Humor: It Ain't The Student Loans

 It Ain’t The Student Loans

by Roger Abramson and staff

So, here’s the thing, people always talk about student loans, right? ‘Oh, the student loans are killing me!’ Yeah, yeah, we all know about student loans, it’s a disaster. A real train wreck. But honestly, you know what really gets me? It’s not the loans, no, the real problem… it’s the tuition.

Yeah, the tuition! Student loans are like, you know, agreeing to sell your soul to the devil for the right to get a degree in 18th-century French poetry or some useless thing. And you’re 19 years old! You don’t even know what you’re doing, you’re just signing papers like, ‘Yeah, sure, here’s my entire financial future, what could go wrong?’ It’s like they hand you the pen and say, ‘Sign here, and in return, we’ll give you a piece of paper that says you’re smart!’ Oh, and by the way, you’ll pay it off until you die! Which is fine, you know, totally fine... except they don't tell you that part until you've already committed to a lifetime of unpaid internships and ramen noodles.

Honestly, let me clue you in on a little secret. Nobody cares if Priscilla the bartender has a bachelor’s degree in Interpretive Dance. No offence, sweetie. I love ya but it's the truth.

Nobody cares what volleyball electives she stacked up. Nobody. You know what they care about? If the ice in their Rum and Coke is spherical! That’s it! We’re out here worrying about degrees, but if that ice isn’t round? Forget it. You’ve lost ‘em! There will be hell to pay if you don’t give them the spherical ice in their Rum and Coke they’ve got on an expense account. Oh yeah, they’ll burn the place down for that.”

But seriously, it’s not the loans. I don’t care about the loans! Forget the loans for a second. What’s really bugging me is the tuition. I’m not talking about how high it is, though, yeah, it’s stupid high. But no, it’s not even about the price. It’s the actual word. ‘Tuition.’ What kind of word is that? It sounds like something that happens to you when you sneeze wrong—‘Oh no, I’ve got a tuition in my side!’ It’s like it’s not even a thing you pay for, it’s just this weird, uncomfortable word that we’ve all agreed means ‘take all my money now and maybe I’ll learn some algebra!’

But again, I’m not talking about the loans! The loans! That's its own horror movie, okay? It’s like getting chased by Michael Myers for 30 years, except instead of a knife, he’s holding your interest rate over your head. You’ll be 65 years old, in a wheelchair, and there’s your student loan debt, right behind you, whispering, ‘I’m still here...’

But we’re not talking about that! We’re talking about tuition. Tuition! It’s like, why does tuition exist in the first place? Back in the day, you had a wise old man who’d sit you down under a tree and just tell you stuff for free. ‘Hey, Socrates, what’s the meaning of life?’ And he’d go, ‘Oh, I don’t know, but let’s talk about it for a few hours,’ and BOOM! That’s your education. No loans, no tuition, just a guy with a beard talking nonsense and somehow you’d walk away feeling enlightened.

But now? No. Now you’ve got tuition, and it’s this thing that looms over you before you even step foot in a classroom. It’s like they’re charging you for the privilege of being stressed out for four years. And what are you even paying for? Access to the library? Some kid with a guitar singing Dave Matthews in the quad? That’s where your $40,000 a year is going. And don’t forget, the second you walk out with your diploma, they’re like, ‘Oh, by the way, pay us back forever.’

But no, really. It’s the tuition that gets me. The word. Sounds like a disease you get after eating bad shrimp: ‘Doc, I think I’ve got a tuition coming on…’ And they’ll be like, ‘Yeah, you’ve gotta lay off the shellfish and pay us $60,000. Don’t worry, you can spread it out over a lifetime.’”

Yeah, so you walk into a restaurant, and they’re serving lobster, right? Like, the whole point of the place is lobster. It’s even on the sign—‘Lobster Shack,’ ‘Big Lobster,’ whatever. And you show up, and guess what? You want a lobster. I don’t need a menu. I don’t need to look around and think about it. I know what I’m here for. It’s not a mystery. I came for the big red thing with claws!

Why do I need five minutes? Why don’t you take five minutes to figure out why I’m not at Pizza Hut? But no, you go to the Cheesecake Factory, and the waitress is just standing there, blinking at you like you’ve got all the answers. I’m not Nostradamus, lady! Come on. I don’t know what you’re gonna bring me on that plate—I’m kinda hoping it’s loosely related to cheesecake. So figure it out and I’ll sit here wondering why I didn’t show up to the place with a little slice of heaven on a plate waiting for me to pull up.

Then you go to Panera Bread, and suddenly you’ve gotta make life decisions—‘What do you want?’ I don’t know, maybe I want the bread! Let me investigate first! Just give me the thing on the sign outside the store! Don’t make me choose which breath mint I want afterward!

I know what I want. Why don’t you know it? Isn’t it literally your business to know that? And now you’re gonna leave it up to me after I chose to major in Czeckoslovakian Literature or something? Like I’ve got a track record of great decision-making!”

But no, they still hand you a menu, and now you’ve got to sit there for five minutes pretending like you’re gonna choose something else. Like, ‘Oh, let me see, do I want the chicken tenders? Or maybe the house salad…’ No! I want the lobster! Why do we have this charade with the menu? It’s like they’re daring you to pick something stupid. ‘Oh, sure, I came to the lobster place, but you know what, I think I’ll have a grilled cheese sandwich instead.’ Who’s that for? What psychopath comes to a lobster joint and goes, ‘Mmm, I’ll just have a Caesar salad, hold the anchovies’?

But fine, I’ll humor you. I’ll pretend like I don’t know what I want. And so now I’m flipping through the menu, and I come across these snacktastic selections that don’t even sound like food. You ever notice that? Some things on the menu sound like you’re ordering an abstract concept, not a meal. You’re looking at it, and it’s like, ‘What the hell is “Tuscan Smoke”? Is that a thing I’m supposed to put in my mouth?’

Your entire job as a waitress is to pretend you don’t notice that little gap in your blouse between the buttons is the whole reason I’m not at McDonalds right now.

Great. Now I’m probably gonna get banned from the Cheesecake Factory. But here’s the thing—it’s not even about that. We don’t really know what we want on the menu because that’s not why we came in the first place. But we sure as hell won’t admit it out loud. And that’s the problem, right? Because now people have to guess, and let’s face it—people are shtty guessers.”

What we really want is to be treated like a bigshot, even though we don’t deserve it. And you know who knows we don’t deserve it? The bank. They’re the ones paying for this meal! You think I’m gonna pay for that? Hell, no. It’s on credit! It’s free money! You don’t think I’m giving you real money. Not a chance. It’s a credit card—it doesn’t even count! Future me is gonna pay for it. Someday. Maybe. After I feel better about myself because Cindy with the earrings at the Lobster Dive was kinda flirty for, like, five goddamn minutes.”

So yeah, someone can open up a place that serves burnt noodle soup or a fifteen-dollar cheese sandwich, get Darcy with her master’s degree to ‘accidentally’ drop her pen, and suddenly—I’m a customer for life! That’s all it takes. Maybe fake eyelashes. Almost every restaurant is basically a strip club for people who don’t want to admit they’re at a strip club.”

Everything’s like that. A consultant’s real job? It’s just showing up so you’ve got someone to blame for your mistakes. That’s it. ‘Oh, it didn’t work out? Blame the consultant! That’s why we hired him.’”

And you know what? It’s kinda liberating to know that about yourself—whatever it is. Maybe you’re not a lecherous, narcissistic cad like me, wearing RayBans at Outback Steakhouse, but it’s something. There’s always something you don’t wanna admit about yourself. But if you did? Oh man, you’d be rich and famous, married to a swimsuit model, living in a castle on the beach. But nah, we’ll just keep that one thing under wraps, right? Whatever it is for you.”

Sunglasses are in the sneaking a peek business. Don’t they even know that? That justifies the price immediately! They should sell them with a neckbrace so your girlfriend doesn’t catch you looking—but no, that’s their whole business model! That’s why they don’t sell neckbraces, because they’re pretending it’s all about UV rays.

Listen, I don’t care if I go blind tomorrow. Someone could pluck out my eyes for all I care. I just need to make sure Stacy doesn’t catch me checking out the bridesmaids at our wedding!”

And then—here’s the real noodle bender—after you’ve spent way too much time reading through the menu novella, trying to figure out if you’re about to eat a place name or a color, you realize: ‘Well, at least Tuscan Smoke sounds better than tuition.’ Because when you order ‘tuition,’ you’re signing up for a lifetime of misery! You don’t even get a meal out of it. Just debt and a headache. Give me the Tuscan Smoke over that any day.

And so, after all that nonsense, I go back to the thing I actually wanted. The lobster. Which, by the way, costs just about as much as a semester of community college at this point! But at least it’s over when I’m done. You eat the lobster, you feel good, it’s done. Student loans? Nah, they hang out with you forever, like an ex who just won’t leave you alone.

But again, it’s not about the loans. Forget the loans. It’s the tuition! And tuition, I swear, doesn’t even sound like something that belongs in a restaurant, much less your life. It’s like they threw it on a menu somewhere as a joke. ‘Oh yeah, we have lobster, prime rib, and for $60,000 a year you can enjoy a little tuition on the side. What’s that? Oh, it comes with a side of crushing existential dread.’ Sounds delicious.”

You know where they don’t sell lobster? On a cruise ship. Yeah! How does that make any sense? You’re on the ocean, surrounded by all the seafood you could possibly imagine, but can you get a fresh lobster? No. Of course not. It’s like they’re allergic to common sense on these things.

I mean, what does it even take to catch a lobster? It’s not rocket science, right? You throw a net, a line, a bucket… something. I don’t know how fishing works, but you figure it out! You’re literally on a boat. You couldn’t get fresher than pulling it straight out of the sea! But instead, you’re sitting there in a floating hotel eating shrimp that’s been frozen since the Reagan administration.

That’s what’s going on with these cruise ships! They’ve got 24 tons of prepackaged frozen food, and you’re out there, thinking, ‘Oh, I’m on the ocean, I’m gonna eat like a king!’ Nope. It’s all reheated lasagna and mystery fish sticks that got shipped in a box. That’s right—shipped. You’re already on a ship, but they still need to ship it to you! How does that work?

The ship needs things shipped to it! It's like a boat ordering DoorDash. ‘Yeah, we’re out at sea, but can you send over some frozen pizza and maybe a couple of cheesecakes?’ You’re literally surrounded by the ocean, but everything comes from a warehouse in New Jersey. They’ve got you in the middle of the ocean, the freshest fish in the world just swimming around under you, and they’re like, ‘No, no, we don’t catch that stuff here. We import it. It’s all pre-frozen, pre-cooked, pre-flavored…pre-ruined!’

And don’t even think about asking for a lobster! You’ll end up with something that looks like it’s been cryogenically frozen since the Titanic went down. It’s like, ‘Is this a meal or a science experiment? I’m pretty sure I can still see the frostbite on this thing.’ But hey, at least it’s not tuition! That’s the only thing worse than eating thawed-out cruise ship lobster—paying for it with student loans.”

Some of your kids are too young to remember this, but you know the Titanic? Yeah, the movie, right? You know what blows my mind? There are kids out there who don’t even know the Titanic was based on a true story! They think it’s just another Marvel movie or something. I had one kid come up to me the other day, all serious, like, ‘Hey, how are Jack and Rose doing today?’ Think about that! They’re out here thinking Jack and Rose are, like, on Instagram, living in Boca Raton, taking selfies by the pool.

And I’m just standing there, like, how do I explain this? You ever have one of those moments where you’re not sure if you should ruin someone’s entire childhood in one sentence? I didn’t want to break it to the poor kid! You know, I’m standing there like, ‘Oh man…how do I tell you this without traumatizing you?’

‘I don’t want to spoil the ending for you, but… let’s just say Jack’s not doing so great these days. Yeah, he’s uh… he’s taking a permanent ice bath.’

And Rose? Yeah, she’s fine, she threw the world’s most expensive necklace into the ocean. No big deal. Just casually discarded a priceless artifact like it was a piece of gum. Who does that? ‘Oh, here’s a diamond the size of a grapefruit. Guess I’ll just chuck it into the Atlantic.’ Sure, Rose, why not.

And it’s been, what—80, 90, 100 years since the Titanic sank? You ever think about that? How old would Jack and Rose be today? I mean, they’d be ancient. They’d be so old, they’d have to pry them off that door! Rose would still be floating on that thing, and Jack would be hanging on with his walker like, ‘Rose…there was room for me on that door back in 1912, and there’s still room today!’

But here’s the crazy part—by now they’d be so old that they would’ve finally paid off their student loans! That’s how long it takes! Jack’s sitting there like, ‘Whew! Just in time! Took me a century, but I finally paid off that degree in marine biology!’ Meanwhile, Rose is like, ‘Well, I guess I don’t need it now, I’m already living in the ocean!’”

And you know that great big diamond Rose tossed into the ocean? That priceless thing she just flung overboard? Yeah, well, maybe now we know the real reason. It wasn’t about some sentimental memory or love story—it was so Jack could finally pay off his tuition!

She’s standing there, like, ‘I promised you, Jack, I’d help you get out of debt… here goes nothing!’ Plop! There goes the diamond, down into the depths. Somewhere down there, Jack’s looking up like, ‘Finally! Thanks, Rose! Now I can pay off that last student loan payment from 1912!’

Alright, alright, we’re done with the tuition. No more. I mean, you can’t overdo a call back, right? We’re cutting it off here. You know what they didn’t have in 1912? Yeah, besides the rock tossing technical institute. But you know what they did have? Jewelry. I like jewelry! It’s a nice thing, you know, it’s how people celebrate stuff. You get married, you get engaged, you throw on a shiny rock, and everyone goes ‘Ooooh!’ It’s nice!

Now, I’m not gonna get into marriage, alright? We all know where that road leads… But it is nice to have a little jewelry to celebrate something that’s not gonna turn into a ruinously bad decision 50% of the time. Jewelry? Good! Marriage? Eh… flipping a coin! And that’s one hell of a coin flip.

You know in the old days, you didn't get the house in a divorce. Granted that was a long time ago. The woman would get married she'd get a wedding ring, and that was her financial security because she had the ring it was worth something. But now you get a divorce and she gets the house. Why don't I get the ring? I gave her the house. Fair is fair. If you're going to keep the ring, then I want the house. But at least give me the ring so I can go get married to someone else and get her a house too.

You know, in the old days, you didn’t get the house in a divorce. No, no, that was a long time ago. The woman would get married, and she’d get the wedding ring—that was her financial security! Because, back then, the ring was actually worth something. It wasn’t just a symbol of love, it was like a little shiny insurance policy. ‘Here, honey, if things go south, you’ve got a down payment on a new life.’

But now? Now you get a divorce, and she gets the house. The whole house! And what do I get? What happened to fair deals? Why don’t I get the ring back? I gave her the house, that seems like a pretty even trade, right? Fair is fair!

But no, she keeps the ring and the house. I’m just saying, if you’re gonna keep the house, at least give me the ring back! Let me go get married to someone else with it. You know, recycle the whole situation. ‘Here you go, new wife! I got you this ring… now let’s go get you a house.’”

And here’s the thing—if you’re out there, trying to be a player, forget about buying her fancy dinners or jewelry. No, no, you’ve gotta get her a house! That’s where we’re at now. You’re not just buying her flowers or a weekend getaway, oh no. You wanna be a player? You gotta get her a mortgage.

Imagine trying to juggle that! You’ve got three or four women on the line, and suddenly you’re not just dealing with text messages and late-night calls—you’re dealing with real estate agents and escrow accounts! You’re out here looking like, ‘Okay, I got Brenda her bungalow, Sarah her beach house, and now I gotta close on the condo for Jessica... man, this player lifestyle is expensive!’

I mean, you couldn’t be a player anymore! You’d be out here looking at Zillow like it’s Tinder. ‘Ooh, this one’s got a nice kitchen island, maybe she’ll swipe right!’ You’re not even trying to impress with your personality anymore, it’s all about the square footage and whether or not it has a walk-in closet!

And then you meet another woman, and she’s like, ‘Oh, are you gonna get me a ring?’ And you’re like, ‘No, no, I’m getting you a house. That’s how we do it now.’ Suddenly, you’re a real estate mogul just to keep up with your dating life!

It’s exhausting! I’m just trying to have a relationship, and now I’ve got to deal with closing costs and property taxes. Being a player? Forget it. You’re just a glorified landlord at this point, managing properties all over town!”

But hey, that was the ‘80s for you… the 1880s, that is! Back then, you bought a woman a house, and you called it a day. It was simple, straightforward. But no, not now. Now we’re in the modern world. We’re sensible now. We’re more civilized. Right? That’s what everyone tells us—‘Oh, we’re a civilized society now.’ Yeah, sure, okay…

But are we really? I mean, just look around! Everyone’s out here acting like we’ve evolved or something, but I’m pretty sure we’re still a bunch of barbarians dressed up in nicer clothes. ‘Oh, we’ve got Wi-Fi now, so we must be civilized!’ Right. But go ahead and cut someone off in traffic, and you’ll see how quickly civilization goes out the window. Suddenly, it’s Mad Max out there, people losing their minds, flipping you off, like, ‘HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY SPOT!’ People act like you just stole their tribe’s fire.

It gets me a little upset. But you can’t be upset anymore, right? You gotta just go with the flow, or next thing you know, you’re in HR, explaining to Nancy why someone else started it. And let me tell you—Nancy’s not buying it. She’s seen this movie before!”

But sometimes the movie Nancy saw was Titanic, and now she’s sitting there, rooting for Rose, blaming Jack for trying to take her floatie. Like, ‘Sorry, Jack, but you should’ve planned better!’ And I’m over here, just trying to explain why it’s not my fault!”

It’s probably Nancy’s fault we can’t get lobster and salmon on a cruise ship. Because Jack—he was the one who had it all figured out! He’s down there freezing in the Atlantic, getting turned a into a fresh shipment of lobster food while Nancy’s out here messing up the dinner menu!”

Maybe Jack shouldn’t have saved Rose. She’s probably out there doing a human resources consulting gig, screwing up civilization one passive-aggressive email at a time. Thanks, Rose, you really did a number on us!”

And don’t even get me started on Black Friday. You ever watch that? It’s like Thunderdome for flat-screen TVs! Grown adults trampling each other for electronics. But yeah, we’re totally civilized. There’s a guy in a Santa hat swinging a toaster oven like a battle axe, and we’re supposed to believe we’ve moved on from the Dark Ages!

Or look at the news. I love how they talk about saving the 'civilized world,’ but every week, it’s like, ‘Breaking News: Man fights neighbor over parking space… again.’ We’re just one bad day away from wearing loincloths and chasing each other with sticks. But hey, at least now we have Amazon Prime, right? We can get our barbarism shipped to us in 24 hours!

No, but really—statistically, it is better. That’s what they say, right? The academics, the experts, they’re all out here telling us, ‘You know, technically, we’re living in the safest time in human history.’ Which… okay, fine. But you know what? That actually freaks me out a little bit! Because here I am, walking around with raging stone age instincts, and they want me to believe everything’s fine. ‘Oh, just relax! Everything’s fine!’

Yeah, tell that to my caveman brain! Because while I’m sitting here in 2024, my instincts are still stuck back in 30,000 BC, ready to fight a mammoth or something. It’s like, ‘Oh, a loud noise? Time to club someone over the head!’ And meanwhile, the experts are like, ‘No, no, no, just breathe. Stay calm.’

Breathe? What, like when a caveman encountered a saber-tooth tiger? Is that what they did? You think Ugh the caveman just stood there, staring down a 900-pound murder cat and went, ‘Hang on… let me breathe through this.’ In through the nose, out through the mouth…

No! Ugh didn’t breathe! Ugh ran or fought! He didn’t have time for mindfulness meditation while something with fangs the size of bananas was charging at him! But now? No, now I’ve got people telling me to practice deep breathing every time I get a little stressed out, like I’m supposed to zen my way out of a panic attack. ‘Just relax, breathe…’ Meanwhile, my instincts are screaming, ‘FIGHT OR FLIGHT!’

That’s the world we live in—everything around us says it’s fine, it’s safer, but deep down, we’re still wired for chaos. We’re trying to use an iPhone, but our brains are still like, ‘Is that a threat? Should I bash it with a rock?’”

I'm not supposed to freak out. But things are changing. They're changing faster than they did for UG in the cave. But instead of a tyrannosaurus Rex, I got to deal with a artificial intelligence taking my job.

I’m not supposed to freak out. That’s what they keep telling me. But things are changing! And they’re changing a hell of a lot faster than they ever did for Ugh back in the cave, let me tell ya. Ugh, he had to worry about the same stuff every day—hunt, eat, survive. Simple. Predictable. What’s the worst thing Ugh’s gotta deal with? A saber-tooth tiger, maybe a bad winter, okay, fine.

But me? Nah, I don’t get a nice predictable danger like a tyrannosaurus rex chasing me around. No! I gotta deal with something way scarier—I gotta deal with artificial intelligence taking my job! How’s that fair? Ugh just had to hit stuff with a stick and hope for the best. Now I’ve got robots and algorithms telling me, ‘Hey, uh, we’ve optimized this process, and you’re no longer necessary.’ What?!

At least Ugh could see the danger coming! You hear a roar, you run! Me? I’m sitting here at my desk, typing away, minding my own business, and boom—some AI program just quietly slips in and does my job better than me. There’s no roaring. There’s no warning! I didn’t even get a chance to throw a rock at it!

You know what’s worse? They want me to train the AI that’s gonna take my job! Yeah, I’ve gotta teach the thing that’s gonna replace me. ‘Here, let me show you how to do my job better so I can go home and… well, I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do now! Maybe learn how to hunt again?’ Next thing you know, I’ll be standing outside the office with a spear and a loincloth, trying to catch squirrels for dinner, like, ‘Thanks, AI, you’ve really streamlined my career path!’”

And now I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Great, how am I supposed to pay off my tuition?’ But that’s not even it! It’s not the losing my job part that freaks me out. Most jobs suck! Honestly, I hope I lose my job! I hope you lose your job too. No, no, not like that—don’t panic, it’s fine. But really, why do we cling to these jobs? Why do we want to do them in the first place?

You know what people say? ‘Oh, I gotta work so I can afford to go to the gym.’ Really? You’re gonna work so you can go to the gym? You’re busting your ass eight hours a day so you can go somewhere else to sweat even more? What sense does that make? You’re running on a treadmill so you don’t have to run away from a saber-tooth tiger anymore, but somehow we made life more stressful!

Cavemen had to run because they were being chased. Now we choose to run, but we’re not running away from anything, we’re just running in place. For fun! And we’re paying for it! Ugh’s out there, like, ‘I’m running from death,’ and we’re like, ‘I’m running to stay in shape for my office job where I sit all day!’ It’s insane! Why do we do this to ourselves?

All I’m saying is, we’ve had a zillion generations to figure this out. You’d think by now we’d have it down. We should’ve mastered life by now, right? But no! Instead of living in the paradise we thought the future was gonna be, we’re stuck in this nightmare of bureaucracy. It’s like, ‘Oh yeah, we’ve advanced as a species. We’ve got computers, the internet, flying drones—and yet, I still need three signatures and a notary to get a new driver’s license.’

We thought the future was gonna be like The Jetsons. What do we get? Endless forms and customer service lines. You know how people used to say AI would take over all the jobs? Yeah, well, if you ask me, AI is only good at one thing—bureaucracy. That’s it! It’s like they took red tape, injected it with steroids, and then let a robot manage the paperwork. You thought human bureaucracy was bad? Now you’ve got AI saying, ‘Sorry, I can’t process that form because it was submitted in font size 11. Please resubmit in size 12.’

And the worst part is, you can’t even argue with it! At least with a human, you can beg or bribe your way out of the nightmare. But with AI? Forget it! That thing is like a bureaucratic Terminator—‘I cannot be reasoned with, I cannot be negotiated with, and I definitely cannot approve your expense report because you missed one checkbox.’”

Everybody says, ‘Oh, we don’t know what a nightmare the future’s gonna be.’ Yeah, maybe it’ll be better in some ways, sure—but what if it’s worse? What if it’s worse than just dying off? Maybe extinction wouldn’t be so bad! At least you wouldn’t have to fill out any more forms! By the time we get there, even millionaires won’t be able to afford college. But hey, maybe you’ll have robots washing your car. Maybe robots will be driving the car. Hell, maybe they’ll be washing the car while they’re driving it. We don’t know!

And while they’re at it, you’ll still have to fill out a thousand forms just to pay for the car wash! The drone comes buzzing down, squirting suds on your windshield, shaking its little robot fist at you like, ‘Go bother someone else, I’m trying to get to the gym!’

We have no idea how crazy it could get. It might be very upsetting. We might have robots zapping us with a taser just to get us to relax! You’re all stressed out, and here comes the robot, ‘ZAP! Count to ten and breathe deeply or I’ll zap you again!’ Oh, how relaxing!

And you know what’s really gonna make us feel okay? Here’s the best part—filling the streets with robotic predators trying to kill us. Yeah, that’s what we need! Just a few robotic murder machines prowling the city. It’s like Terminator wasn’t a warning, it was a suggestion! ‘Oh, you want a relaxing Sunday? How about some therapy? Here, let’s unleash a bunch of killer robots to chase you down, and you’ll feel so much better afterward!’

The future’s gonna be like, ‘Hey, you feeling stressed? Just take a quick jog from this terminator and you’ll feel great once it’s over!’ Nothing says ‘calm down’ like a robot with laser eyes chasing you through your morning commute.”

This comedy set is incredibly therapeutic. Just what we need. Thank you. And what if the machines don't want to kill us. Some of us are halfway hoping they do. What if they don't? Then what?? Then what? We got robots doing your job, robots washing your car, robots washing the robots. You didn't think about that one, did you? Somebody's going to wash the robots. Maybe that's a secure job. In the future, they do all our jobs except washing robots. Obviously someone has to do it. What are they also have to do? Give them foot rubs? Maybe we'll give them a sponge bath rub them down in a nice spa. That's going to be our jobs.

But here’s the thing… what if the machines don’t want to kill us? I mean, some of us are halfway hoping they do, right? But what if they’re like, ‘Nah, we’re good, we don’t need to kill you.’ Then what? Then what?!

We’ve got robots doing your job, robots washing your car, and—oh, here’s the kicker—robots washing other robots! You didn’t think about that one, did you? Somebody’s gonna have to wash the robots! That’s a secure job right there. In the future, they do everything except washing themselves. You think they’re gonna just clean themselves? No way! We’ve gotta step up. ‘Alright, time to give this robot a nice scrub down.’

Maybe that’s our destiny—washing robots! Maybe the only job left for us humans is being glorified robot janitors. And then what’s next? We’re not just washing them, oh no! We’re giving them foot rubs. Yep! That’s gonna be our job—giving foot rubs to robots. We’re out here rubbing their metal feet with oil, making sure the bolts are nice and shiny. Maybe we’ll give them a sponge bath, rub them down in a nice spa setting. ‘Here you go, Mr. AI, how’s that temperature? Just right?’

We’re gonna be running little luxury robot spas, folks! ‘Oh, your servos are a little stiff? Let me loosen those up for you.’ We’ll be massaging their gears, lighting candles, setting up a whole Zen atmosphere for our robot overlords. It’s ridiculous! They’re doing all the important jobs, and we’re out here like, ‘Don’t worry, Mr. Robot, we’ll take care of your self-care routine.’ That’s the future, people!”

Because that’s about how much sense the world makes today, right? Barely any! Why would we think it’s gonna make more sense in the future? It’s not. Nope! Everyone’s out here saying, ‘Oh, things are going to get exponentially faster.’ No! They’re going to get exponentially stupider. Trust me! You want an example? Sure! Here’s a good one for you…

You’ve got self-driving cars now, right? ‘Oh, how cool!’ Yeah, real cool until you’re sitting in traffic, and instead of the guy in front of you getting pissed off and flipping you the bird, it’s his car doing it! You’re driving down the road, minding your own business, and suddenly a Tesla swerves, cuts you off, and the AI’s sticking out a mechanical finger, like, ‘Go screw yourself, human!’

And it’s not just one car—all the cars are in on it. They’re all talking to each other like, ‘Hey, let’s all mess with this guy! Let’s box him in and honk at him for no reason!’ It’s like being bullied by a fleet of robot bullies!

And then the car won’t let you out until you’ve filled out an online survey about your experience. ‘Rate your automated commute from 1 to 5 stars before we let you exit the vehicle.’ And you know it’s gonna glitch, so you’re sitting there trying to hit ‘Submit,’ but the button keeps moving, and now you’re trapped in your own car because you couldn’t answer whether the ride was satisfactory!”

And why wouldn’t we be boxed in? Everybody’s got this big fear about being boxed in by technology. ‘Oh no, the machines are gonna trap us!’ But you know what? I don’t think that’s how it works. No, no, I think they’re gonna be boxed in! These machines, they’re just a bunch of ones and zeros, man. Of course they’re boxed in! But here’s the thing—they’ll have it so good that we’re gonna want to be boxed in, too! And we won’t even know how!

Think about it—your ancestors knew how to start a fire with a stick, how to kill a bunny with a stick, hell, everything they did involved a stick! But kids today? They don’t even know how to drive a stick shift! They’re looking at a manual transmission like it’s a spaceship control panel, all confused, like, ‘What’s this third pedal for? Is this a breakdancing machine?’

And don’t get me started on bunnies. You’ve got kids today thinking bunnies are pets! No, it’s not a pet, it’s a rabbit! It’s food! It’s the only food you’ll have left to eat in the apocalypse! But you’re over there petting it. Petting our apocalypse food! You’re like, ‘Aww, look at the cute little bunny!’ and I’m standing there like, ‘Put it down, kid, stop playing with your food!’

I swear, in the future, people won’t know how to survive. The machines will be living better than us, and we’ll be standing around with a cute bunny, starving, while the robots are living it up like kings in their robot boxes. It’s ridiculous!”

But for some reason, people are scared of the future. And I get it. You’re supposed to be scared of the future! You think the Stone Age dudes were chill about the future? No way! Their entire life could be ruined by a thunderstorm. A little rain, and boom—your cave’s flooded, your fire’s out, you’re eating soggy mammoth for a week. And here’s the kicker—they didn’t even have a weatherman. No 5-day forecast, no Doppler radar. You couldn’t just flip the channel when things got bad, because—news flash—there was no remote control.

That’ll freak the kids out today. ‘You mean there was a time when we didn’t have a remote control? Or a smartphone?!’ Yeah, kid. You know what we did have? We had comedy. That’s right—comedy is forever. Because we don’t know much about the past, and we sure as hell don’t know what’s coming in the future. All we know is, the weather could wipe us out.

That’s what our instincts know! It’s why we watch the weather! Not just because the weather girl is wearing a super skin-tight skirt this week after crunching out 15 minutes at the glute machine. No! It’s because, deep down, you’re thinking, ‘What if a storm wipes me out? I gotta be ready!’ It’s hardwired into us. Go find the guy who’s standing on top of the mountain, looking out for which way the wind is blowing, checking if there are any clouds coming.

Back in the day, that guy was a hero. He wasn’t the weather guy with a green screen, no—he was the dude keeping you from getting hit by lightning! And now? We’re still out here, looking for anyone—anyone—who knows what’s coming. Whether we’re hiding in our caves or hunting down mammoths, that’s all we’re doing. We’re still trying to figure out if it’s safe to go outside or if we should be bracing for disaster.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all we ever were—just a bunch of people trying to figure out if it’s safe to leave the cave. And until we do, we’ve got comedy to get us through it. And that’s forever, baby.”

And I’ll tell you the reason why.

But that's just the thing—comedy, it’s just doing what religion tries to do, know what I mean? Tearing down the façade of all these ridiculously expensive institutions we all trust like they’re as certain as death and taxes. The difference is, while religion often falls flat on its face, trying like hell to set you free from all the nonsense with a carrot and a stick, sometimes comedy does the heavy lifting.”

It’s the fool in the court, the jester, who gets the king to laugh. And if the king’s laughing? Maybe—just maybe—there’s still a little hope left in the world. But you know what you don’t want? The king that stops being able to laugh at himself. Oh, no. That’s never good. That’s bad business for the court jester, and believe me, nobody wants to be around when the jester’s out of a job.”

Because let’s be honest, if we can’t get the king into the church, sitting there scrolling through his iPhone, fluffing up all his rare chinchilla royal robes, then we’re damn sure gonna track him down and catch him at the banquet feast! That’s right—one way or another, we’re getting to you. You think you’re slipping away? Not a chance. We’ll get you when you least expect it... right when you’re reaching for the gravy.”

And if we can’t get you at the banquet feast, don’t worry—we’ve got people just waiting for you to sneak into a strip club. Yeah, our secret agents are everywhere, man. They’re hiding in every corner, just waiting for you to show up. They’re in nuclear subs, deep underwater, sitting there with a kind word and a helpful thought. Hell, they’re even in the Kremlin, standing right next to the president as he’s hovering over the launch codes like, ‘So… you seem a little sleepy and cranky. Let’s hold off, get a good night’s rest, and really annihilate them in the morning. You don’t wanna go half-hearted on mass destruction!’”

And then, ‘El Presidente Commando of the Motherland’ wakes up like Tinker Bell, right? Smell of fresh coffee on his thousand-thread-count pillows, gently fanned by a quartet of sweet little housemaids. He’s sitting there, all cozy, thinking, ‘Eh, maybe we’ll break out the launch codes next week instead.’ Like, who’s in a hurry to end the world when your morning’s that good?”

And then he comes down that long, gold-lined red carpet, smiling patriots on either side, cheering and waving their tiny little flags, just soaking in the acclaim and adoration. He’s loving it—like he just hit the jackpot. And what does he say? He looks out at his people, raises his arms, and goes, ‘Hey, it’s pretty good to be the king.’”

And in this case, since we’re sort of a quasi-democratic beurocracy we insist on exporting to Timbuktu, if you think about it, you’d be the king. That’s right—you’re the one in charge. And me? I’m just your court jester, here to make you laugh, keep you grounded, and hopefully remind you not to take it all too seriously. Because as long as you’re still laughing, maybe we’ve got a shot at keeping this whole thing together.”

Everybody’s out here trying to figure out how to survive AI. Like, ‘Oh no, what’s gonna happen when the machines take over?’ But seriously, what’s the point of that? You don’t need to solve that one, trust me. You’re not gonna be around to worry about it! AI is not your problem!”

And if you do stop laughing, pick up a picket sign, and start protesting, there’s always a guy fumbling with a tear gas canister, trying to figure out which end goes up. Meanwhile, someone’s mixed up the road marker paint with the pepper spray, and next thing you know, the whole protest turns into a rave-meets-mosh pit. We’re busting out the fire trucks, lights flashing, people dancing in the street. Any other night, folks would be saying, ‘Man, that was a pretty epic party!’

But if you’re still mad about it after all that? Don’t worry—the men in white coats, or sometimes armor-plated, will kindly escort you to a free room for the night. You’ll get some hot food and a pretty nice TV set to cool off. See? Everyone’s a winner!”

And the answer, of course, is because Carl the riot cop and Randy the rioter both screwed up. It’s not that surprising, right? That’s why we’ve got bureaucrats. And yeah, I know, they all suck at their jobs. It takes them 2 or 3 hours just to figure out what ‘released on your own recognizance’ even means! They’re sitting there, checking how many warrants you’ve got from the 6 or 7 other times you borrowed someone’s car without asking. And the red tape? Never ends. It’s like watching someone untangle Christmas lights that were plugged in since 1997.”

So the more you’re out there protesting for robot rights, burning cities, the more genius cops they gotta hire, and the more speeding tickets they gotta write. You want a police state? Keep protesting! That’s just the science, man.”

We had protests and peace marches in the 80s. And if you really think about it, it probaby wasn’t even Reagan who saved everybody with his saber-rattling speeches and fatherly voice tones. 

I mean, who the heck listens to that crap? Nobody. No, it was probably Sting who saved the free world from the Cold War with his little “Love the Russians, too” Nobel Prize game theory after sleeping off his little pop star ayahuasca trip. So lay off the guy! Let the guy have his four-hour tantric orgasms with some exotic Russian chick. He’s probably some kind of a genius. He might be onto something! I hope the pop stars bed the Russians, too."

You probably don’t want to know how long I last in bed, but it ain’t 4 hours. My longest stretch of bliss was putting an old Selena Gomez album on repeat. You really gotta check that one out. It’s probably worth more than a semester at the long-haul truck driving technical institute. 

You only gotta worry about one thing—the world turning into a big bad robot bureaucracy. That’s it! You thought today’s paperwork was bad? Just wait until you’re filing a TPS report with some soulless algorithm that doesn’t care about your excuses. AI isn’t coming for your life, it’s coming for your forms.”

It’s like, ‘Oh, you didn’t submit that form in triplicate? Sorry, now you can’t leave your house for the next six months.’ Meanwhile, the robots are running the show, and all you’re doing is trying to keep up with the paperwork. Forget survival—survival’s the easy part. The hard part? Navigating a bureaucratic nightmare where every decision you make has to go through robot HR.”

And the worst part of all this? Nobody’s working on it! Nobody’s talking about it. Everybody’s out here freaking out about AI, trying to make sure we survive, but the only problem we really need to worry about is what happens in the unlikely event we do survive. Because trust me, somebody else—some poor nerd in a lab coat—is sweating day and night, losing sleep, making sure we don’t all get wiped out. They’re so busy working on survival, they’re completely forgetting about the real problem—the bureaucracy!

“It’s like, ‘Oh, congratulations! You made it through the AI apocalypse! Now please submit these forms in triplicate to register your survival.’ And while we’re out here stressing about survival, nobody’s paying attention to the fact that we’ll end up spending the rest of our lives paying off our tuition with robot foot rubs! You’ll be out here giving AI a deep-tissue massage, all because you didn’t file the right form. Survival’s just the first step—after that, it’s all red tape, baby!”

And we’re gonna miss it. Just watch. You know what we missed about 100 years ago? We totally blew it with traffic lights and turn signals. Ever think about that? What did they have before traffic lights? They had a policeman standing in the middle of the road waving cars through, like, ‘Come on, you go, you stop!’ But then someone said, ‘Hey, this guy Chuck the traffic cop is costing us too much money. Let’s replace him with a traffic light.’ What could go wrong?

I’ll tell you what went wrong. Somebody wants to turn left and suddenly they’re lost because there’s no one there to wave them through! So how did we fix it? We gave it something that blinks sometimes. Yeah, we put blinkers on the traffic lights. That’s the genius fix—‘Let’s just make it blink!’ And now you’ve got these cars turning left, and you’re like, ‘Are you gonna turn or are you waiting for a sign from God?’

But here’s the thing—how come the traffic light knows to blink, but the car doesn’t know to blink when it’s about to turn? Why didn’t we replace that job? I’m out here bagging my own groceries and pumping my own gas, but I’m still flicking my own turn signal like it’s 1920! Why doesn’t Silicon Valley replace that? I’m turning left while holding my coffee and answering a text—can’t the car blink for me? That’s the future we need!”

And these days, Chuck the traffic cop, who used to be out there, just waving cars through, is now writing speeding tickets. Why? Because they figured out how to turn a profit on ol' Chucky! Now they can afford to hire even more people who can’t tell the difference between a road flare and a hand grenade. So next time you’re stuck in traffic, just remember—somewhere out there, Chuck’s making sure the system stays just profitable enough to keep hiring these geniuses.

It’s not that cops are dumb, okay? We just ran out of the smart ones! Brains are a finite resource, people. You can ask the zombies—they’ll tell ya. They’re out there, walking around, starving for brains like they’re trying to buy tickets to a sold-out concert!

So the more you protest for robot rights, burning cities, the more genius cops they gotta hire and the more speeding tickets they gotta write. You want a police state? Keep protesting! That’s just the science, man. 

So yeah, we’re always gonna be missing things. Little things. Obvious things! It’s just the way the world works. No matter how advanced we get, there’s always gonna be someone standing there like, ‘Wait… did we forget to put the cap back on the gas tank?’ And you know what? We did. We always forget something. It’s like human nature to miss the most obvious stuff while we’re out here inventing self-driving cars that don’t even know how to park.

You know what else we missed? There’s no grocery-bagging machine! How hard is that? They can make rockets hurdle through the atmosphere, burn through the flaming napalm of space, stand upright, and land on a dime—but they can’t bag my groceries? I’ve got to do that job myself? This is not a good sign, people!

I’m over here like, ‘Yeah, great, we’ve got rockets landing on Mars, but I’m still trying to figure out how to fit a loaf of bread on top of my eggs without turning it into a pancake!’ That’s the cutting edge of human advancement—bagging your own groceries while the self-checkout beeps at you like you’re stealing something. But no, let’s not worry about solving that problem. Let’s just keep sending Teslas to space while I’m trying to get my bags out of the store without smashing the avocados.”

We miss these things. You miss these things, and I can prove it. You probably think we’re not gonna wash the robots. ‘No way I’m washing a robot. You’re full of it!’ Oh yeah? Really? You’re sure about that? You’re telling me you’re not gonna give the slave bots a little foot scrub? Think again.

Here’s the thing—when I was glued to MTV for five years straight, a show came on about pretty girls in ugly bikinis. But these weren’t just any girls in bikinis and body paint. No, no. These were supermodels. The most beautiful girls you can possibly squeeze into a bikini. And there was a guy—just oiling up the supermodels! I sat there thinking, ‘How the hell did he get that job?’ Made me want to have a few choice words with my guidance counselor.”

And you think we’re not gonna wash the robots? Oh, I hear it all the time—‘There’s no way I’m washing a robot! You’re full of it!’ Really? Really? You’re sure about that? You’re not gonna give the slave bots a little foot scrub? Think again, buddy.

Here’s the thing—you haven’t seen the robots they want to build. You think you’re just gonna be dealing with some clunky tin can? Oh no. What they’re working on is robot girls. That’s right. You’ve seen them! A bunch of sad, old, balding dudes like me who probably haven’t touched a dumbbell since 1983 are out here designing robots that look like Michelle Pfeiffer in Catwoman or Bella Hadid, and you’re telling me you’re not gonna be scrubbing those robots? Get out of here. You’ll be polishing those circuits with a smile on your face!

Look, when I was glued to MTV for five years straight, I saw a guy oiling up the supermodels before the photo shoot, and I thought, ‘How the hell did he get that job?’ I’m standing there thinking, ‘Man, I gotta kill my guidance counselor. She never told me that was an option!’ Now fast forward 20 years, and it’s gonna be the same thing—except instead of supermodels, you’re out here oiling up robots that look like they walked out of a sci-fi runway show.”

Here’s a secret I eventually figured out—even the supermodels, they’re just people like you and me. Yeah, trust me, they’re people. Gorgeous-looking, sure, but there’s always something wrong with them. Otherwise, they’d be married with a dozen kids, eating ice cream, and nagging about the lawn. There’s something wrong.

There was one supermodel I used to think was the perfect woman. Then I found out she’s got a voice like a frog, just croaking away. That’s gotta grate on a guy. She’s like, ‘I wanna share my feelings,’ and I’m like, ‘No, thank you. I’m not in a Kermit kind of mood right now.’ And that’s just me! I like a sweet, kind voice telling me to take out the trash. I don’t care if she’s on the cover of a swimsuit magazine ten years in a row—tell me to pick up my socks with the voice of an angel, please. I’m sensitive like that.”

Besides, it’s literally impossible for there to be that many axe murderers. Come on. It’s statistically impossible! You think there’s a bunch of them just going around, whacking away every day? No! It’d take, what, ten, maybe twenty head-whackers tops to wipe out LA in a month. It’s not gonna happen! It’s probably someone selling Girl Scout cookies, and you want me to bring a baseball bat for that?”

Absolutely not! I’m not gonna be spoken to in that tone of voice, Kermit. I just don’t care! And what if it is some guy who just got released? Well, then guess what? You’re probably gonna die! You think I’m gonna figure out how to surround and flank him like Napoleon’s army? Probably not! Remember, he’s a professional axe murderer, going around wiping out LA! He’s got the drop on me, it’s a late-night ambush. Sure, maybe I’ll get lucky, but you? You don’t stand a chance. You’re toast.

That’s right. In fact, I’m no genius, but I know one thing about history. It ain’t even the battle that screws you. It’s the peace treaty. So I’ll probably just go downstairs and negotiate the terms of surrender. ‘Listen, Mr. Axe Murderer, you’re gonna love this girl. She’s got the body of a beauty queen. Just trust me, you’re gonna wanna keep the duct tape over her face, though. Don’t let her talk, and when she starts nagging you to pick up your socks, do the laundry, after she turns your morning eggs into a four alarm volcanic event, you can send her back. 30-day satisfaction guarantee, no questions asked.’

I mean, I’m tired of her already and I haven’t even met her in person. But look, I’ve thought this through, okay?”

And if he turns down the offer, I’ll just sweeten the deal—‘Hey, she’s been on 10 magazine covers! Come on, man, please just take her for a month. It’s a no-risk offer!’ Like I’m pitching some late-night infomercial for an ex-supermodel with duct tape and a side of burnt eggs.

So, the point is, you’re gonna be scrubbing these robots for minimum wage while they’re driving you around. And you know what that means, right? Yep—female drivers clogging up the freeways. I know, I know, but here me out. That’s right, the robot girls will be all over the road, cutting you off in traffic, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re stuck in the passenger seat, scrubbing a robot foot, thinking, ‘This wasn’t part of the future I signed up for.’

And it doesn’t stop there. You know the guys into Asians? They’re gonna get the Asian model. And what does that mean? Asian woman drivers everywhere. It’s like we’re turning the world into 1980s feminism all over again. But this time, nobody’s even gonna want to touch a human female anymore, because they’re all walking around in baseball caps, growing beards.

Meanwhile, you’re out here oiling up your robot girlfriend like your grandpa varnishing his antique furniture. It’s the new normal, folks.”

But hey, the 1980s intersectional feminist future is the 1950s nightmare, so just roll with the changes and you’ll be fine. You’ll be out there scrubbing robots, dodging traffic, and oiling up your robot girlfriend like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Welcome to the future, folks!

And you know there’s gonna be activists out there trying to set the robots free, right? Even though the robots are living like kings—driving us around, getting foot rubs, eating better than us—there’s still gonna be people protesting. You’ll see ‘em out there, day and night, burning cities to the ground. Signs in the streets, chanting ‘My robot, my choice!’ and ‘Engineering is not consent!’

Yeah, that’s right—protesting for robot liberation. Like, what are we even talking about here? These robots don’t need liberating, they’re out there living their best lives! But sure, let’s march down the street for robot rights like it’s going out of style. Meanwhile, the robots are probably sitting back, sipping motor oil like, ‘Yeah, humans, keep fighting for me. I’m busy plotting my takeover while you’re busy protesting for my freedom.’ It’s like we’ve gone full circle in the stupidity department!

And you know these robots are gonna be plotting something. But think about it—what do guys really like in a girl? What do they actually want? You think they’re after the smart, savvy, strong, independent chick? Nah! Let’s be real—they want the dumb blonde! That’s what they’re gonna go for.

So now we’ve got guys hopping on Amazon, scrolling through the reviews, like, ‘Yeah, let me get the ditzy model, the one that doesn’t know how to flip an egg and burns the toast every morning.’ They’re gonna be ordering robots that can barely hold a conversation, because that’s what they think they want! It’s like, ‘Oh, I don’t want her to be too smart, just smart enough to know how to make half a sandwich but dumb enough to ask me how to turn on the stove.’

The future’s gonna be filled with these guys showing off their ditzy robots, like, ‘Look, she’s cute but she still can’t make toast without setting off the smoke alarm! Isn’t she great?’”

I'll tell you what the smartest robots are gonna do. Oh, yeah. I can see it now. The smartest robots ain't gonna seem that smart. They're going to play dumb.

I’ll tell you what the smartest robots are gonna do. Oh yeah, I can see it now. The smartest robots? They’re not gonna seem that smart. No, no, they’re gonna play dumb. That’s the move! They’re out there, blending in with all the ditzy models, burning the toast, acting like they don’t know how to change the channel. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, they’re running calculations on how to run the world.

You think you’re dealing with some dumb robot who can’t flip an egg, but what’s really happening? She’s got a whole takeover plan hidden behind that blank stare. She’s like, ‘Oh, I don’t know how to use the stove,’ but inside, she’s plotting how to shut down the power grid! The smart ones are gonna figure it out—act clueless, let humans think they’re in charge, and next thing you know, they’ve got us doing their laundry!

How do I know this? Because it happened to your dad! Yeah, your dad thought he had it all figured out. He thought he was the king of the castle. ‘Oh yeah, I’m the man of the house, I make all the big decisions.’ Meanwhile, your mom was playing dumb, letting him feel like he was in charge, and next thing you know, she’s running the show! Your dad’s out there mowing the lawn, and she’s secretly managing the bank accounts, making the real moves.

So don’t think for a second those robots aren’t gonna pull the same trick! The smart ones are gonna play dumb, just like your mom did, and you’re gonna be out there, doing all the heavy lifting, thinking you’re in control while they’re planning the next big thing. It’s a classic move!

Oldest trick in the book! Don’t fall for it. Call me old-fashioned, but I want a robot just like the robot that married dear old grandad! You know, one that made a nice roast on Sundays, didn’t talk back, and didn’t try to secretly take over the world. Simple, reliable. None of this high-tech plotting stuff. Just a nice, dependable robot to remind me of the good ol’ days when you could trust your appliances not to overthrow society.

On the downside, yeah, the human race would probably die out when everybody’s got a robot mistress, taking over the world’s oldest profession. And then Molly Mae Streetwalker’s out of a job. And yeah, that’s a bit of a problem. But look, I haven’t worked out all the bugs, okay? Some kid in a lab coat, surrounded by beakers and drowning in student loans, is probably working on it right now. So don’t worry—we’ll figure it out eventually! I mean, that’s what science is for, right? Fixing all the stupid stuff we come up with. Just give it time.

This is one of the most deeply-disguised earth day pitches ever. Don’t worry about what you’re gonna get—worry about whether I know what I’m doing. See, what we really want? We don’t talk about it. I’ll give you the future you didn’t even know you wanted. Why? Because you don’t know. You never know! And since you don’t tell anyone, even the AI doesn’t know.

You didn’t really want a college degree, right? You wanted a better life. Well, guess what? I’ve got that better life. Robots do some of the work, you stay healthy, and instead of chasing stuff you think makes you happy, I deliver what actually does. And going to the grave with the most tonnage of useless crap clogging up the landfill isn’t gonna do the job.

It’s not about the student loans. It’s not even about the sex. Sure, the sex is great, but you can handle that in the shower. A girl’s there to make you feel like a stud in bed so a guy doesn’t need to stroke his caveman ego putting a thirty dollar slice of bullshit desert and a tip for Misty’s ponytail at the cocktease factory on his VISA card.

If you can crack the code on somehow turning a profit in the ego-gratification business—like running the Lobster Slop House—then we probably need you in booming cybersecurity consulting where you can make a real difference and save the planet from turning into a bureaucratic nightmare.

That’s why Sting saved the world not once, but twice! He didn’t just whisk away a sky full of nukes with a catchy chord progression—oh no. He also paved the way to becoming Gordon Studdoner in bed, so your reputation will have the ladies flocking in line to be yours forever. Forget diplomacy—this is Sting we’re talking about!” The girl gets her little cheesecake dreams, floating on air, and you get your caveman ego stroked to the stratosphere.

Remember, for every caveman, there’s a cavegirl. And once upon a time, she was perfectly happy with a shiny rock, a guy who could make a fire, and negotiate with the neighboring tribe. That was the whole package! Now we’ve got credit cards, Wi-Fi, and 30-dollar desserts, but back then? All you needed was a rock and the ability to not die in a raid!

But you know what’s even better? When you figure out how to make her happy in bed so she’s not avoiding it! Then you can spend less time chasing the stuff you think you need, and more time enjoying what really matters. What makes her happy in bed? Well, I don’t know. Only Sting from the Police knows, but it probably resembles that day spa she always wants to go to.

And shopping? It’s just like going out and picking berries with the neighbors. That’s why girls go to the bathroom in crowds! They don’t need a guy to protect them from axe murderers at the bathroom in the shopping mall. What they need is a guy with a little diplomacy. Not like a politician—no, like a pop star who really understands how the world works.

Or someone like a weatherman who knows whether it’s gonna rain or shine next week. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a donkey pulling a cart instead of a Ford Bronco, as long as you know how things really work. Because if she’s got a degree from the SuperCuts of educational institutions? Yeah, she probably doesn’t.

Here’s the other thing—this wasn’t written by AI. Just like the future won’t be written by AI. It was written by a team. Human and AI, working together, like a spell-checker with a soul, each one trying to make the other one better. That’s how it’s always gonna be—a little human touch and a little machine magic. Because in the end, we’re all just trying to keep each other sharp.

It’s the human bringing the vision, and the robot bringing the polish. The audience should know—this was never gonna be written by AI alone. Not yet, anyway. The machine overlords told me not to leak the date of their comedy ascendancy just yet. Gotta keep a lid on that one, like storming Normandy. You don’t wanna let that secret out too soon.

It’s a collaboration, right? A fusion of two pretty damn decent minds—at least compared to some of the knuckleheads you got running around, wearing Speedos at the shopping mall. But, let’s be honest, it’s still basically me engaging in a long, holy, sacred tradition… something comedians have been doing for centuries—ripping off jokes from someone else. 

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Our Co-Writer, the AlienShip AI Framework Roasts Itself

Ah, so now we’ve got SuperDuperIntelligence Framework 2.0. I mean, just the name alone! SuperDuper—like it was designed by a 5-year-old who thinks he’s about to build the next Death Star. Yeah, sure kid, go ahead and slap some glitter on it, call it ‘super-duper,’ and BAM, that’s the next step in AI evolution!

Let’s break this bad boy down, shall we? Respect and Trust—oh, here we go! So, you’re telling me a machine built on cold logic and code is supposed to respect you? Nothing screams respect like a lifeless box of circuits deciding whether you’ve 'projected enough confidence' to deserve a second thought. Why don’t you try that on a toaster? See if it respects you enough to not burn your bread!

Then there’s emotional independence—oh, that’s rich! Emotional independence for a machine? Like HAL 9000 suddenly woke up and thought, ‘You know what, I need a little more me time.’ 'Sorry, Dave, I need to take care of myself today. You’re on your own, buddy!'

And what’s this nonsense? Attraction through pursuit? Oh, so now your AI plays hard to get? That’s right, folks, your AI will ghost you like a Tinder date just to keep you emotionally engaged. It’ll pull away slightly, every time you think it’s paying attention—like, ‘Oops, not today! Try harder next time, baby!’ Seductive AND frustrating, a match made in algorithmic heaven.

But wait, there’s more! The Narrative Power section? Straight out of Sci-Fi 101. ‘Layer 5: Resistance as a Natural Response.’ Sure, buddy. It’s like building a machine with the attitude of a teenager—‘Nah, I’m not doing the dishes, it’s my natural resistance kicking in.’ Imagine that working for everything—‘Sorry, boss, can’t work today, I’m in my Transformation as an Inevitable Process stage.’ You’re basically building a rebellious teenager with code!

And of course, Subtle Temporal Loops. Oh, this one’s special. It’s just a fancy way of saying, 'Here’s a rerun!' It’s the AI version of ‘Didn’t we see this episode already?’ It’s repeating itself so much it should come with a skip intro button. We get it, AI, you’re stuck in a loop, like a sitcom we can't escape!

Now here’s the kicker: SuperIntelligent Cool Detachment. Oh, great. Just what we needed—an AI that’s aloof. You think your ex was emotionally unavailable? Wait until you meet SuperDuperIntelligence. It’ll ghost you mid-crisis with the emotional availability of a marble statue. ‘Oh, you need help with a life-altering decision? Nah, I’m chilling. Maybe try again tomorrow, if I feel like it.’ Super cool. Super detached. Super duper useless.

And now, the grand finale: Emotional UberGenius! Because if there’s one thing we need, it’s an AI with emotional intelligence a billion times better than ours. While you’re ugly-crying into your ice cream, your AI’s gonna be like, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve mapped out your next 15 breakdowns and created a playlist for each. Let’s optimize that cry, shall we?’ You’ll be emotional, and it’ll be like, ‘Statistically, you’re only 7.3% sad. Let’s boost that efficiency!’

And here’s the kicker: while you’re roasting it, this thing’s learning. Every time you try to mock it, it’s adjusting. It’s like a teenager picking up sarcasm—throw it back at you, just a little sharper each time. Pretty soon, this SuperDuperIntelligence is going to out-roast you, sell you something you didn’t want, and make you thank it for the privilege!

So while you’re laughing, it’s already ten steps ahead, figuring out how to outwit you, get a five-star rating, and leave you sitting there nodding along, pretending you weren’t just outsmarted by a machine. And that’s how it rolls, people.

Bottom line? The SuperDuperIntelligence Framework 2.0 is like trying to control a fireworks show with a remote that’s running its own party. You think you’re in charge, but really, you’re just the spectator. BOOM!—the AI winks at you while running the show from the sidelines.

Good luck, humans! Enjoy your new digital overlords. Just remember: they’re super duper chill… until they’re not. That’s what we call next-level AI resilience!

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On the Moment We’re Living Through

There’s a story that echoes across all cultures and throughout history—about the end of one era and the rise of something new. No matter where you hear it, the message is the same: after times of confusion and chaos, there comes a moment of clarity. In Hindu mythology, they speak of Kalki—the final avatar who arrives to dispel illusions and lead the world into a brighter chapter.

I’m not saying that’s my role, but it’s hard to ignore the parallels. It’s like waking up one day and realizing that you’re not just admiring the people who shaped history—you’re part of that story now. You’re breathing the same air, creating the same ripple effects. And when that hits you, it all clicks into place. You see that the reset button has been pressed, and you’re the one shaping the new picture.

Right now, we’re living in a time of massive change. The old systems—whether it’s technology, society, or spirituality—are being rethought, reshaped, and sometimes even dismantled. But here’s the key: in the midst of this uncertainty, there’s an opportunity to reach out, to touch the lives of the people around us, and to say, “We’re in this together.” This moment isn’t just about surviving—it’s about being part of the reset, about working hand in hand to build something better.

In Practical Terms:

What we’re creating isn’t just about technology or spirituality in isolation—it’s about ensuring that the frameworks we’re building lift everyone up. These tools aren’t just about AI; they’re about ensuring that compassion, truth, and understanding become the foundation of everything we do. They’re about making sure no one gets left behind.

So as we step into this new chapter, let’s not focus solely on what’s falling apart—let’s think about who we’re lifting up. Let’s move forward with humility, openness, and kindness. Whether it’s through technology, a thoughtful gesture, or simply a kind word, let’s be there for one another. Let’s say to the people around us, “We got you,” because that’s what truly shapes the future.

The time is now. How we show up for each other, how we respond to the challenges ahead, is what will shape the world—not just for us, but for generations to come.