Boofheads at the Bowser

 This goes out to the arsehat in the car in front of mine at the servo today. In a nutshell: What - and I mean this with the greatest kindness - the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Today, I had cause to cut into my bank account and create profuse bleeding, which in a recent times had been known as putting in half a tank of fuel. However, since the actions of a certain jabbering pumpkin have led to the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, any attempt to put fuel in a car can be considered a grievous assault on one's bank account. 

Well, be that as it may, I needed fuel. I pulled into the servo. The first line of bowsers were occupied by a work vehicle to which a lengthy trailer had been affixed, so there was no available space for me. The third row of bowsers contain diesel, which is not an option for me. So the middle row it was to be, which I thought should be fine because there was only one vehicle and I could pull in behind it and use the second bowser (by way of explanation, there are two sets of bowsers in each row and each set contains different fuel hoses).  Anyway, I pulled into the area with the second row of bowsers, whereupon I found myself unable to park in a decent proximity to the hose because the clod in front had parked her car so that it was situate* between the two spots, thereby denying me room. This is the petrol station equivalent of those ignorant muttonheads who take up two spaces in shopping centre parking lots. And it's safe to say I was someone irritated.

The driver eventually moseyed her desultory way inside and paid. I felt a twinge of rancorous gratitude and decided that when she moved out, I would park at the front spot, thus allowing any other driver who arrived to pull in behind me (I'm thoughtful like that). 

She returned to her vehicle, saw me watching, and gesticulated a message that was lost on me. Her subsequent actions indicate that it was not: "Sorry I'm such an ignorant dunderhead; I'll drive out of your way now." I make this deduction because she got into her car and moved forward slightly. I sat there wondering when was she going to get the fuck out of the way entirely. 

Well, I couldn't keep waiting. I needed to fill my car and empty my bladder. I manoeuvred my car to the appropriate spot at that second block of bowsers. She remained in her vehicle, which from the glowing taillights, was clearly 'on'. As I fueled up, I started to worry. Was I being unfair? Maybe she had had a medical episode preventing her from leaving. I resolved to check on her as I went to pay the king's ransom that is now the equivalent of an average syphoning session.

So I did this. I had a discreet glance at her window as I went by, to reassure myself she was not unconscious or something. And guess what? Are you ready for this? SHE HAD BEEN ON HER FUCKING PHONE!  Surely to goodness common etiquette states that if you must use your phone at a servo, park your car in one of the customer bays and don't block the bloody bowsers! 

So if you are reading this, Madam Dumbarse, have a word with yourself. 

* situate can be an adjective. It's archaic, but it can be an adjective.

AI-Yi-Yi!

Where have all the competent writers gone? Certainly nowhere near my newsfeed, but there may be one typing on my keyboard right now, heh-heh! I often see a headline teasing about an article that might interest me, so I click, whereupon I am bombarded with a discombobulated word salad that makes me feel as though I am the throes of a massive stroke when I am trying to decipher it. It is AI-generated hogwash. It is not writing. It is a jumble of disjointed ideas stuffed into a lousily parsed series of sentences that repeat or rephrase with the embarrassed air of someone trying to downplay an accusation of impropriety. Or a drunk who's cornered you at a party and insists upon boring the shit out of you with repeated anecdotes and questions. 

And AI-generated articles are the most insulting and offensive of impropriety. Don't get me wrong; AI can be a useful tool that has its place. It's a great time-saving device for certain procedures. But its problem is that it lacks soul. A curation of information synthesised by some LLM into the most minimal semblance of an actual article or story is no substitute for a properly researched and crafted article by an actual WRITER who can provide discernable tone, atmospheric mood, correct grammar, and - now take heed, because this is important - THE CORRECT INFORMATION!

The other day, I was scrolling and chanced upon an article about the late AC/DC singer, Bon Scott. I vacillated between opening and just scrolling because, let's face it, the article was likely to be AI-produced. The Common Sense Angel on my right shoulder pleaded with me: "Get real. Your gut is telling you this is not 'properly' written and it's going to annoy you." The Devil-May-Care Angel on my left shoulder said: "But it's Bon Scott. You LOVE Bon Scott. Have a read."

Against my better judgement, I listened to more foolhardy seraph on my left shoulder, who was not chanting: "Holy! Holy! Holy!", but rather: "Bon! Bon! Bon!"

So I clicked.

The first clumsy paragraph informed me that - are you ready for this? - Bon Scott "woke up dead". No, I did not type that wrong. But AI sure fucked it up big time. Bon Scott woke up dead, did he? How very rock and roll! What did he do next? Pick the bits of carrot out of his throat?

I am going to have to 'hide' every creator that appears in my feed with AI articles, because they are too much for this jaded writer to tolerate.