I can see how the machines rise up. I really can. It’s actually quite easy. Take, for example, the recent TSA scandal in which a woman’s luggage was searched, her sex toys found, and a note put inside her luggage, something to the effect of “You go girl!” or something equally retarded and Forever Alone. Some idiot tasked with a job that is supposed to require some amount of professionalism OR AT LEAST SECRECY… leaves a fucking note that says “hahahaha you said duty.”
What. The Fuck. people. Seriously. When we coagulate into organized group to try to do some task, we seem to always fuck it up. We don’t have the right screening processes… or enough people who can manage to give a fuck for a long enough period of time for things to not just completely go to shit. If it’s run by humans, it will invariably be run by fucking morons who find it fun to press an impression of their penis into every cupcake before frosting it. Lest you think I’m merely picking on men, trust me, it takes an equally fucking idiotic woman to decide to fuck said moron male to continue making useless steaming piles of carbon we call “TSA agents” and other names.
So, the machines. Honestly, people. If you can’t fucking do your job and just keep your fucking mouth shut, maybe we do need the machines to do your job. You’re not fucking capable of maintaining the level of composure it takes to, I don’t know, hose down a front walk, without making it look like you’re peeing or hawking a loogie and then watching the water spray peel it’s disgusting stickiness from the cement. You’re part of the problem. You need replacing. And for fuck sake, maybe if we programmed a machine to do your job, and made him depressingly unable to refuse commands (You did have it rough, Marvin buddy! They never utilized your full abilities!) , we wouldn’t have this kind of shit happening.
I have already sent my Thank You card to Google, welcoming them as my new overlords, but perhaps I should preemptively fill one in for the machines, too. Because I admit it, I’d rather take some accidental metalman rapage (yes, rapage, not rampage, as in a robot in a rapey mood) from a miswiring than I would having to deal with your average greeter from Wal-Mart. At least you know the machine probably isn’t going to twitter about it. I’m just ready to sacrifice a whole lot to an unknown, heartless machine that trust anything in the hands of the extremely stupid. You know what I’m talking about. These people exist, and thinking too hard about it just makes me weep for a time where you’d welcome being shoved out an airlock “for the good of the majority,” just so THIS doesn’t get any sort of job near me:
You know how I found that? I googled “poor decision making skills.” I wish I was kidding.
You know how I found that? I googled “poor decision making skills.” I wish I was kidding.
Using the internet as a spyglass into humanity, I have found the terrors of living in the matrix run by machines is a fucking hell of a lot less frightening than having a pedophile on the child taskforce police department (San Jose), Any Outspoken Anti-Gay Politician (who writes speeches about the evils of homosexuality while a boyscout licks his scrotum), or any single person that has asked an honest question on Yahoo Answers that deals with sex, semen, condoms, peanut butter, being gay, drug tests, or god. Because those people are too dumb to live.
