Existential Robot Fuck-tard

Some say that the existential crisis humanity will all face from the inevitable maturation of A.I. will be unsubtle, swift, and surprising --And, um-like... well, existential? So what exactly does that mean?
​Well... I'm at this one party, amongst brighter, better looking, more affluent, and far more well-heeled people, who would dare to even speak with a nearly untouchable scum-bag like me, I often exchange blasé' volleys such as answering, "What do you do for a living?", or "What kind of car do you drive?", or some such about the weather, A tragic event, Political faux pas, or even (gasp) a question about a sporting outcome. And I often wonder like you do -- Why is it that nobody knows how to chat anymore?
When I go out to dinner, and pat my hip where my phone should be, like a smoker taps her toast, or an alcoholic washes down osso bucco with vodka... I don't despair, because as each and every other person in the restaurant is up-lit and aglow with their blue screen, scanning QR codes, to order and pay, and texting their friend directly in front of them, before Insta-gramming, the plate they will never really see, food they never tasted, or live streaming their vacuous visit to the bathroom... I continue to talk with my few remaining analog-world friends using an unplugged a cappella voice. I smear some bread in olive oil, and I chew the old school way, assured that my phone is safely on my kitchen counter, where it will sleep all alone well beyond my return home; Perhaps until the next morning when I will likely catch back up with it, and all that miraculous robot inspired shit which I may have missed. I figure 12 hours is just enough time to neglect the angry fuck-tard robots.

When I travel, I often wander unaware, in awe of the vistas, and compelling people, without reference to "recommended" spots, "Google Maps", or an online "hit-list" of "Must See Spots" written by a stranger (or robot) someplace on the innerwebs. I may also get a bit lost, using that paper map from the front desk of my hotel, or the grimy info booth at the train station. It may take me a while to realize that I'm truly lost, and without much ado, I'll likely sit down some place to have a bite, thumbing grease through a paper menu, and orienteering with a mis-folded paper map which will likely get a bit of food and a smeer of some such mess upon it, before I will re-fold the whole mess back into my pants pocket. Actually my pocket isn't a cool-ass slit on the side of my lycra leggings, because I just have the regular pants kind of pockets, and they may not be quite as sexy or slimming as a sheer body-suit with a lump-like bulge for my gadgets, but they do work to keep keys coins, and the poorly folded filthy maps  and money and  such handy.


When I go to a rock show, I actually watch the band, en-vivo (GASP!), regardless of how small they may appear from my cheap seats, and I'll rail against the temptation to watch the whole show from the far tinier 2 x 4 inch glow of that one dick-face directly in front of Row 234, seat 7A, holding his screen up in everyone's way. Somehow I get the feeling that nobody (even that Dick-Head holding his device in the air right in front of my face for each and every fucking song for two tedious hours) [Nobody] will ever see that low-light, shit-tastic video of this entire show buried in his phone. I'm also pretty sure even the fuck-wit in front of me, and the one five seats to his left, and the girl two down... have yet to see any of the performance themselves. When the clapping comes -- Because they both have a piss warm IPA in their left hand and a phone in their right... None of the thirty-eight-hundred of those other D-bag zombies in the same venue holding both beer and phone, could clap. But what cool person would do that anyway?

When I walked along the ocean, listening to the sea, and skipping stones, I often brush past and perhaps even photo-bomb a really fucking hot young couple who know exactly how to hold their phone just perfectly -- Because the app tells them how -- And the GPS point which  is most meaningful, give or take a few Millimeters. The Robot even tells them from what angle to snap the perfect post-able image. I realize they are really in love with themselves or each other, or whatever -- But I also wonder if they've left their shoes on simply because they forgot they were actually at the beach; Or if the app told them that the outfit wouldn't show up as well if they were a few centimeters shorter. Anyway, the sunset which they never saw was lovely, that night, and they giggle and pout their lips and angle the camera from above to shadow their weak chins and improve their hunched drop-neck postures, to remarkable fanfare from "friends" afar. I continue with my feet in the water until I'm completely immersed to cover my undies, and I realize that being in my underpants may not be what they wanted as their back-drop, but they can just use a filter to soften my form into fuzz for their dissolving bokeh horizon, and a shit-ton of digital applause.
Do you think the A.I. is also this conceited, or have they not fed that data into it's way smart mechanical mouth yet.

Saturation by A.I. Driven Dark Thoughts, and Horror, will certainly come to this new world when A.I. finally matures, right?
Somebody said the other day something about some such political event, and I remember that they were all up in arms, and later they were losing sleep because they heard such and such about this one really horrific event "that really fucking happened!", and how barbaric the slaughter was, and the sheer inhumanity of it was of a scale which would surely give rise to more violence, and more blood-shed, and they just had to tell me all about what I should definitely also be losing sleep about, ...and that these "Um like, one terrorist dudes were so fucking bad...", as they showed me some grotesque, but blurry images of some such atrosity some place. And so I took a sleep aid to fall asleep that evening and was restless all fucking night and my dreams were fitful and startling, and I could not focus for days at work, until I read in a real live newspaper that all of those images which were fucking aweful, "could not be corroberated by fact checkers in both the government nor in the media and soldiers may have exaggerated, etc..." and that perhaps they were actually even, "um-like faked". The next night I finally slept rather well. Until someone else reminded me about the hurricane, and the wild fire, and the Tsunami, and the bomb blast, which I was supposed to definitely follow on this one guys blog, and this one news feed, because I should stay up on current events of gastly proportions, and... "um-like  I should also be losing sleep as well, dude", said the robot.

The Menace in the Flesh...

And Last night right before bed I'd set the thermostat lower because it was a cool autumn night, and I knew this for a fact because my phone said so, and Also I had just come back from a long walk with the dog, and so I could corroborate with my (smart)-Phone that it was in fact a cool breezy autumn evening, and later when I woke up to grab another blanket, (because I was chilly) I glanced over at my Dumb-Fuck "Smart" thermostat, and it was set to 64 and was running for a while now rotating that tiny wheel on my electric meter so fast that I'm pretty sure I should be getting an SMS from the electrical utility to let me know I would be punished, and... Well I had to actually remove the piece of shit Nest Thermostat from the wall to get back to my icy sheets to try to catch up on sleep with all of these climate tragedies, and terrorists, humming this one live version of this one live track that I think I recall seeing on this one guy's tiny glowing device right in front of my face, and I think I remember him and his girlfriend checking this one blog with some other fucking tragedy, and some really fucking beautiful people on the beach at sunset, and I fell a sleep and I think that I'd dreamt about living in the woods, in a sod home, with an elevator, and wickedly fast satellite internet that I wasn't paying a dime for, but I didn't sleep well, so I cannot be certain.
Later just before dawn, I woke up cuddled my dog, and checked my phone for air-fares to anywhere but here. And... I recall that post by that one blogger who seemed to agree with that one billionaire who was also definitely wearing the same fucking cool ass shoes and the same T-shirt as that one dude in front of me at the concert who ruined the show. Seems the Robot already got to them, by making everyone dress alike. Both of whom seemed to keep popping up in my side-bar on the airfare web-page... and they both were discussing the "Existential threat" and the future of A.I., and they both had the same phone in the same silver phone case in their right hand, and a glass of tepid water in the other, and they were gesturing animatedly about how amazing A.I. would be, in the future...
The Future. (laugh)
The next night was Saturday, and after the play, We were out with some analog friends at a bar chatting with some newer A.I. people lit from below by the blue glow of someone's phone, and The good looking one said, "Um-like, what do you think about this new A.I. thing?" Existentially? I took a slow sip of my stale Red Bordeaux, and I told him, "The Fucking Internet already Fucked up the whole Mother-Fucking planet, and I blame Google and The fuck-tard Robots for your total lack of understanding of the word Existential"!

Kraftwerk Already Knew All That Shit Was Existential.