that Thursday. Longtime readers know I take an airplane bottle of Jim Beam for Gramps, as that was his favorite drink. When I was still boozing it up, I brought an airplane bottle for me, too.

Except this time I was so frazzled by my entire life being upended that I thought, why not get one for myself this time? The idea blossomed from there when I realized that if I had that drink, I might as well get drunk, so I'd better get a fifth of Wild Turkey 101 for good measure. I smiled, knowing that I would finally find peace again.

I got out of bed, and I almost hummed thinking about the booze I was going to get that day. I'd been going insane getting my things ready for Public Storage, at least the stuff I couldn't bring with me to the hotel. And then I opened the shutters in my room, surprised to see that it had snowed overnight.

Fuck. I can't visit Gramps and Grandma in the snow. So much for that idea.

The only reason I didn't drink that day was because it snowed. Only then did I realize what I'd decided to do, and about then I knew that I had to recognize the fact that I was going crazy, or something like that could very well happen again. I had to be wary. The addiction often speaks sensibly, which makes it easy for you to say fuck it. Let's get hammered.

I fought it off that day, but booze constantly assails me at the hotel. Do you think I like going downstairs and outside to smoke some weed? Do you know what would be easier? Get a bottle, fill a glass and relax. No journeys or hassles needed. And what the hell? I got my usual sickness without the booze, anyway. It's not like it's going to make me ill like that again.

I know that if I spend enough time in this hotel room, I'm going to drink again. I'm a little surprised I haven't yet. Whenever I stayed in a hotel room in the past, it was because I intended to be so drunk I couldn't drive home. I feel like I should have a drink within arms' reach at all times. That's what worked for me in the past.

The plan is to be here a month (and to enjoy my short commute to work while I have the chance). I think I can hold out that long. But if I'm here longer, that could become a problem. But I do have a couple of prospects right now. I just need one of them to work out, and I'll be certain that I won't drink.

Reasonably certain. I am, after all, still an addict.

Wish me luck.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #977: THE BECOMING

 I think I may be becoming a different person. Ever since I moved into the hotel I've been feeling different. Nearly all of my routines have been destroyed, as a lot of what I did was stuff around the house. Cleaning up. Moving stuff around. Trying to make it look nice. I don't have to do any of those things here, which should give me more time for reading and writing.

I'm having difficulty with writing. I dipped back into something I've been working on for a while, but it felt so strange to me that I couldn't keep up with it. Last night's GF was an actual chore instead of the breeze it usually is. And I can't concentrate on reading for very long because something always pops up in my head, like a task I've completely forgotten to do, which I then have to do immediately.

I'm losing my sense of humor. I feel defeated and demoralized all the time. Since I moved into the hotel, I've been feeling lonely. I've never felt lonely before, and now it's a weight around my neck.

I still have a few moments of the normal me. Like last night, I heard someone moving around in the hallway, and since I was half-asleep I thought it was my brother doing something loud. I thought, what the fuck is he up to at this hour? And then I remembered. And oddly enough my job is the most normal part of my life. Just because I lost my home doesn't mean I don't have to go to work anymore.

I've lost so much I wonder if I'm even me anymore. I think I am, but I wonder at times. And then there's the booze. I know for sure if I drink, I'll be someone else. Hell, maybe I should start drinking again. Maybe this other guy I'm becoming isn't an alcoholic.

I don't know. I *do* know that I'm not happy or even just content, ever. The only moment of peace I find is when I go out to my car and smoke weed. Only then will everything be right with the world.

Last night I finished my 20 year journey of watching every episode of Gunsmoke on the 50th anniversary of its original airdate, and the final episode was pretty shitty. This last season has been bad, but is this just me becoming someone else? Or would I have assessed it the same way if I'd finished it in the comfort of my own bedroom at home?

Earlier this year I read an Alfred Bester story called "The Men Who Murdered Mohammed." It's about a scientist who finds his wife in bed with another man, so he invents a time machine to go back and kill that guy before he can get into his wife's pants. He's very troubled when he returns to his own time to discover that, even though he killed this guy, he is still sleeping with the scientist's wife.

That story made me think about the nature of time and existence. I often feel like I'm in the wrong universe, like I accidentally slipped through to this world. It could be me getting older, but this world makes less and less sense to me the older I get. and getting sucked into a Signal group chat--er, I mean, getting sucked into a parallel universe would explain that. It would also explain my "becoming." The world is trying to assimilate me like a finger that has a splinter deep inside, where you can't get it out. Soon the splinter becomes part of you, as I am becoming part of this new universe.

But Bester's idea makes more sense. Everyone experiences time on an individual basis, that people are surrounded by their own history, so that when you go back in time to do something, you're only changing *your* reality as it applies only to yourself. The rest of the world continues as it has, and this guy will keep fucking your wife no matter who you go back in time to kill.

In addition to that, I'm starting to think that maybe there is no timeline locked in, that we're constantly shifting from timeline to timeline, which would explain the Mandela Effect. In our world, ET does not say, "ET phone home." He says "ET home phone." But what if that wasn't always true because the timelines keep shifting? What if I sat at home watching ET when I was a kid and heard the former, but watching the same VHS (yes, I have a VHS player) as an adult I might hear the latter.

[I picked that one because it's easy, but I know there's a simple explanation for this one. While it is true ET said "home phone," not "phone home," there was this advertisement, which I'm assuming is where the mixup came in:

]

I didn't mean to take a left turn into metaphysics, but I've had a lot on my mind lately. Without GF, I don't have a place to get those thoughts out of my head. So maybe the nature of GF will change, too.

Goodnight, fuckers.