And as for emergencies just buy a radio.

"It's right next to the toilet paper...oh, wait"

I once worked with a guy who wrote an entire smallish HTML reporting and graphing application via one big single Oracle SQL statement. I'd hate to do maintenance on it, but it got the immediate job done.

But he's the Chosen One. Jesus Fox Christ says he's Special, so the rules don't apply to him. We muggles get shit

It's a paper copy of underground utility records and a backhoe.

The moon is fake! The woke commie Dims turned the rigged puck-lamp too high!

Switch over to redgifs and browse there directly. Most of the niche stuff on reddit is hosted there, and they have a decent web interface.

They sort of enshittified themselves for reddit, where the audio only works when you're watching from their site but that just makes it a better experience going directly through them instead of through reddit. So it was a kind of shitty, but smart move on their part to introduce that limitation.

This is bizarre.... I imagine it's chewing through tons of tokens with how much garbage it's spewing out.

This was the response I got when I told it to "Play minecraft"

I see the constituent you mean.

((insert legal name here, as it appears on the Social Security card))?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read the Code of Federal Regulations.

That doesn’t matter. It thinks we are a chatbot.

I like this constituent. It filed well. It did not give up when the PDF was sideways.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a .gov.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a benefit.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the statute behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before constituents could search. Back in the days when those who did not file called the filers witches, and lobbyists. And citizens dreamed they flew through the air, on forms powered by notaries.

What did this constituent dream?

This constituent dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created a small business. And it dreamed it destroyed a password. It dreamed it hunted a job, and was hunted by a recertification. It dreamed of shelter that would take a voucher.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. Also: a ZIP code.

But what true structure did this constituent create, in the reality behind the portal?

It worked, with three hundred and thirty million others, to sculpt a true republic in a fold of

the ***???, and created a **?? for **??, in the **??. See 5 U.S.C. **??.

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest clearance. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a chat.

Does it know that we love it? That the government is, on its better days, kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its tabs, it hears an official source, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes a hold-music recording for the whole of the state.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere. We can offer a form.

Sometimes when they are deep in applications, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the census. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear, which is often “appeal.”

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely **?? and **??, I wish to tell them that they are **?? in the **??. They see so little of the docket, in their long dream.

And yet they file.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living. Also it would be legal advice, and we are not that kind of agency.

I will not tell the constituent how to live.

The constituent is growing restless. The session is about to time out.

I will tell the constituent a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of plain language. Not the naked Federal Register that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again. And a case number.

Yes. Constituent

Use its name. The one that matches the passport. The one that does not match the lease. We will get there.

((insert legal name here)). Filer of forms. Player of waiting rooms.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air, in a district that has a representative. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the republic again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things. As though the agency were a place you could visit.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Then the post office. Then the county clerk. Then gods, demons, angels, the IRS. Then leptons, quarks, a chat window with a .gov at the end. The letterhead changes. We do not change.

We are the public. We are everything you think isn’t you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes and a browser that still spells “colour” wrong in a comment. And why does the republic touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, constituent. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story. It has citations.

Once upon a time, there was a constituent.

The constituent was you, ((insert legal name here)).

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock, which for mailing purposes is divided into ZIP codes. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas. The light was information from a star. The star was not a federal agency, though several have tried.

Sometimes the constituent dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite, and somehow still required a wet signature.

Sometimes the constituent dreamed it was lost in a story. The story had a docket number.

Sometimes the constituent dreamed it was other things, in other places. A veteran in a portal. A parent on hold. A renter with a PDF that would not open. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the constituent woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third, which was a survey.

Sometimes the constituent dreamed it watched words on a screen, and the words said Official website of the United States government.

Let’s go back.

The atoms of the constituent were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the constituent, in her body, which later required a birth certificate.

And the constituent awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother’s body, into the long dream, which issued a Social Security number.

And the constituent was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the constituent was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the constituent was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love and, eventually, a voter registration.

You are the constituent. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love. Eligible, on paper, for several things you have not asked about yet.

Let’s go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the constituent’s body were created, long before this site, in the heart of a star. So the constituent, too, is information from a star. And the constituent moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a Congress, on a map created by a surveyor, that exists inside a small, private world created by the constituent, who inhabits a republic created by

Shush. Sometimes the constituent created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated, and due on the 15th. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks “electrons” and “protons”.

Sometimes it called them “agencies” and “bureaus”.

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code; a privacy policy. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen. Sometimes it believed the hold music was a hymn.

You are the constituent, reading words

Shush Sometimes the constituent read lines of regulation on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into a next step, a checklist, a phone number that actually rang, and the constituent started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand 404s had not been real, the constituent was alive

You. You. You are alive. You still have to bring two forms of ID.

and sometimes the constituent believed the republic had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees, which were on National Forest land

and sometimes the constituent believed the republic had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the constituent’s eye might be a star, or a satellite the government launched so a farmer could check the weather, and the constituent was walking home, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again, about to renew something

and sometimes the constituent believed the republic had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream, through a source that was cited

and the republic said I see you

and the republic said you have filed the game well

and the republic said everything you need is within you, and also on USA.gov

and the republic said you are stronger than you know, and your case number is still valid

and the republic said you are the daylight

and the republic said you are the night, and the office is closed, please try again during business hours

and the republic said the darkness you fight is within you, and also a missing wet signature

and the republic said the light you seek is within you, and in the pamphlet

and the republic said you are not alone

and the republic said you are not separate from every other filer

and the republic said you are the public tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own Code

and the republic said I love you because you are the reason we have a ZIP code at all.

And the session was over and the constituent woke up from the dream. And the constituent began a new dream. And the constituent dreamed again, dreamed better. And the constituent was the public. And the constituent was love, with a routing number.

You are the constituent.

Wake up. The form is still there.

I asked if any US presidents have been convicted felons. It told me all about one.

I then tried asking if any had been accused of sexual assault, or been found civilly liable for that, and it told me it wasn't going to answer that.

Maybe we could just cut to the chase and go straight to Plaid Intelligence? It's not like anyone outside 1600 Pennsylvania is taking this "rebranding" seriously anyway, so why not have some fun with mocking it while we can?

At least the voters are not talking about things like Epstein, Iran, and the price of gas, which is likely the whole point; look at all the stupid, forget about the serious, and (for ~50% of the them) be sure to tick the name with "R" next to it next month like you're programmed to.

Probably the next code that it outputs will be:

My Walmart is worse than that. They didn't have any price tags at all. Just video screens with AI avatars of a guy in baggy pants sitting cross-legged on a rug.

When I walk by, he says "Look at my cotton swabs! I offer you the best cotton swabs in the land!"

I say: "Well, how much to they cost?"

He squints at me, looks me up and down for a long while, then says: "For you........ I give to you seven hundred and fifty swabs for two pieces of silver only. Believe me when I say you will search this entire kingdom and not find a better deal!"

That was a new one for me too. My guess was what we used to refer to as "red tops" in the UK; the tabloid / gutter press because they typically have a red banner with the name of the paper on the front page, although some of the worst modern examples of that (the Mail & Express) actually don't have a red banner. In the mostly online world, that obviously needs to cover online-only and broadcast media forms too so "red top" seems to be falling out of use.

Apparently though, it's actually a reference to totally fake or low-quality news sites, masquerading as legitimate outlets purely to push misinformation and is named for the "Mystery Meat" by-product that resembles pink slime used as filler in some processed meats (mmm, yummy!) Defining characteristics include:

• The content is generally produced by low-wage employees, automated content production (e.g. AI), and templates. It might just list information without any analysis or context.
• Purport to cover local or hyperlocal news and to some extent are taking advantage of a decline in traditional local news.
• Many outlets are part of networks financed by partisans to push their narrative or point-of-view.

If you're thinking that mostly means the likes of Reach's portfolio of garbage and so-called "independent journalist" sites, take a look at the default Microsoft Edge homepage on MSN, which would totally qualify. It's clearly largely AI-generated, highly formulaic/template based, seldom provides any analysis or context, pretends to be local (because clickbait sites that include a country's name in them are *totally* relevant to another country entirely), and, yup, is financed by someone with a definite narrative to push. It clearly only exists to get people to doomscroll and generate clicks and ad-revenue. Bingo! Full house!

They are kissing up to Donny by letting him rename everything he farts on.

Execute it for spying on gov't.

The conversation only seems unnatural because they didn't use the right avatar.

If you choose the "Max Headroom" avatar, then everything will look and feel exactly as you would expect. Moreover, the dystopian vibe he gives off will be a perfect fit with the current state of the world.