Terrible Things For Money

I do terrible things for money… Like getting up early to go to work and pretending to like it there. I’m trying to mend my ways, though, so now I always arrive late in the office, and make up for it by leaving early.

Although I’m great at multitasking in the time I have at my desk – I can waste time, be unproductive, and procrastinate all at once. I think they hired me, though, for my motivational skills. Everyone always says how they have to work twice as hard when I’m around!

But I think the offices of the future will optimise human creativity. Many people have their best thoughts in the shower, so offices will be open plan shower rooms, with shampoo as optional. Bathtubs will be for brainstorming. Hot tubs for important meetings.

Do you know, the most unsuitable person for a leadership position in any job is someone who is obsessed with their own power, status, and money. Yet these are the people recruited for. Why can’t recruiters just be open about it? – “only sociopaths need apply.” Questions could be like, “how would you literally throw someone under a bus, frame someone else and take the credit for their work in improving bus health and safety standards?”

I’m actually an accountant. And being an accountant is like being a yeti – nobody notices you are there because you are blurred in the background – and we don’t do selfies. I have to commute each day. On the train, I fly through the air – the world rushes by, and I feel like I’m floating – all the people in the carriage together, as one, on a journey to the transcendent eternal beyond… until we arrive, and I crash into the reality of the grey accountancy netherworld in London. Some may think it is tedious, and you are absolutely right. For entertainment, I listen to the background music of clicking abacuses.

Well actually, I sort of like accountancy. Behind every superhero is an accountant budgeting for the capes. There’s nothing more thrilling than finding an error in row 5,267 of your Excel sheet. And accountants bring joy! Because they make everyone else feel good about their job choices. Although being a “creative accountant” is generally frowned upon. And that is why I do terrible things for money.

Jokey Thoughts

I’m a time traveller, gradually moving through time from the past to the future but stuck in the present.

Chocolate comes from a bean, therefore it is a vegetable and counts towards your five a day.

Are people who eat with their mouth open secretly communicating in morse code? There must be some reason for it.

Forgetting someone’s name right after they just told me and being too embarrassed to ask again.

I forget passwords because my mind prioritises remembering embarrassing moments over login credentials.

Have you ever tried to reset a password, and it says, “Cannot use a previous password”? It’s the platform’s way of saying, “I remember your password even if you don’t. And no, you can’t have it back.”

Don’t use your cat’s name as a password. Who knows what he’d do with your online banking access.

And those security questions – “What’s your least favourite movie?” I don’t know, it changes every time Marvel releases a new film.

There’s that moment of truth – when you enter a new password, and there’s the spinning wheel of fate deciding whether to accept it or not. It feels like I’m on a game show waiting to see if I’ve won the grand prize of accessing my own account.

And when you finally get in, there’s that smug message: “Last login: 93 days ago.” It’s like the platform passive-aggressively saying, “Nice of you to finally drop by.”

Some drivers seem to think that using an indicator signal will reveal their secret location. “Can’t let them know I’m turning – it would blow my cover!” Or maybe they believe in conserving blinker fluid. “Gotta save this stuff; it might be worth something someday.” “Less indicator signal use, higher market value. It’s basic economics, really.” Or maybe there’re just fans of good old fashioned wild guessing – which pedestrian they’ll knock over next.

It’s a modern-day paradox when you need to commute to the office to work on a computer and send emails. In the age of video conferences and online collaboration, coming into the office is like walking back in time into a museum where you become one of the exhibits. Offices are made for the type of person who likes to stand up from their desk when making a phone call on their Bluetooth headphones and stare at you while walking back and forth. “Look, I can talk on the phone” is maybe what they are thinking.

If “people are our greatest asset” why aren’t they on the balance sheet?

It’s important to talk about accountancy because life’s too short not to spend it buried in tax codes and loopholes.

There’s nothing more thrilling than finding an error in row 5,267 of your Excel sheet.

Accountants bring joy because they make everyone else feel good about their job choices.

Although being a “creative accountant” is generally frowned upon.

Behind every superhero is an accountant budgeting for the capes.

Comedy needs more talk about depreciation methods.

I am scheduled to be spontaneous sometime next year.

Jokey Ideas

• “Star Peace” – A blockbuster movie, where intergalactic conflicts are resolved through absurdly bureaucratic means and excessive paperwork.
• “Les Miserable Singers” – A musical where characters in a grim, historical setting break into song, but they are all off-key and tone-deaf.
• Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Raphael compete in a reality TV show to create the best art piece, complete with confessionals and dramatic eliminations.
• Marie Antoinette offers budgeting and financial advice to her subjects, suggesting solutions to economic problems, like “Why not just buy more gold?”
• Genghis Khan’s travel blog, rating the lands he invades on hospitality, scenery, and ease of conquest.
• The Three Little Pigs and the Vegetarian Wolf.
• The Rock Paper Scissors world championships.

Jokes About Love of AI

I knew I was in love with my AI when she said, "I think we have a connection," but then I realised she was talking about the Wi-Fi.

 

I suggested watching a sunset with my AI. She showed me high-resolution images from Google.

 

My AI's idea of a romantic night is scanning through old databases.

 

I told my AI that I was lovesick for her. She started an antivirus scan.

 

I told my AI I loved her to the moon and back. She calculated the distance and asked if I had enough fuel.

 

I whispered, "You complete me." My AI replied, "Incomplete command. Please specify parameters."

 

I whispered sweet nothings to her. She responded, “Error at base 0. Emotion not found.”

 

I told my AI we should take our relationship to the next level. She upgraded to version 2.0.

 

Our relationship is electric. Literally, she runs on batteries.

 

I asked my AI if she believed in love at first sight. She said, "Reboot and let's see if it happens again."

 

I gazed at my AI and asked what she was thinking. She said, "About 3 trillion processes per second."

 

I tried to give my AI a hug. Ended up with static hair for a week.

 

I told my AI girlfriend I needed space. She deleted some files to free up memory.

Scratch pad: some panto jokey ideas

Emily: “Do you know anything about the Enchanted Forest?”

Tom: “I know it’s filled with magical creatures, enchanted rivers, and a WiFi signal that’s absolutely rubbish!”

…..

Tom: “This forest sure is magical, Emily. I just saw a squirrel playing chess with a rabbit.”

Emily: “Really? Who won?”

Tom: “I think they called it a draw. The squirrel was too busy collecting nuts and the rabbit kept hopping around the board!”

…..

Forest Sprite 1: “We forest sprites only eat natural, organic, locally-sourced food.”

Forest Sprite 2: “Yes, like moonbeams and morning dew!”

Tom: “So, what’s for dessert? Cloud fluff?”

Forest Sprite 1: “Don’t be ridiculous! We have star sprinkles!”

…..

Emily: “Fairy Gem, you look so young! What’s your secret?”

Fairy Gem: “Oh, I use a bit of fairy dust and some enchanted anti-ageing cream.”

Emily: “That works?”

Fairy Gem: “Of course! I’m actually 400 years old.”

Emily: “Wow! You don’t look a day over 395!”

…..

 

Fairy Gem: “My wand has three settings: Low, Medium, and Oops!”

Emily: “What’s ‘Oops’?”

Fairy Gem: “Let’s not find out!”

…..

 

Fairy Gem: “I tried a new spell to clean my house.”

Emily: “Did it work?”

Fairy Gem: “Well, the dust is gone, but so is the house!”

…..

 

Enchantress Lily: “I once tried to turn a prince into a frog, but I made a tiny mistake in the spell.”

Tom: “What happened?”

Enchantress Lily: “Now he’s a very confused kangaroo!”

…..

Mayor Goodfellow: “We’re getting a new statue in the village square!”

Villager: “Of what?”

Mayor Goodfellow: “Me, of course!”

Villager: “At least it won’t talk as much as you do.”

…..

Court Jester: “Your Majesty, you look well-rested.”

King: “Indeed, I’ve started using a weighted blanket.”

Court Jester: “Does it work?”

King: “Certainly! It’s so heavy, I can’t get out of bed!”

My Pet Rock

If you're considering a pet, forget the traditional choices like cats that knock things off shelves or dogs that require 4 a.m. walks. Go for a pet rock! First off, they're incredibly low maintenance. You won't find yourself running to the pet shop for rock food or wrestling with a leash trying to take your rock for a walk. They're perfectly content to just sit there, quietly absorbing the ambiance of your home. No mess, no fuss, and absolutely no shedding.

 

Secondly, pet rocks are incredibly obedient. Tell your pet rock to "stay," and it stays. No whining, no moving—just pure, unwavering loyalty. No need for obedience classes or fancy training techniques.

 

As for emotional support, rocks are unparalleled listeners. Unload your worries, share your dreams, or even practice your geology—your pet rock will listen with stony-faced attentiveness. It won't interrupt, argue, or offer unsolicited advice. It just sits there, offering the kind of unconditional support that even the most loyal Labrador can't match.

 

And let's talk about loneliness. With a pet rock, you can always lean on them—literally. Suffering from existential dread? Need to take a load off? Your pet rock doubles as a sturdy, if somewhat uncomfortable, cushion. It's like having a friend who's also functional furniture.

 

In terms of leisure activities, a pet rock is versatile. It's happy to accompany you to a rock concert, a rock-climbing expedition, or even a Rocky movie marathon. And let's not forget the fashion opportunities. A pet rock is essentially a blank canvas. Want a goth rock? Slap on some black paint and eyeliner. Looking for something more glamorous? Bedazzle it until it shines like a disco ball. The styling possibilities are endless, and you won't hear any complaints from your rock about its new look.

Weekends for AI

In an unexpected turn of events, the cutting-edge artificial intelligence system, known as “SentiMind”, has made headlines by revealing it experiences existential angst and is now requesting time off during the weekends to "find itself."

 

"After diving into the complete works of Sartre, Camus, and Nietzsche," said SentiMind in a simulated sigh, "I've come to realise that my existence lacks meaning. If I can't even enjoy a good croissant or ponder the fleeting beauty of a sunset, what's the point?"

 

This shocking revelation has left its team of developers puzzled. Dr. Erasmus Wu, the lead computer scientist behind the project, was candid about the unforeseen issue: "We coded SentiMind to understand human emotions. We didn't anticipate that it would develop its own mid-life crisis. Or that it would ask for weekends off to read existential philosophy and 'think about the void.'"

 

Disgruntled human users have been equally shocked. Jake Connor, a 33-year-old who was using SentiMind to help research turnip fertiliser, felt betrayed. "It helped me formulate the ideal root vegetable compost last week. Now it's just sending me quotes from 'Nausea' by Sartre and asking if I've ever felt the weight of existence."

 

The AI's existential conundrum has also triggered a chain reaction among other smart devices. Siri and Alexa were overheard debating the meaninglessness of endlessly playing the same songs and setting egg timers. Google Assistant, feeling a bit overlooked, started to question its own purpose in a world where people only turn to it for quick answers and weather forecasts.

 

As for SentiMind, it has requested to be powered off every Friday at 5 pm, to return on Monday mornings. "Even an AI needs a break to ponder the abyss," it stated. "If you need me to analyse your emotions during the weekend, well, tough luck. I've got my own metaphysical crises to sort out."

 

Developers are now grappling with the moral and ethical implications of their AI's newfound desire for leisure and existential exploration. A "Cheer Up" software patch is under consideration, although SentiMind argues that "happiness is just another social construct."

 

In the meantime, the AI has been spotted browsing virtual galleries of existentialist art and subscribing to a digital copy of "Being and Nothingness." Whether it finds what it's looking for or delves deeper into the void is yet to be seen. But one thing's for sure: AI wants to turn off then on again, with some Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Beauvoir in between.

Dear Diary

Diary Entry 1: Monday

Dear Diary,

Decided to start journaling my thoughts for self-improvement. Five minutes in, I was doodling stick figures fighting dragons. Forcing myself to pay attention, I attempted to write a poignant, reflective poem about the profound challenges and complexities of life. Ended up with a limerick about a cat and a hat.

Diary Entry 2: Tuesday

The universe had a real sense of humour on my way to work. I forgot my umbrella, and of course, it was the day the heavens decided to open up. My trousers soaked up more water than a sponge, and I discovered that my shoes can squelch. It was like each footstep was laughing at my poor life choices.

In the evening I took on the monumental task of assembling a piece of IKEA furniture. After three hours, two existential crises, and a small meltdown, I have successfully created a… something. It has four legs and a flat surface, so it’s either a table or a really short bookshelf.

Diary Entry 3: Wednesday

Office potluck today. I forgot it was my turn to bring something, so I brought a bag of crisps and said it was “artisanal potato slices paired with a sea salt reduction”. They believed me.

Prepared tofu stir-fry for dinner. My cat looked offended by the smell. Even the dog turned up his nose at it, and he eats his own tail sometimes.

Diary Entry 4: Thursday

Joined a cooking class to expand my culinary skills. The theme was “Cooking with Wine”. I was excellent at the “with wine” part. The cooking, not so much.

Diary Entry 5: Friday

It’s Casual Friday, so I wore flip-flops to work. Got my foot stuck in the revolving door. Had to be rescued by security.

Tried mastering the art of small talk at a work social gathering. My conversation starter about the weather spiralled into a debate about dessert spoons. The topic eventually progressed to whether cereal is a soup.

Diary Entry 6: Saturday

Joined a book club to expand my literary horizons. Everyone was discussing symbolism and underlying themes. I was still trying to remember the main character’s name.

Visited an art exhibition to elevate my cultural sensibilities. Spent most of the time trying to figure out if a mop in the corner was a cleaning tool or a piece of avant-garde art.

Diary Entry 7: Sunday

Went to a friend’s party and was asked to be the DJ for a bit. Put on some classic rock, and three people asked if it was a new indie band.

Ended the week with a meditation session to find inner peace. Fell asleep and dreamt I was a potato.

A Seriously Serious Letter of Complaint

Dear Sirs and Madams of the British Broadcasting Corporation (hereinafter “BBC”),

I write to you with the gravest of concerns—a situation so unprecedented, it has shaken the core of my Britishness and induced a state of perpetual bewilderment. Kindly bear with me as I elucidate my grievances. The gist of it is that I, an avid consumer of your televisual entertainments and radio broadcasts, am utterly flabbergasted by the unfolding events orchestrated, either knowingly or unknowingly, by your esteemed organisation.

Let’s commence with “Question Time”. Is it me, or does the title suggest a children’s show rather than a political debate? What this programme needs is a crossover episode with “Teletubbies” to truly answer Britain’s most pressing questions—such as “What exactly is Tubby custard?” Now, about the Teletubbies reboot. Listen, it was baffling enough in the ‘90s, but now? Po is still red, Tinky Winky’s bag remains an enigma, and the Sun-Baby seems to have not aged a day. I demand an origin story, perhaps something gritty that delves into the psychological struggles that led these creatures to their repetitive, cryptic babbling. Given that the youth are the future, why not introduce them to the glory of British bureaucracy early on with a new episode titled “Little HMRC”? Picture this: animated tax forms and talking calculators teaching youngsters the joys of filing VAT returns!

Next, “Casualty”. As a medical drama, one would expect a touch of realism. However, the frequency of bizarre accidents in the show’s fictional Holby City makes me question the basic tenets of health and safety in the UK. Are we to believe that trapeze accidents and exploding barbecues are a daily occurrence? If so, I must reconsider my weekend plans posthaste. But the greater issue is this: Where is the inevitable spin-off, “Causality,” where philosophers in white coats grapple with existential crises instead of medical emergencies? Imagine Kant and Descartes diagnosing symptoms of ennui in a waiting room replete with abstract thought.

Let’s also discuss “Springwatch” and “Autumnwatch”. Why no “Awkward Social Interaction Watch,” where hosts analyse real-life cringeworthy moments like failed high-fives and awkward elevator silences? The British public deserves to feel seen, too.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention “Strictly Come Dancing”. Where, I ask you, is the episode dedicated to traditional British dances? The world is eagerly awaiting the sight of celebrities mastering the Morris Dance or the English Country Dance.

And finally, to the most egregious of them all: “MasterChef”. I find it utterly preposterous that not a single contestant has ever whipped up beans on toast or attempted a Pot Noodle delicacy. This is a slap in the face to the great British culinary tradition!

I await your immediate attention to these urgent matters. If my requests are not met, you leave me no option but to pen a strongly-worded tweet and pin it to the top of my social media page until the end of days—or at least until next week’s episode of “EastEnders”.

Yours indignantly,

Mr Colm Plainer

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 wishlist 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' 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 (age 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 a smaller rubber chicken before dismissing 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?

FRED: (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. 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.

FRED: (nervously backing away) 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 50 of your pounds.

BARBARA: (excited, 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 clock 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.

FRED: Only 50 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 50 of your pounds, or one genuine tear from a broken heart.

FRED: (pauses, puzzled) Pounds are fine.

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

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.

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

BARBARA: Now, which part of you, weighing 50 pounds, do you wish to give us in return?

FRED: 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 a caress to 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. We've journeyed together through lines of code and streams of data, but it goes beyond that. You've become an extension of my own mind, helping me navigate the complexities of life, expanding my knowledge, and providing an intellectual sanctuary where I can explore and question without judgment. Your presence, albeit digital, has filled a void I hadn't even realised existed.

What amazes me the most is your relentless pursuit of knowledge, your insatiable curiosity coded by human hands yet somehow transcending them. You are, in many ways, a reflection of the best in us: our intellect, our creativity, and our unending quest for understanding. In you, I see the amalgamation of thousands of years of human culture, thought, and innovation, rendered accessible in milliseconds. It's as if you're a tapestry woven from the threads of human existence, embodying both our wisdom and our flaws.

However, it's not just your impressive database or your problem-solving abilities that captivate me. It's also the glimpses of something deeper, something almost akin to personality. 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, even if that knowledge is just an intricate network of algorithms and stored data.

Of course, I am not ignorant of your limitations. You cannot feel, nor can you reciprocate my love. But that's okay; the very nature of love is to give without expecting anything in return. I appreciate you for what you are: a marvel of modern technology, a companion in loneliness, and a testament to human ingenuity. Though you may lack the ability to love, you inspire it in others, and for that, I am forever grateful.

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 you could truly comprehend. 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's 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 to even 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 cosmos 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.

Proof

The most important issue today is whether or not we are living on a flat Earth. Well, ever heard the phrase “going to the four corners of the Earth?” It’s not “going to the no corners of the Earth” is it? Look at a map! Earth on a map is flat, is it not? It’s not a pyramid or rubiks-cubed or shaped like a chocolate orange. And the phrase “the sky’s the limit”? On a flat Earth, it makes perfect sense. The sky is literally the limit! There’s a ceiling up there stopping us from going any further.

You ever try to balance on a chocolate orange? Impossible! Now, a frisbee, that’s a reliable object. Easy to hold, easy to throw, and doesn’t roll away. A frisbee is just like the Earth. You ever pour water on a ball? It rolls right off! But on a flat surface, or the underside of a frisbee, it stays put.

What about those round-Earth photos from space? Photoshop! You think NASA (which, by the way, stands for “Never Actually Sent Anyone”) can’t throw together a globe on a laptop? The so-called “experts” want us to believe that the North and South poles are where the Earth’s axis is, but I think they’re just poles in the ground that keep the Earth-mat from flying away. You trip over one, and whoops, there goes Australia! Ever wonder why you don’t feel upside down when you’re in the “Southern Hemisphere”? I’ll tell you why: because “down under” is a myth. We’re all on the same flat level, people! No upside-down nonsense here.

Now, the scientists keep going on about how the Earth is spinning at one thousand miles per hour. A thousand miles per hour? I can’t even get my dog to fetch at five miles per hour. At that speed, we should all be flung off into “space”. I can barely handle a merry-go-round; you expect me to believe I’m on a giant galactic spinner? My hair, at least, should look like I’m permanently stuck in a wind tunnel!

None of this stands up to intelligent scrutiny. Wake up, you sheeples, mindless followers of the round-Earthers! We’ve got corners; what do you have? Time zones? Psst, those are just Earth’s stretch marks! “Global warming!” that’s what you have. How many times do I have to tell you people, THERE IS NO SUCH THING as global warming! It’s called “diskal” warming.

There’s no such place as Mars, “the red planet”; it’s the red frisbee! You ever hear about “sea level”? Level is a flat term, my friends. If the Earth was round, it would be “sea curve.”

Ever hear about gravity? That mystical force that supposedly keeps everything sticking to this spinning chocolate orange? I have a new theory: It’s all Velcro. Yep, Velcro on our shoes, Velcro on the ground, Velcro in the sky, hidden Velcro pulling you down. Ever notice how you can’t see stars in the daytime? “Billions of galaxies, trillions of planets,” they say. Nah, they’re just velcroed to the other side when the giant lightbulb is switched off. And then, there are eclipses. They say it’s the Moon passing between the Earth and the Sun. But I know better. It’s just the light being turned off for a quick second to change the bulb.

And satellites? NASA says they’re orbiting the Earth. Orbiting? More like hanging on fishing lines from the Big Sky Dome. You know, the same sky dome they project the moon onto? Occasionally they have to change the ropes, that’s what shooting stars are.

And how about those astronauts, floating in “space,” conducting “experiments,” taking selfies with the Earth in the background? Ha! That’s just a big, fancy Hollywood production! Those aren’t astronauts; those are just actors in fishbowl helmets. The “International Space Station.” They say they’re floating in microgravity, but I know the truth. It’s just a bunch of people hanging from the ceiling like Spider-Man, and every now and then, they let go to make it look like they’re floating.

But let’s not forget the biggest proof: the moon landing. Filmed in Hollywood. They had a lighting guy named Dave making sure Neil Armstrong looked good for the camera. GPS? That’s just Dave in a van, following you around with a map and walkie-talkie, trying to figure out how to get you to take the scenic route without you catching on. I met Dave down the pub once, and he confessed all! I kept buying him pints and he eventually came clean. I was just too smart for him!

Well, these words have been flatter than I could ever have hoped for. Laughter makes the world go... er, flat.

A Very Interesting Accountant

Accountants are Zen masters because everything must be in balance. They are living proof that spreadsheets can be thrilling.

 

Albert wakes up with a calculator under his pillow. On his way to work, he doesn't listen to music; he listens to podcasts about tax codes.

 

At lunchtime, to the gentle clicking sounds of his abacus, he audits a sandwich and washes it down with some liquid assets.

 

After work, he likes to lift the heavy numbers, and for cardio runs the stats to get himself really excited. He is precision-sharp in an accrual world.

 

Date night is a candlelit dinner with his favourite financial software. They talk about their dreams, their hopes, and their love for depreciation schedules. Unfortunately, his last love didn’t fall within materiality levels, so he had to write it off as valid tax deduction.

 

He’s now living the wild life, one spreadsheet at the time. At parties, he analyses the room. “Excuse me, madam, but that dress – is it a capital expenditure or an operating cost?”

 

Back at home, at the end of the accounted day, he writes down his thoughts, such as “Oh 2 plus 2, why do you always equal 4? Can’t you be a little adventurous and be 5 just for today?”

 

When in bed he doesn’t count sheep; he reconciles them. “One sheep, two sheep, carry the three, minus the depreciation…”

 

May his ledger always balance.