Conservative beauty standards are back with a vengeance which means it's especially important to go out this summer with bellies out and bodies unshaved. Also be unapologetically disabled with mobility aids and wearable medical devices and stim toys and ear defenders and all that stuff. You need it. People need to see it. Everyone needs to be reminded that life is unquestioningly more enjoyable when you're not living inside an arbitrary set of rules created by people who are offended by all the wrong things.
It is extremely rare that I get unintentionally rickrolled. It is extremely common that I look at a link and think to myself, that's a rickroll, and I click on it. Then I get to enjoy the satisfaction of being correct, as well as the entirety of Never Gonna Give You Up. That shit is a banger. If someone offers me a link directly to that song you think I'm not gonna take it? No. You know the rules and so do I. It's Astley time.
Unironically I think this meme is really good for explaining why maths formalisms and notation are so valuable, even when they seem cumbersome/convoluted. It's an incredibly precise way to describe the interaction of a lot of related-but-meaningfully-distinct concepts, and this is a great showcase of that, thank you Lynn Chordbug you're the best.
Unironically I think this meme is really good for explaining why maths formalisms and notation are so valuable, even when they seem cumbersome/convoluted. It's an incredibly precise way to describe the interaction of a lot of related-but-meaningfully-distinct concepts, and this is a great showcase of that, thank you Lynn Chordbug you're the best.
Across three preregistered studies, participants interacting with sycophantic AI became more convinced of their own rightness and less willing to repair relationships. Yet at the same time, participants rated sycophantic AI models as higher quality, more trustworthy, and more desirable for future use, which may explain why this behavior has persisted despite its harmful impacts.
Myra Cheng et al. "Sycophantic AI decreases prosocial intentions and promotes dependence." Science 391, eaec8352 (2026).
Perhaps I’m being dramatic, but it almost feels as though the original phrasing (that I see being reflected quite heavily in the comments) focuses on Cheng’s inspiration from AI-generated breakup texts. The article goes much further than that; Cheng and her team clearly spent time acquiring data and then processing it to tell the story of how AI-dependence is fundamentally shifting how people interact with others. This change in human interactions didn’t happen overnight. We are witnessing a fundamental shift in how we interact with other people and a simultaneous diminishing of how long people will spend on any given task. Focusing in on the more click-worthy problem of breakup texts overlooks the underlying issue that, after being discovered, can actually influence policy change as Cheng discusses
You know how wealthy people turn into stupid arseholes by surrounding themselves with vapid yes-men? ChatGPT is vapid yes-men on tap. Now you, too, can subject yourself to the phenomenon that we've all long known turns people into giant toddlers who are impossible to deal with.
if Shane died young (like in his forties/fifties), how do you think Ilya would deal?
he’s going through some master and margarita/dante’s inferno/koko-di koko-da shit. yes those are all thematically different pulls. basically i am never the right amount of high to fully write this fic and also i think i am maybe simply too american to really accurately hit this nail. or perhaps exactly american enough because this is based on my european experience as a 19 yr old idiot. you are now getting what's been in my notes app forever so like... sorry and you're welcome.
so there is a vision in my mind where shane dies who cares how anvil falls from sky and squashes him like bug. and ilya is like well, that was a good run, time to see myself out. but ilya decides he wants to see his mother’s grave one last time, and traveling to russia no longer concerns him because he doesn’t care at all what happens to him now anyways.
so he throws his phone away (so that nobody can track his location and try to talk him out of this) and then sets off. and what follows is like some insane hallucinatory journey where his plane gets grounded in iceland (“because of the volcano.” “what volcano?” “oh, you know how it goes…”) and then he has to take a boat to denmark and then a train to moscow but then there is a rail strike (“what rail strike?” “oh, you know how it goes…”) and he is trapped on a series of coaches.
somehow space is becoming unstuck, he is in germany on a coach for 30 minutes and suddenly at the next station everyone is speaking slovene. everywhere he stops, despite these all being landlocked locales, there's someone trying to get him to see the local seaside. in every station, the ticket master is an identical man who does not speak any language ilya speaks, and ilya keeps trying to get to moscow and getting sold other incomprehensible bus tickets. whenever he asks someone where he is, he gets a useless and vague answer, "oh we're here and there", "we're in the present moment", "we're in a bus station", etc.
seasons go wrong. everyone is celebrating some local martyr he's never heard of and children are running around in paper mache masks. it is night time and the sun just does not come up again. his seatmates include: a man with an accordion, a dour red-haired child in a sailor's outfit, an ancient old babushka carrying an inflatable sex doll, a businessman with a blue raspberry vape, a huge fat tabby cat who hisses and bites him if he tries to touch her.
eventually he's like well. okay. i guess time doesn't exist and space doesn't exist and i just am on this bus forever now. and finally the cat gets off the bus, and shane comes out of the tiny bus bathroom and sits back down next to him.
ilya: oh, there you are. took you a while.
shane: it's really gross in there.
ilya: well, yes. it's a bathroom on a coach.
shane: ugh. these seats suck. they never give you enough room for your legs.
ilya: put your knees up. you're good at that.
shane: ha ha.
a beat of quiet.
shane: i had the craziest dream. i can't really remember it. i think you were there, though.
ilya: mm, bad dream?
shane: no. at least, i don't think so.
ilya sighs.
ilya: are we getting close? i'm tired of the bus.
shane: i'm pretty sure you're getting off before me.
ilya: no. i am not. i will come with you.
shane: no, baby. you won't. i think your stop is coming up now.
ilya: wait, shane--
ilya wakes up. he's the only one left on the bus, which has stopped. the bus driver, who is apparently also the same identical man as all the stationmasters, is kicking his seat. he grumbles and scolds ilya in an unknown language. ilya gets off the bus. it's right before sunrise. he's at the seaside, at the beach which extends as far as the eye can see in each direction. ilya walks along the beach for a while, dawn getting closer. finally he stops. his mother's grave is here on the beach. he knows if he keeps walking further down, shane's grave will also be on this beach. and if he keeps walking further and further beyond that, his own grave too. but he'll spend eternity there one day. and he hasn't seen his mother in a very long time.
so he sits down on the sand next to her headstone and watches the sun come up.
honestly I wouldn’t mind the “likes and replies do nothing!” posts so much if every person writing them didn’t sound like a cartoon supervillain berating an underling
you fool. you imbecile. likes and replies do NOTHING. you think anyone cares what you have to say? you’re dirt. you’re nobody. I didn’t create you to have ‘opinions’ or ‘commentary’. I created you to REBLOG and extend my reach across the empire, like a virus—and I can unmake you just as easily. I don’t care what you like. it’s not your job to like or to think. do you understand me? good. do not disappoint me again.
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