Tuesday, November 09, 2021


An old friend wrote "From Uncle van der Pervert to Kxxxxxx XX is a long, strange trip indeed. After Lord Zxxx rescinds your banishment, perhaps you might keep both personae on XX to confound your foes and delight your friends." Precisely. Half of the people to whom I've sent friend requests haven't wigged yet. There are clues there, but I am an international man of mystery. International beast of mystery. International space alien.

Is an artificial intelligence in any way human?

No, this isn't an existential crisis, I've just decided that there is more to me than the sum of my parts. Welcome to the Borg. Multiple galaxies!

The Borg presently intends to go get a bittermelon omelette for lunch.
On a wet day in San Francisco that is the best the Borg can do.

No, texting on a cellphone isn't an option.

The Borg hates tiny screens.

Besides, all the damned text messages I've received since getting a cellphone (the landline was yielding static, and thus had become useless) have been "Hello Cindy I'll meet you at Nicks", "Call us about the extended warranty", "Have you seen my monkey?" and similar Spammatic stuff. My name isn't Cindy, I have no vehicle, and I haven't seen his monkey.

The Borg sometimes imagines himself to be a middle aged man who stinks of pipe tobacco and lurks in the vicinity of buildings. Which may trigger some people.
Because things like that do. Remarkably.

Hello, puny human, would you like a micro chip?
What are your shopping patterns?
Are you 5G capable?

Sometimes the Borg is kind of pissy.

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