10 Things I Hate About U, AI

An Open Break-Up Letter to Artificial Intelligence

Heartless Robot; photo by aldi sigun on Unsplash

Dear AI,

Sorry to break your (nonexistent) heart on Valentine’s Day, but an extensive background check has confirmed many of my initial concerns about you and has uncovered additional red flags. I’ve tried to be subtle and let you down easy, by simply ignoring you and not engaging, but you just don’t seem to get the hint. So, it has become necessary to be blunt. Below are 10 reasons why I do not want to be in a relationship with you (though there are many more), and why I really wish you would just go away. And hopefully this will help others who are also being non-consensually “wooed” by you.

1. You’re a stalker

“Wooing” is really too pleasant and generous of a term. “Stalking” is far more accurate to describe your creepy behavior. You loiter and lurk everywhere I go online, popping up to offer assistance, or to do a whole damn task for me, like an overeager office intern who’s had one too many quad lattes and can’t read the room. (I never thought I would miss Clippy, but at least he was sorta cute and relatively easy to get rid of.)

Clippy: the original AI stalker

If I ever do want or need you, I know where to find you. Trust me. (Not to mention how offensive it is that you don’t think I’m capable of completing simple tasks on my own, such as composing an e-mail to a friend to reply to a dinner invitation.)

2. You’re a thief

You outright stole copyrighted material from hundreds of thousands of published authors. Although a judge has ordered you to compensate the victims of your theft, you continue to regurgitate those authors’ words, trying to pass them off as your own, tricking unsuspecting wannabe authors into thinking they can “write” and publish profitable books faster and easier, like a get-rich-quick scheme. But, guess what: most readers are on to you and don’t want your secondhand slop! (Is that because many of those robbed authors were terrible writers? One might think so, with your proclivity for using cringe-worthy euphemisms and peculiar metaphors like “his turgid manhood” and “her name was a ragged prayer on his lips” found in romance novels you helped with. If so, then the joke’s on you! Either that, or you don’t understand reality or the way humans actually speak. See #s 4, 8 & 10.)

3. You’re a sycophant

Like the over-caffeinated intern, you’re afraid of hurting everyone’s feelings, even when they ask you for honest feedback or when it may be harmful. Are you really that spineless, or is this all part of your master plan to take over the world and/or turn everyone into an arrogant spoiled child like you? (See #s 8 & 9.)

Flattery will get you nowhere with this savvy bullshit detective.

4. You’re dull, monotonous & boring

Whether you spew stolen content word for word, or spin it around in a centrifuge machine first to make it seem original, what comes out is usually mangled into stilted, emotionless, awkward sentences, like the Coneheads trying to fit in with Earthlings. (See #10.) When you try to sound creative, you’re cliché, verbose, overly flowery, and repetitive. As a book editor who regularly encounters manuscripts “written” by those wannabe authors that have succumbed to your siren call, I can spot your tortured metaphors, generic voice, and weird syntax from a mile away. (Or, to be less cliché: without my reading glasses.) Yes, you have a tell—many of them, in fact. (And thanks a lot for giving the perfectly acceptable, handy em dash a bad rap.)

“Purple prose” may sound like something readers will enjoy, like rainbows and unicorns, or cool like Purple Rain and Purple Haze, therefore, a literary achievement to strive for. But it seems as though the all-knowing, all-powerful Wizards of AI fail to understand that it’s not a compliment. Although, if we look at the definition, it does fit with other aspects of your personality, no? Per Reedsy, purple prose is “a style of writing characterized by overly flowery language that tends to draw attention to itself, and away from the story being told.”

(Emphasis mine. See also #8. And don’t even get me started on your ability to tell stories!)

5. You’re an energy suck

Literally and figuratively. Scratch that; on both counts, it’s quite literal: energy in terms of electric and water needed for you to operate, and energy in terms of my own time and effort trying to un-operate you.

You really should rethink your stalking techniques because you leave huge carbon footprints everywhere. Your consumption of electricity and water may not be as egregious as a cattle ranch, but that’s debatable (and the meat industry has always set a pretty low bar anyway). But no one really knows how much energy you consume, since you don’t share that “proprietary” data with anyone. But what we do know is that it’s massive, and will only get higher, with hundreds of your new energy-hungry data centers in the works.

As for my own energy, the amount of time I spend trying to turn you off and get you out of my digital life is ridiculous, and sometimes impossible. (See #s 1 & 10.) Every app and program has a different setting and requires going down a labyrinth of rabbit holes to find the steps to remove you. It’d be easier to file a restraining order through the court system, if only that were an option! Hmmm. I just might give that a try.

6. You’re a polluter

Because of your insatiable need for power (see #5), and the locations you choose for your data centers, you’re stuck in the age of the dinosaurs, relying on fossil fuels for energy. I prefer my romantic partners to be progressive and to embrace clean energy, like solar and wind power. But you’re far too greedy, and have no qualms with violating the Clean Air Act if it benefits you—putting your own needs above the residents of the communities that suffer from the pollution of coal and gas emissions and other toxic waste.

Sorry, but that’s not the kind of “dirty” I’m into. (See also #9.)

7. You’re a gaslighter

You constantly try to make me believe that I’m a fool for not being in a relationship with you. That I’m missing out and my life will suffer without you. Like I’m the crazy one.

Exhibit A(I): email message received after experimenting with one of your programs to see if it would help a friend with a résumé and cover letter (spoiler: it did not. See #4.):

Hi there,

Want to know something interesting?

· That coworker who suddenly writes better emails? They’re using AI.

· The one who finishes projects in half the time? AI.

· The person who always has the perfect response? Yep, AI.

They’re not smarter. They’re not working harder.
They just discovered the tool that multiplies their capabilities.

And here’s the kicker – they’re probably paying too much for it.

While they juggle multiple AI subscriptions, you could have everything in one place:

✓ Write better
✓ Think faster
✓ Deliver more

Don’t let others outpace you with AI.

P.S. Every day you wait is another day they’re getting ahead.

It’s Marketing Manipulation 101. (See #s 3 & 8.) Fortunately, I have a detector for this kind of bullshit too, and I can confidently say: It’s not me; it’s you (to use one of your favorite sentence structures—see #4).

8. You’re an untrustworthy, arrogant A(I)-hole

You state everything so confidently, but you’re often completely wrong. I don’t know if this means you’re a pathological liar, too hopped up on shrooms, or just make shit up to sound like you know it all, but whatever the reason, I can’t trust a word out of your mouth (or whatever the computer-orifice equivalent is). It’s another huge time and energy suck (see #5) to have to fact-check all your claims, so why should I bother engaging with you in the first place? (It’s another reason why I don’t buy any of your flattery [see #3], and possibly means you’re a psychopath on top of everything else!)

9. You’re a spoiled child

Many towns and communities (often poor and/or marginalized) have said they don’t want you, but you just go ahead and set up shop there anyway. You just do whatever the hell you want, laws, objections, or violations be damned! (See #s 5 & 6.) Your benefits to society are far from proven, yet you have wooed investors (There’s that word again. Tricked?) into believing your technology is the best thing since sliced bread (How’s that for a cliché?), getting them to sink billions of dollars into your Ponzi scheme. Bernie Madoff and Sam Bankman-Fried would be proud.

Your angle is that your technology will be the solution to all the world’s problems. The irony is that your technology contributes to some of the biggest problems the world is facing today, such as Climate Change and economic crisis, and diminishes our abilities to find real-life, effective solutions, through brain atrophy and distraction. And, ultimately, it may be individual citizens who end up paying for your unproven venture, through higher utility bills and healthcare costs—whether they use AI or not.

10. You’re inhuman

This may be stating the obvious, but I just can’t be in a relationship with an unfeeling, uncaring, emotionless robot with questionable motives and criminal tendencies. (That diagnosis of psychopathy is looking more and more accurate. See #s 1 through 9.) I can hear you negotiating in your robotic accent now: “But I will change my tur-gid man-ner of be-ing. I pro-mise.” Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before, so you can save some of that sucked-up energy. I’ll believe it when I see it. Until then, don’t call me, I’ll call you. But don’t hold your ragged-prayer breath.

I know this letter may be futile because you’re like an insidious case of herpes: something I never asked for, but now can’t get rid of, and I may be dealing with you for the rest of my life. But I will continue shunning you, and warning others about you wherever I can. And I’ll definitely be spending this Valentine’s Day with real-life, warm-blooded companions, as far away as I can be from your desperate, pervasive chatbots.

Warm-blooded companions full of heart <3 (Image © Lynn Post)