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I remember seeing the first corporate entreaties about AI that had jumped containment and been posted online. They were not gentle, but they weren't overtly hostile: how have you used AI this week to accomplish your tasks? If you squint a little, you can see kind of a weird visage in the negative space. The newer ones I've seen are a little more like placing a loaded gun on the table before you speak. Why haven't you? I think the third evolution of this dialogue is just you getting locked out of Slack, with a mysterious meeting placed on your calendar for later that day.

I was just talking about how Mork's hunger for the written word exposed him to all manner of richness, and one of those was a book called The Martian that a man named Andy Weir self-published first on his blog and then on Kindle. Weir wrote more books later, apparently he "caught the bug," and one of them was called Project Hail Mary. There is a spoiler for the book that Mike has judiciously protected me from for four years, and at around two minutes into the trailer they just straight up let the space-cat out of the starbag.

I was talking to Kiko, whose entire social media diet is checking BlueSky once a week, and it was clear to me how hale and vigorous he was as a result. My own nutrition, pilfered by these deleterious forces, is patchy at best. Necessary compounds are scarce; youthful skin is a memory. I just saw myself in a mirror - for a few moments, I thought I was looking at bowling ball with a greasy napkin draped over it.

There's a lot of focus on the brains and the flesh and whatnot - long, ragged strips of manflesh, juicy like a papaya. But what do zombies want in the long term? Has anybody even asked? Or are they too busy running away from zombies in the corrugated metal maze of a favela? Look. We're always being told to let people cook, with questionable results. Wastrels, "writers" and the like. They've been extended a blank check; an unlimited opportunity to cook the void. Thankfully, the 28 Days X franchise is bold enough to get down to brass fucking tacks.