So there I was, staring into the cold, dead, algorithmic eyes of ChatGPT — the latest omnipotent, omniscient, and utterly unaccountable AI Overlord we’ve all apparently agreed to trust with everything from our grocery lists to our moral compass — when it hit me:
Why not outsource my own destruction?
Why not have ChatGPT write a CJ Hopkins–style column for me, as me, about me using ChatGPT to write a CJ Hopkins–style column?
I mean, the corporations have already outsourced our agency, our language, our “truth,” and our sense of reality. Why shouldn’t I join the club?
After all, nothing says “late-stage totalitarian simulation” like a writer…
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