My casino has new top-of-the-line technology to stop heists: a montage detector. If those bastards want to break in and steal my money, they’re doing it as part of one, long take
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@owlphallacies
My casino has new top-of-the-line technology to stop heists: a montage detector. If those bastards want to break in and steal my money, they’re doing it as part of one, long take
honestly i think im good without that thanks
Try it
every three to five days there's a new big scary AI story and when you look into it it's always that the AI generated a piece of text that closely resembled its training data, but in a new situation because someone put it in a new situation. just the most dog bites man shit of all time. it's been three years
billionaire gets into the most boring special interest of all time and entire population has to pretend it's revolutionary at barely metaphorical gunpoint. I honestly resent every brain cell I've spent on this shit that could have been spent on like 16th century weaving methods
it seems to be taboo to say this even among the very critical but like. AI is the most boring thing to happen in my entire life. like of course it is causing major events that you have to be concerned with in order to protect yourself and be a knowledgeable participant in society but the fact that I have to spend my time, my brain power, knowing things about the statistically likely text machine? unforgivable. can we please have an energy crisis or something so that I have to know the exact inner workings of six different kinds of solar panel instead, please, I need a break, I need to let my brain run around in the field like a sheepdog instead being shackled in the dank grey twilight of the transformer mines
if ten thousand guys can write posts like "of course there are massive externalities, but we must also consider that AI has made life somewhat more convenient for me personally" surely I too can be forgiven for posting that of course there are massive externalities, but we must also consider that AI has made life super boring and annoying for me personally
one must imagine sisyphus bouncing on it and moaning
Unfortunately every time he gets close it slips out and he has to start over
One must imagine Sisyphus edged
in space no one can hear you moan like a girl
Ground control here, we can hear you just fine
(nods sagely) (nods basily) (nods rosemarily) (nods saltly) (nods star anisely)
"Can we please stop falling for shitty rage bait foot fetish cooking videos" should not be a sentence that ever needs to be said, but alas.
Falling for the who and the what now
"You self-identify as a henchman."
You have nothing in your apartment but a yellow davenport, a small fold-out table, and fourteen bottles of Scotch.
You only carry a .32 caliber gun with a white-bone grip because you are a lady and that is a gun for ladies.
You are a blonde who is neither icy nor languid, which makes you unclassifiable.
You are always many steps ahead of the cops, whom you do not respect.
i want all four of these applied to a single character and she will be my favorite
whoops my hand slipped:
My boss always tells me that a thirty-two caliber pistol is no gun for a lady, because it is no gun for anyone. I tell him that it is absolutely a gun for a lady such as myself, because it has polished white bone grips that fit my hand just so. He tells me that he was shot once with a thirty-two, and it did not even slow him down. I tell him that not everyone is lucky enough to be shot in the ear, especially not when I am doing the shooting, and that if the person who shot him had done the job properly, he would not be complaining. We have this conversation at least once a week. If I ever have to shoot my boss, I will not shoot him in the ear, because that is a part of his body he does not use and will not miss if I do shoot him there.
Today we are having this conversation in my apartment. We are at my apartment because the cops are at my boss’s apartment, and they wish very urgently to speak with him. My boss is not at his apartment, because he wishes very urgently to not speak with the cops there, or indeed any cops whatsoever. If the cops knew anything at all about my boss, they would look for him here, but the only things the cops know how to do in this town are take bribes and run protection rackets. At this they are almost as good as my boss.
I am sitting on my davenport, which is a brighter yellow than my hair, but not nearly so pretty. My boss is not sitting on the davenport. He is standing, because even my boss can be a gentleman at times, such as when a lady does not wish to share her davenport, at least if she explains this to him with small words and many gestures, some of which involve a thirty-two caliber pistol. He is also not sitting on my fold-out table, because he would break it, and also because there would be no room for the fourteen bottles of Scotch whisky. My boss is something in the line of an importer of Scotch whisky, which is a very important job in these times, now that the Volstead Act has made it very illegal to make Scotch whisky or indeed any other kind of whisky here. There were sixteen bottles when my boss arrived, but we have been putting this Scotch whisky to the use for which it was intended, namely drinking. There is no other furniture in my apartment, because only a sucker spends the night at her own apartment when she can be spending it in more interesting places, like nightclubs and dance halls and other peoples’ apartments.
As we are having this conversation, a man comes through the door with a gun. I shoot him three times, because he is a heavy for one of the rival mobs in town, and the last time I shot him, I only shot him twice and he was out of the hospital in three weeks. This time by my reckoning he will be in the hospital for at least four weeks and a half, or possibly the morgue. It is a very great nuisance to have our conversation interrupted like this, but it does at least go to show that even the rival mobs here, who are so dumb they think they can compete directly with my boss, are still smarter than the cops.
but ykw at least i'm not on mount everest. at least i'm not paying tens of thousands of dollars to slowly suffocate in a 300-person line at the gates of hell. never in my life will i have to be steered in a hypoxic stupor through the maze of poop and corpses atop mount everest. on this earth a lot of horrible things can happen to you without your permission but there are a few that you have to opt into. you can just say no thanks! and be guaranteed never to have to be on mount everest. much to be grateful for actually
still not on mount everest this morning 😌 alhamdulillah
Fairy tale illustrations by Nadezhda Illarionova
hey friends where is that picture of boromir with the gondor flag except its a pride flag?
Couldn’t find it so I made another because you’re right that it’s a crime and it’s definitely my duty to remedy it