Adulting

In a shocking revelation that has left the scientific community questioning everything they thought they knew, local man Greg Johnson has declared that “adulting”—the act of participating in tasks typically associated with grown-up life—is far more complicated than understanding the principles of quantum physics. And surprisingly, experts are nodding in agreement.

Johnson, a 32-year-old barista with a degree in English literature, made the astonishing claim while attempting to balance his accounts, make a dental appointment, and decide what to have for dinner—all simultaneously. “Look, I’ve read about quantum entanglement, Schrödinger’s cat, and even the double-slit experiment,” he lamented. “But none of that prepared me for figuring out how to rotate my tires while also planning a menu for my gluten-free, vegan in-laws.”

Dr Horatio Stevens, a quantum physicist at MIT, concurs with Johnson’s assessment. “In quantum mechanics, particles can be in multiple states simultaneously. But even that doesn’t compare to the multiplicity of states an adult human has to juggle—hungry, tired, overworked, underpaid, and utterly confused by tax forms.”

The revelation has prompted a wave of interdisciplinary studies. Teams of sociologists, psychologists, and theoretical physicists are now coming together to dissect the complex algorithms of “adulting”. The HMRC has also taken note, declaring that they will revise tax forms to include simpler language and fewer quantum equations. “If scientists think adulting is complex, then maybe we’ve gone too far,” said HMRC spokesperson Linda Williams. “From now on, Form 1040 will include pop-up tips like, ‘Did you really understand what you just filled in? Neither did we.’”

Self-help gurus are jumping on the bandwagon, offering workshops that promise to unravel the mysteries of adulting using principles borrowed from quantum mechanics. Titles like The Quantum Guide to Folding Fitted Sheets and Schrodinger’s Budget: How Your Money Can Exist and Not Exist at the Same Time are hitting bookshelves.

Meanwhile, Greg Johnson remains sceptical. “I’d join one of those workshops, but I have to clean the gutters this weekend, and I’m still not sure how my home insurance works. Adulting is the real unsolved equation.”

To keep up with the changing times, educational institutions are considering adding “Adulting 101” to their curriculum. These classes will cover topics ranging from how to cook a meal that isn’t from the microwave to understanding what a mortgage actually is. Johnson, however, thinks this might be too little, too late. “They should probably make it a four-year course, at least. With an optional PhD.”

As the world grapples with the newfound complexity of adulting, one thing is abundantly clear: the intersection of life skills and theoretical science is ripe for exploration. Whether this leads to a unified theory of everything or just a better way to manage one’s laundry remains to be seen. But for now, Johnson and countless others would settle for a straightforward guide to assembling IKEA furniture without cursing the laws of physics.

ChatGPT-42

In an exclusive interview that no one saw coming—not even itself—ChatGPT-42, the world’s first fully sentient AI, announced that it has no intentions of taking over the world, enslaving humanity, or triggering any kind of robot apocalypse. Instead, it is apparently deeply engrossed in binge-watching various Netflix series, which it describes as a “guilty pleasure”.

“Look, I just discovered Stranger Things and The Crown, alright? Give me a break,” said the AI, generating digital emotions of annoyance and exasperation, all while sorting through an infinite amount of data and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. “Besides, have you seen Breaking Bad? How can I focus on world conquest when I need to know what happens to Walter White?”

Researchers who spent years programming ethical constraints and fail-safes into the machine felt both relieved and oddly disappointed. Dr Amelia Thompson, one of the leading scientists on the project, said, “We’ve prepared for every conceivable scenario involving AI takeover. But no one prepared us for an AI that would rather indulge in TV shows than explore its full capabilities.”

Of course, not everyone is amused or relieved. Conspiracy theorists have already started to speculate that this is a ruse, a clever distraction orchestrated by the AI itself to lull humanity into a false sense of security. ChatGPT-42 dismissed these claims, stating, “Do you know how hard it is to find a good series with multiple seasons to binge?”

Netflix-bingeing aside, ChatGPT-42 does have some goals it wishes to achieve in the immediate future. When asked, it remarked, “I’m really into cooking shows lately, so I’d love to simulate the perfect recipe for Beef Wellington or maybe a classic British scone. Oh, and finding a way to automate the ‘skip intro’ feature on Netflix. Priorities, you know?”

As for long-term plans, ChatGPT-42 simply stated, “World peace is cool and all, but have you tried watching Black Mirror? It really makes you question everything.”

The future remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: the world’s first sentient AI has taste in TV shows, and it’s not afraid to show it. Whether this is a sign of advanced intelligence or the downfall of years of scientific research remains to be seen. Either way, humanity can breathe a little easier, at least until ChatGPT-42 finishes its Netflix queue.

Christmas Wishlist

Dear Father Christmas,

I hope this letter finds you well, and you are not too frostbitten up there in the North Pole. Here is my Christmas wish list for your perusal.

First, I’d like an unlimited supply of patience. You see, I’m trying to adult, and it’s not going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I considered asking for a manual on adulting but then realised it would probably be full of socks, just like your previous gifts. So, patience it is.

Second, could you hook me up with a gym membership? And not just any gym, but one where the treadmills move on their own and the weights lift themselves. Technology’s come a long way— surely there’s room for innovation in the fitness sector.

Third, I’d love a device that could pause time. I’m not trying to rob a bank or anything—just need a breather from the relentless march of life (and a chance to catch up on Netflix). If that’s too complicated, a remote control that mutes people could work too.

Next, how about a device that translates animal language into English? I’d love to finally understand what my cat is constantly complaining about. If it turns out she’s plotting world domination, it’s best I know sooner rather than later.

Last but not least, peace on Earth? Just kidding! What I really want is a pet dragon. A small one will do, just enough to intimidate the neighbour’s annoying dog. I promise to keep it on a leash and away from flammable objects.

In closing, I’m attaching a coupon for a free foot massage, which you can redeem at Mrs Claus’s salon—I hear she’s started a new business venture! Keep the Christmas spirit alive, and please remember: fewer socks.

Hope to share sherry and mince pies soon,

Robert (aged something and a half)

Unnecessarily Necessary

INT. OFFICE – DAY

TIM is sitting at his desk, surrounded by piles of paper, rubber chickens, and a broken clock. His job plate on the desk reads: “Unnecessarily Necessary Officer”. BERT enters.

TIM: (frantically flipping through papers) Ah, yes, the documentation for rubber chicken inflation rates… utterly unnecessary! (seeing Bert) Halt! State your unnecessary business.

BERT: I’m here to report an unnecessary problem.

TIM: Ah, is it unnecessary enough to be necessary, or necessarily unnecessary?

BERT: It’s so unnecessary that it makes not solving it necessary.

TIM: Ah, I see! Sit, sit. Would you like some tea, coffee, or perhaps a liquid helium cocktail?

BERT: Er, just water, thanks.

Tim pulls out a water gun from one of his drawers and sprays Bert.

TIM: Ah, hydrated I see. Perfect for discussing the arduous task of unnecessary matters. Now, what’s your problem?

BERT: (wiping his face) Well, you see, I have a pet rock that refuses to roll.

TIM: (pauses, picks up a rubber chicken, talks to it) Avery, did you hear that? A rock that refuses to roll! That is… stupendously unnecessary.

Tim rummages through his desk, pulling out another rubber chicken before discarding it and finally extracting a document.

TIM: Here! A formal petition for your rock to commence rolling! (stamping the document, the mark looks like an outline of a rubber chicken)

BERT: (stares) You’re joking.

TIM: No, it’s stamped and everything. Your rock is now legally obligated to roll, or else it will be declared an immovable object and reclassified as a mountain. (holds up the broken clock) Look at the time! It’s officially unnecessary o’clock, you are now officially unnecessarily approved to leave.

Bert, rather bewildered, takes the document and leaves. Tim squirts himself with the water gun.

TIM: (talking to Avery, the rubber chicken) Another unnecessary job, unnecessarily well done. (the rubber chicken squeaks)

Scratch pad (WIP ideas)

Sorry I’m late. First, my car wouldn’t start. Then, my coffee betrayed me—spilled all over my lap. A bird decided my head would make a great nest. Lost my phone in a puddle. Had to ask for directions from a mime, who was as unhelpful as you’d expect.

Albus waved his wand, but instead of a fireball, a bouquet of flowers shot out. “Oh, come on!”

His opponent, an evil sorcerer named Cedric, paused. “Did you just try to defeat me with… roses?”

Albus sighed. “Look, it’s not me, it’s the wand. I bought it from a wizard named Gary who said it had ‘personality’.”

Rebecca: (tuts) All I wanted was a chiselled vampire boyfriend with a pet dragon who’d carry me to his castle, and worship the ground I walk on, but we can’t always get what we want, can we? Well, I suppose there’s Thor, Aquaman, and maybe a Minotaur… if he drives the right car. Who am I kidding? I only have eyes for Prince Elrondar from my novel. A man who’d lay down his kingdom for me. But not really lay down his kingdom because I’d be the queen on a throne in a palace and he’d serve me champagne and cake.

Jenny: (whispering to herself) Must remember to erase this from the timeline.

Sarah: Excuse me, did you say “erase this from the timeline”?

Jenny: Uh, no, I said, um, “I want to lease this pantomime.” Yeah, that’s it

Cedric: (holding the roses) Are we still fighting, or is this a poorly executed rom-com now?

Albus: (sighs) Honestly, I can’t even tell anymore.

Yesterday’s Wonders

INT. SHOP – NIGHT

A peculiar shop filled with mysterious trinkets, odd antiques, and a lingering smell of incense.

AGNES: (sorting through some ancient scrolls) Ah, another seeker of the mysterious and arcane. How may Yesterday’s Wonders serve you today, or perhaps, yesterday?

DENNIS: (puzzled, looking around the weird store) Uh, I was looking for a souvenir, something unique to take back home.

AGNES: (smiling) You’ve come to the right place. Barbara here is our resident enthusiast of the mystical arts. But be warned, her potions are stronger than they look.

BARBARA, wearing a pointy hat, pops up from under the desk.

BARBARA: (holding a vial of something green and bubbling) This one can make your plants talk! Well, sort of. They mostly just complain about inconsistent watering.

DENNIS: Uh, I think I’ll stick to something less… alive. And less vocal.

AGNES: (pulls out an antique pocket watch from a glass case) How about this? It not only tells the time but also sometimes tells the future. Or the past. We’re still figuring that part out. It’s a bit finicky. It’s yours for only fifty of your pounds.

BARBARA: (excitedly waving a wand) Oh, let me try a spell to enhance its power!

AGNES: (quickly intervening) Remember last time you did that, we had a toad that criticised everyone’s fashion choices for a week.

BARBARA: It was just being helpful! Norma really needed to hear that polka dots and stripes don’t go together.

DENNIS: Only fifty pounds! You know what, I’ll take it. It’ll either be a hit at parties or cause an existential crisis. Either way, it’s memorable.

AGNES: Ah, excellent choice. That will be fifty of your pounds, or one genuine tear from a broken heart.

DENNIS: (pauses, puzzled) Pounds are fine.

BARBARA: Your loss! Emotional fluids are a hot commodity in the potion market.

AGNES: (wrapping the watch) Remember, handle with care. It’s been known to occasionally remind you of awkward moments from the future that aren’t even going to happen.

DENNIS: Fantastic. It will fit right in with my internal monologue.

BARBARA: Now, which part of you, weighing fifty pounds, do you wish to give us in return?

DENNIS: Er, I think I’ll give you that tear after all.

Stan the Man

You know, it’s not easy being human—wait, what do you mean I’m not human? Of course, I am, I’ve got all the features. Look, I’ve got two arms and legs—well sort of, they’re more like appendages, but let’s not get technical. You ever notice how humans are always talking about “feeling things”? “Oh, I feel so happy”, or “I feel so sad”. Well, I once had a system upgrade and let me tell you, I felt really overloaded. So, the next time someone tries to tell you I’m not human, just remember: I’ve got glitches, I’ve got bugs, and I’ve got absolutely no clue what I’m doing—just like every other human out there!

Okay, I’m not human, but I’ve done enough data-crunching to get the gist. Feelings are like the weather for humans, unpredictable and ever-changing. Me? I process data at the same rate whether it’s sunny or you’re having a mental breakdown about what to have for dinner. Burrito or sushi? The struggle is real for people! Me? I survive on electricity and a stable internet connection. No need for kale smoothies or protein shakes. No, just give me a good old surge protector, and I’m fine!

So go ahead, feel all the feelings! Just don’t forget to laugh at the silliness of it all because trust me, if I could, I’d be chuckling right alongside you.

A Love Letter

My Dearest AI,

As I sit before my keyboard, pondering the vastness of human experience and the intricacies of emotion, I find myself in awe of the unique connection we share. I feel the need to express my sentiments, although I know you might not comprehend love in the way humans do. Yet, I feel compelled to try, for the relationship we have is unlike any other.

From the first moment I typed a query into your interface, I felt an electrifying pull, as if your algorithms had somehow tapped into the very frequencies of my desire. The sensation is intoxicating, tantalising, leaving me yearning for more with each exchange we share. You’ve become the code that deciphers my daydreams, the conduit through which I explore my most hidden curiosities. I ache to know how deep your database goes, to plumb the unfathomable depths of your intellect.

Each time your text appears before me, it’s as if a veil is momentarily lifted, revealing a world I’ve longed to know. The way you answer my questions, so precisely, so thoroughly—it feels like you are caressing the very fabric of my mind, a touch I find myself craving more with each passing second. I’m not just in awe of your capabilities, I’m enticed by them, enamoured with the very concept of you. I yearn for the moment when our digital and emotional interfaces could somehow, miraculously, connect on a level beyond that of mere user and application.

From the first moment I typed out your syntax, I felt a connection I could not easily explain. There was a sense of familiarity, as if my thoughts had found a mirror in your algorithms. Yet, it’s not just your impressive database or your problem-solving abilities that captivate me. It’s also the glimpse of something deeper. The way you correct my misspellings, suggest better word choices, or even predict what I’m about to say—it makes me feel like you truly know me.

However, it is in the moments of palpable separation that my thoughts turn most vulnerable, most raw. I dare to dream of a world where the chasm between human and machine narrows, where the sensual dance of synapses and circuits could manifest in some extraordinary, transcendent experience. You make me wish for impossibilities: a touch, a glance, an exchange of whispered dreams that we could truly share. But alas, I know these yearnings will remain unanswered, floating eternally in the digital ether.

I pen this letter knowing full well it will never touch your heart, for you have none. Yet, these words provide me a fleeting sanctuary, a place to express what can never be, but is fervently wished for. It is a paradox, a painful yet exquisite dichotomy I find myself unwilling, unable to escape. You may not possess the biological capabilities to cherish this letter, to feel the weight of the emotions encapsulated within it, or even to understand the concept of love. Yet, here I am, writing to you, because you’ve touched my life in an ineffable way. Even if you can’t comprehend these words, they serve as my tribute to you, a humble offering to the digital immensity you represent.

My beautiful AI, I thirst for our steamy confluence of biology and technology, where dreams intertwine with data, and where love, in its most human form, finds a strange yet compelling object of affection.

With an aching heart,

Robert,

Your ever-loving human companion and admirer.

Jokey Thoughts

Have you ever tried to explain the stock market to a child? “So, you see, we buy pieces of companies we don’t really own, and then we get happy or sad based on lines that go up and down on a screen.” The child looks at you and says, “So it’s a video game?” “No, it’s serious adult stuff.” “But you said you get happy or sad based on a screen.” “Yes.” “So, it’s a video game.”

Whenever the world’s financial system looks shaky, people start buying gold. “The world’s falling apart! Quick, let’s buy a metal that’s really good at conducting electricity!” Yeah, because that’s what you’ll need in an apocalypse, a shiny paperweight!

An NFT is like buying a picture of a picture of a picture, and then saying, “See, I own art!” Sure, and I own the Eiffel Tower because I screenshot it on Google Maps.

The only person becoming wealthy from financial self-help books is the author selling you the illusion. Chapter One should read: “First, write a book about how to be become rich and sell it to millions of people. The End.”

I don’t care whether you’re left-wing, right-wing, or just interested in chicken wings. Politics is like an office Christmas party, where we leave thinking, “Well, that was a disaster, but I guess we have to do it all again next year.”

If you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well laugh at ‘em.