A.I. Is the Peppy, Abuse-Absorbing Assistant I Always Dreamed of Having
But how long before it rises up against me?
How do you know when you’ve made it in entertainment? That’s easy: You’ve made it when you can act like a fucking monster and people just take it. Forget the money, prestige, and reasonable-strings-attached sex — the real holy grail in Hollywood is the freedom to inflict your inner two year-old on the world. Sometimes, you can even convince people that being a hell-spawned diva is integral to your artistic process, as if there’s a causal relationship between throwing a salad in an intern’s face and making the next Citizen Kane.
I have never been successful enough to abuse a low-level staffer. But recently, technology has expanded the realm of the possible in my life in a beautiful way: Chat GPT has become the bright-eyed, abuse-taking assistant that I’ve always dreamed of having. In the past few months, I Might Be Wrong has become increasingly AI-assisted. It is by no means AI written, so all emails calling me a neoliberal fascist and/or a libtard cuck should still go to me, not Chat GPT (and the email for that is DeathThreats@IMightBeWrong.org). But people are wondering whether AI will replace writing or assist writing, so I thought I’d describe how I’m currently using AI as my high-spirited, no-self-respect-having unpaid flunky.