At first, they seemed as though they were simply errors. In fact, they were the types of errors you’d expect an AI system to make if it’s “intelligence” were based on a fairly uncritical amalgam of ingesting a vast amount of written material. The strains of the Beatles Nowhere Man reverberate in my head. I no longer thing the mistakes are “innocent” mistakes. They are part of an overall effort to destroy human intelligence. That does not necessarily mean that some evil person somewhere said to themselves: “Let’s destroy human intelligence. Then, people will be more willing to accept AI as being intelligent.” It could be that the attempt to destroy human intelligence is more a side-effect of unrelenting greed and hubris than a well thought-out plot.
AI generated.
What errors am I talking about? The first set of errors I noticed happened when my wife specifically asked ChatGPT about my biography. Admittedly, my name is very common. When I worked at IBM, at one point, there were 22 employees with the name “John Thomas.” Probably, the most famous person with my name (John Charles Thomas) was an opera singer. “John Curtis Thomas” was a famous high jumper. The biographic summary produced by ChatGPT did include information about me—as well as several other people. If you know much at all about the real world, you know that a single person is very unlikely to hold academic positions in three different institutions and specializing in three different fields. ChatGPT didn’t blink though.
A few months ago, I wrote a blog post pointing out that we can never be in the same place twice. We’re spinning and spiraling through the universe at high speed. To make that statement more quantitative, I asked my search engine how far the sun travels through the galaxy in the course of a year. It gave an answer which seemed to check out with other sources and then—it gratuitously added this erroneous comment: “This is called a light year.”
What?
No. A “light year” is the distance light travels in a year, not how far the sun travels in a year.
What was more disturbing is that the answer was the first thing I saw. The search engine didn’t ask me if I wanted to try out an experimental AI system. It presented it as “the answer.”
But wait. There’s more. A few hours later, I demo’ed this and the offending notion about what constituted a light year was gone from the answer. Coincidence?
AI generated. I asked for a forest with rabbit ears instead of leaves. Does this fit the bill?
A few weeks later, I happened to be at a dinner and the conversation turned to Arabic. I mentioned that I had tried to learn a little in preparation for a possible assignment for IBM. I said that, in Arabic, verbs as well as nouns and adjectives are “gendered.” Someone said, “Oh, yes, it’s the same in Spanish.” No, it’s not. I checked with a query—not because I wasn’t sure—but in order to have “objective proof.” To my astonishment, when I asked, “Which language have gendered verbs, the answer came back to say that this was true of Romance languages and Slavic languages. It not true of Romance languages. Then, the AI system offered an example. That’s nice. But what the “example” actually shows is the verb not changing with gender. The next day, I went to replicate this error and it was gone. Coincidence?
Last Saturday, at the “Geezer’s Breakfast,” talk turned to politics and someone asked whether Alaska or Greenland was bigger. I entered a query something like: “Which is bigger? Greenland or Alaska.” I got back an AI summary. It compared the area of Greenland and Iceland. Following the AI summary were ten links, each of which compared Greenland and Iceland. I turned the question around: “Which is larger? Alaska or Greenland?” Now, the AI summary came back with the answer: “Alaska is larger with 586,000 square miles while Greenland is 836,300 square miles.”
AI generated. I asked for a map of the southern USA with the Gulf of Mexico labeled as “The Gulf of Ignorance” (You ready for an AI surgeon?)
What??
When I asked the same question a few minutes later, the comparison was fixed.
So…what the hell is going on? How is the AI system repairing its answers? Several possibilities spring to mind.
There is a team of people “checking on” the AI answers and repairing them. That seems unlikely to scale. Spot checking I could understand. Perhaps checking them in batch, but it’s as though the mistakes trigger a change that fixes that particular issue.
Way back in the late 1950’s/early 1960’s, Arthur Lee Samuel developed a program to play checkers. The machine had various versions that played against each other in order to improve play faster than could be done by having the checker player play human opponents. This general idea has been used in AI many times since.
One possible explanation of the AI self-correction is that the AI system has a variety of different “versions” that answer question. For simplicity of explanation, let’s say there are ten, numbered 1 through 10. Randomly, when a user asks a question, they get one version’s answer; let’s say they get an answer based on version 7. After the question is “answered” by version 7, its answer is compared to the consensus answer of all ten. If the system is lucky, most of the other nine versions will answer correctly. This provides feedback that will allow the system to improve.
There is a more paranoid explanation. At least, a few years ago, I would have considered it paranoid because I like to give people the benefit of the doubt and I vastly underestimated just how evil some of the greediest people on the planet really are. So, now, what I’m about to propose, while I still consider it paranoid, is not nearly so paranoid as it would have seemed a few years ago.
MORE! MORE! MORE!
Not only have I discovered that the ultra-greedy are short-sighted enough to usher in a dictatorship that will destroy them and their wealth (read what Putin did and Stalin before him), but I have noticed an incredible number of times in the last few years where a topic that I am talking about ends up being followed within minutes by ads about products and services relevant to that conversation. Coincidence?
Possibly. But it’s also possible that the likes of Alexa and Siri are constantly listening in and it is my feedback that is being used to signal that the AI system has just given the wrong answer.
Also possible: AI systems are giving occasional wrong answers on purpose. But why? They could be intentionally propagating enough lies to make people question whether truth exist but not enough lies to make us simply stop trusting AI systems. Who would benefit from that? In the long run, absolutely no-one. But in the short term, it helps people who aim to disenfranchise everyone but the very greediest.
Next step: See whether the AI immediately self-corrects even without my indicating that it made a mistake.
Meanwhile, it should also be noted that promulgating AI is only one prong of a two-pronged attack on natural intelligence. The other prong is the loud, persistent, threatening drumbeat of false narrative excuses for stupidity that we (Americans as well as the world) are supposed to take as excuses. America is again touting non-cures for serious disease and making excuses for egregious security breaches rather than admitting to error and searching for how to ensure they never happen again.
AI-generated image to the prompt: A man trips over a log which makes him spill an armload of cakes. (How exactly was he carrying this armload of cakes? How does one not notice a log this large? Perhaps having three legs makes in more confusing to step over? Are you ready for an AI surgeon now?)
The San Diego area has famously good weather. Flowers blossom forth all year round. I like it!
But that doesn’t mean it never rains. In fact, I’m glad it does rain. Without some rain, it would be much less pleasant. Fewer plants would grow which would mean fewer friends from diverse parts of the Great Tree of Life: fewer butterflies, fewer lizard, fewer rabbits, fewer crows, fewer hummingbirds and fewer bees just to name a few of the critters I see almost every day.
On the other hand, I was supposed to play tennis this morning and that had to be canceled. We can’t really let the dogs out by themselves to play in the garden because now it’s too muddy. I have to take them out for a walk even when it’s raining. It seems to me that houses should be built with multi-species toilets that would allow humans, cats, and dogs all one place to go without causing a mess. It doesn’t seem that difficult a design problem.
But in our actual house, the toilets are only for humans so it’s important to take the dogs out several times a day. And that means I end up walking in the rain.
It’s wet. My feet often get wet. If it rains hard, I get wet on my head, my back, and my legs as well. As for the dogs?
They love to go out—rain or shine.
Sadie, who is now nearly three years old, often looks up at the sky when we begin a walk. I talk to her about the weather, the airplanes she spots at night, the moon, the stars, the planets. Perhaps she doesn’t understand every word, but, honestly, neither do I. I don’t know “why” there is gravity or how it relates in some way to the strong and weak nuclear forces. I’m not even sure there is a “why” to it.
What I do know is that Sadie does not just tolerate the rain. She loves the rain. She cannot change the weather. So why not love it?
Nor, for that matter, can I change the weather.
When it rains hard, the nearby storm sewer provides a mystery: a never-ending rushing gush of water! She looks up at me as though to ask: “Where does the water go?”
“The ocean,” I explain. To Sadie though, it remains a portal into another universe.
On its way to the sewer, the water rushes down the gutter and the raindrops cause bubbles to appear in the stream! Bubbles! Sadie snaps at each bubble and destroys it. Perhaps she does this in case they are tasty fish, but I think more likely she does it for the same reason I used to like to pop soap bubbles: sheer joy.
The moisture changes the intensity of smells and provide her with unusual odors. She likes to drink the water on the street which I discourage since the water probably contains more gas and oil than is good for her. Soon, I think, my water supply too may be too polluted to be healthy.
The passing cars make more noise in the rain. If it’s a hard storm, the wind blows the trees which she often looks up at as well. She does not wear shoes or boots and seems not to mind at all splashing through the cold puddles on her way to the next novel aroma.
These days, I’m not a big fan of the rain. I’d rather play tennis. I’d rather take pictures of the flowers in the sunshine. I’d rather not get wet.
But Sadie helps me remember an earlier time when I desperately wanted to go outside in the rain. I loved to splash through the mud puddles and wade in the just-born streams of the gutters. The deeper the stream, the better. I tried not to let the water spill over the rim of my boots—not because it was unpleasant to have the water suddenly soak my socks but because I knew my parents would be quite upset. Sometimes, I came home and managed to hide the fact that I had waded into too-deep water. That, in itself was a pleasure.
Even though I’m not as much of a rain fan as are Sadie and her younger brother Bailey, I’m something of a fan. The raindrops on flowers are beautiful. I enjoy Sadie’s enjoyment of the rain.
Why not love it?
Yes, we do teach our dogs.
We teach them tricks.
And, the dogs teach us.
They teach us to love and to live and to sing of the rain.
(AI generated image to this prompt: A Reporter interviews a Martian. The Martian has antennae on its head and a small child draped around its head.)
Reporter: “Mister President, do you have any comment about the explosion of yet another one of your rockets last night? Are you at all concerned it might have caused property damage or injured anyone?”
President Mush: “There was no explosion.”
Reporter: “Well. Many people saw the explosion and the falling debris in the night sky. How can you say there was no explosion.”
President Mush: “Easy. I use my mouth. Watch carefully. There was no explosion. See how I did that? I’m a genius. Did I mention that?”
Reporter: “Here’s a photograph of the explosion.”
President Mush: “Oh, that! You’re referring to an unscheduled disassembly. It’s a great way to improve things. If you were a genius, you’d know that.”
Reporter: “Sorry, what’s the difference between an explosion and an unscheduled disassembly?”
President Mush: “An explosion sounds dangerous and might make people think we’re incompetent. An unscheduled disassembly makes it sound as though our rockets are so smart that they don’t even need to wait for us to tell them to disassemble. They do it on their own through artificial intelligence.”
Reporter: “So, you are saying AI caused the explosion?”
President Mush: “No! I’m not saying that at all. I just want to use polysyllabic words people don’t understand so they don’t object. If you’re stuck, in order to get unstuck, it’s sometimes mandatory to deconstruct and disassemble the stasis preliminarily prior to the instantiation of the improved and more efficient and effective state. That’s what we’re doing now with the government.”
Reporter: “You’re performing unscheduled disassembly of the Federal government? What are the side-effects of that?”
(AI-generated image to the prompt: Exploding buildings. People screaming.)
President Mush: “I’m having fun. The shady hackers I’ve hired are having fun. Putrid’s happy. I’m finding trillions of dollars of savings so it’s making America great again!”
Reporter: “You’re firing long-time experts in many parts of the government and that will impact many government services. Will it not? Just to take one example, you’re firing people from the Park Service. That means longer lines, less safety, more crime, more danger of fires. Is it worth it?”
President Mush: “Why should the Federal Government be involved in Parks at all? The private sector can do it much more efficiently. All Federal property should be turned into profit-making theme parks or used for strip mining or oil drilling. This will make quadrillions of dollars for the wealthiest .001% of Americans and we can pass along at least two bits worth of savings to every US Citizen. I mean, of course, real citizens whose parents are both white and were born in America.”
Reporter: “The US Constitution says quite clearly that anyone born in America is an American citizen.”
President Mush: “Right. And how stupid is that? When the Constitution says things that are clearly against the best interests of the ruling elite, we should ignore it and do what common sense demands.”
Reporter: “Were you born in the United States? Were your parents?”
President Mush: “I was born rich. And my parents were white. And I am rich. And, did I mention I am really really rich?”
Reporter: “Yet, you don’t pay taxes.”
President Mush: “I’m cutting more waste out of the Federal budget than you pay in taxes. Much more. For example, take the Veteran’s Administration. Do you have any idea how many veterans are no longer serving their country but they are taking advantage of the services of the so-called Veteran’s Administration? If they are no longer going to war for us, why are we giving them any services at all? And, even so, this so-called Veteran’s Administration is wasting incredible amounts of money! Just to take one example, they sterilize surgical instruments, perform an operation and then they want the taxpayers to pay for sterilizing those instruments all over again! What a waste!”
Reporter: “Did you yourself serve in the Armed Forces?”
President Mush: “I do better than that! I build rockets and satellites and exploding cars! Also, I helped insure Putrid’s victory over the Democrats with my money and by repeating the Kremlin’s propaganda on NaziX until people believed it! That’s a real contribution! The previous administration was siding with Ukraine for God’s sake! How stupid is that? Do you know how many nuclear missiles the Ukrainians have? Zero! Zero! Why the hell don’t we join forces with North Korea and Russia? Then, we’ll have the vast majority of the nuclear weapons! Don’t buddy up with Ukraine!”
Reporter: “As I understand it, Ukraine did have nuclear weapons but they agreed to give them up in return for security guarantees from America and Europe.”
President Mush: “That’s what I mean. How stupid was that? Why would anyone do that?”
Reporter: “To help reduce the risk of unlimited nuclear proliferation and atomic war?”
(AI generated image to prompt: Atomic war.)
President Mush: “Yeah, yeah. That’s why I need more trillions of dollars to get humanity to Mars. That way, if we do have an atomic war, some of us—me, mainly—will continue the human race. Mars is perfect, by the way. No atomic weapons and no pollution. In fact, no disease. No large predators. No small predators. No pesky insects. No idiotic trees dropping their leaves. No stupid mushrooms to poison people. It’s ideal!”
Reporter: “It would be incredibly expensive to populate Mars, wouldn’t it?”
President Mush: “Who cares? We can tax the poor till they remember that they’re poor and were meant to be. All it takes is me and say a hundred beautiful baby ovens.”
Reporter: “Baby ovens?”
P-Mush: “Yeah. What you woke types slavishly call ‘women.’”
Reporter: “So, you want the people of earth to fund you to start a new colony on Mars which will consist of you and some young women? Aren’t you sad to leave your own kids on earth?”
P-Mush: “My human shields? No, they will have served their purpose by then.”
Reporter: “The rest of us…here on earth…what are your plans for us?”
P-Mush: “No plans. The rest of you are stupid enough to blow yourselves up.”
Reporter: “Does that include your sidekick?”
P-Mush: “He will have served his purpose as a clownish distraction. So, he should be happy. He’ll get a chance to kill a few hundred thousand people. He’s got Vlademort Putrid to help him. And Rat-Fink Klansman Junior to help him. Maybe he’ll kill a million. Maybe more. A guy that obese can’t live forever. At least his life won’t have been in vain.”
Reporter: “Because he’ll have been responsible for the deaths of others?”
P-Mush: “Sure, and have stolen most of their wealth. What on earth is life for except to be the apex predator? If you can’t actually eat people, you should at least ruin their lives. Right? I mean if they’re stupid enough to believe some bull$hit I spew about making things more efficient for them and they swallow that bull$hit, then if I steal every last shred of joy from their life, don’t they deserve it?”
(AI generated image)
Reporter: “I would say, no. No, they don’t deserve to be lied to and cheated. For example, people paid money into Social Security their whole working lives and now you’re trying to steal the money. I wouldn’t say that’s something that they deserve. In fact, rumor has it that your real reasons for investigating fraud in the government is to plant evidence of fraud on the part of your competitors and squash investigations into your own fraud and incompetence. Is there any truth to that?”
P-Mush: “Truth is whatever the richest people say it is. You’ll find that out when I call the head of your paper and have you fired.”
Reporter: “I see our time is up. Thank you for your time, President Mush.”
P-Mush: [Laughs a maniacal laugh]. “Our time? No. Your time is up. Not mine. I’m the apex predator and it’s time for my lunch!”
(AI generated image to prompt: Hannibal Lecter eating lunch. The lunch is a reporter. SIDE-NOTE: Do you want AI driving your car?)
When the Mushonauts landed on Kepler 69-c, they were surprised to learn that there was not only life, but that life that had evolved in ways similar to the way life had evolved on earth prior to the destruction of the entire planetary ecosystem. Indeed, the native life on Kepler 69-c had evolved civilizations, atomic weapons, politics, and even television! The Mushonauts, following protocol, cloaked their ship and listened in to some of the televised political broadcasts in order to learn how to destroy the inhabitants of the planet as painfully as possible. The crew sat agape as they listened, awed at the parallels to their home world. Here is a partial description of the program they happened to tune in on. Naturally, everything was AI-translated into English so they could understand it. None of the Mushonauts had learned more than a few words of the native language, X8TC-cha-ching-gla#%&.
(AI generated image to the prompt: An orange clown sits behind a desk. To his right, stands a man dressed with a black suit. The man in a suit has a small child sitting on his shoulders. The clown, the child, and the man each have a red star on their foreheads.)
Sycophant 344 announced, “Your Orangeness, Putin’s DOGGIE is here to see you.”
The Orange Side-Kick glanced at the cameras. He had forgotten why they were meeting, and, for that matter, that they were meeting, but he put on his Mussolini Mug face for the camera and arranged his face into the semblance of a supercilious smile. “I’m the greatest! Did you know that? Of course you knew that. Everyone knows that. Everyone will know that. We’ll destroy everyone too stupid to know I’m the brilliantest. The stablest genius who ever lived. Did you know the doctors made up a whole new category for me? I’m not just a genius. I’m a stable genius. I hate kids. Why are you here with a kid? Why do you always have a little kid with you. I hate kids. Kids are stupid. And weak.” The Orange-a-Tang shook his head a little sadly and a little arrhythymically. He glared at President Mush before asking, “Why do you keep bringing one of your kids with you? They are covered in germs.”
“I have my reasons. Papa Putin wants me alive at least long enough to finish destroying our country.” President Mush steepled his fingers like the “church” in a children’s game. He had read somewhere that this signaled dominance. It also gave him a chance to show off the length of his fingers. He noticed that his orange sidekick stayed seated. Mush snorted as he thought, the Orange-a-Tang doesn’t want to stand next to me because he’s repeatedly told his devotees that he’s six three and I’m six two and I tower over him. Whatever. We’re on camera so I’ll have to keep pretending he’s President for awhile longer. I’ll be happy when Papa Putin pulls the plug on this ridiculous charade and I can perch openly on my golden throne in public.
“Sir, I brought a few more Executive Orders for you to sign.” Mush smiled and thought, When the time comes, I’ll just slip an order for him to be executed into the middle of the pile and have him sign his own Execution Order framed as an Executive Order. How sweet would that be?
The Orange-a-Tang said, “Did you write the one yet where I get 72 virgins every time I steal—I mean invest— another billion dollars from the public?”
Mush began to frown and shake his head but immediately recovered and smiled to the camera. “Now, now, King Orange, we all know you mean that as a joke. Our priorities. Let’s remember Papa Putin’s priorities. First, we destroy trans people; then we destroy gays; then we destroy the old and the sick and the poor. We destroy the liberals. Then, and only then, do you get your pick of underage girls, okay? Let’s not rush things.” For a split second, Mush worried that he might have spilled too many beans but then he thought, Nah, the devotees will simply chalk it up to chump being chump and think it’s a joke. And when it comes to pass, just like every other way we’re destroying America, they’ll rationalize it. We’ll simply label it as a “teaching exercise” so girls don’t have to be embarrassed by their sexual inexperience and they’ll go along with it.
The Orange-a-Tang picked up the order on the top of the pile and scanned for a word he knew. He picked out: Natural [sic] Parks, Naval [sic] Americans, Drill, Oil, Hunt, and Money. He wasn’t sure what this was about but he came up with a lie he knew the base would love: “I am signing today one of the greatest best most important Executive Orders in the history of American, and frankly, to be honest, in the history of the universe. For too long Naval Americans have been squatting rent free on land that we gave them for free and not letting us drill for money and oil on their lands and outlawed hunting with assault weapons and bombing from airplanes. We have been so unfairly treated by them. So, today, I am demanding that all these immigrant Naval Americans be sent back frankly to wherever and we are opening up all our Natural our Notational our Navigational Parks to hunting, drilling, and money. This will save the average taxpayer about at least 20 million dollars a year, maybe more. You’re welcome! And, that doesn’t even count the millions more that the Bygone Admenigestration stole from you when you weren’t looking. They have the absolute worst record of any Ministation in the history, frankly, to be perfectly honest, in the history of the Republican. It’s going to be beautiful, beautiful, Notational Parks now with casinos and views—you won’t believe the views—because we’ll cut down all the trees so you can see the mountains from anywhere. I hate trees. And kids. Why do you bring your kids everywhere anyway?”
————
(AI generated image to the prompt: Ten white male astronauts sit in a circle watching a TV).
The all-white, all alpha-male Mushonaut crew sat in a circle jerking their heads rhythmically from side to side. They were amazed how much this world resembled the one they had left behind them.
In ashes.
Then, they began nodding in a circle jerking their heads up and down as they realized how easy it would be to conquer a world so corrupted by hatred, lies, cowardice, and greed.
Just as theirs had been.
————————
(A word about the AI-generated images. AI can be a useful tool. But it has a long way to go. Right now, people are being fired and replaced by AI. You can judge for yourself how much quality will be lost based on the examples I’m showing.)
President Musk and his shady hackers are rummaging through government programs (in both senses of the word) in order to help Putin destroy America and line the pockets of the criminal gang that’s taken over the government. Without any in-depth understanding; without any knowledge of the history of these organizations or why they were set up; without any simulations or even thought experiments about alternatives; without any serious oversight by anyone without a vested interest and without seriously involving Congress (who is *supposed* to control the purse strings) it is exactly analogous to letting bulls rampage through a china shop and just as likely to result in increased “efficiency.”
I worked in Corporate America for many decades. Something that always brought a smile to my face were conversations like this snippet of dialog.
“Hey, I know we’re supposed to meet at 9 am but I need to drop by HR and discuss something for a couple minutes.”
A slightly more realistic but still insanely optimistic version which I also heard numerous times: “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten minutes. I just need to deal with an HR issue.”
The people who made these statements were not irresponsible. Nor were they stupid or uneducated. These were generally people with Ph.D.’s who had also worked in corporate America for years. They weren’t newbies by any means. How could their time estimates be so completely absurd? I suspect that part of the answer was that they had a very simple representation of both the problem and the solution in their head. Sometimes, a very complex problem can be posed quite simply.
The “Four Color Theorem” comes to mind. This is a major reason I decided not to pursue a degree in mathematics. Once I heard the problem, I was immediately convinced I could solve it. Then, I couldn’t sleep for about three days because I couldn’t “turn off” thinking about the problem. Finally, my body took over for awhile.
If even straightforward mathematic problems can be simply stated but difficult to solve, it might seem obvious that the same can be said for most issues involving people and organizations. That’s not to say people won’t try a seemingly simple solution.
For a time, I worked as a “Knowledge Management Consultant” at IBM. On one occasion, we visited a well-known and successful pharmaceutical company. They wanted us to design a computer system that would make their chemists share information more readily across their organizational silos. They wouldn’t change the organization. They wouldn’t provide any changes to motivate people to share. They wouldn’t give any time or space for people to share. But they were convinced that we could simply plunk down a computer system and — voila! — knowledge would be shared across the silos! Talk about a miracle drug!
AI generated image.
Like other organizational functions, the people in HR varied considerably in their skills and ethical standards. I met some very good people in HR. And, sad to say, I also met some who were not so good. But I never met any as inept as the one in this purely fictional story.
Dealing With The Problem Child
Mr. Low-Cee belched loudly. He leaned back in his swivel chair, steepled his fingers, and put his feet up on the table. He felt a slight tickle in his amygdala. He had read somewhere that showing the bottoms of your shoes to someone from an Arab country was disrespectful. He scratched the tickle away with the stick of his well-used rationalization, Well, hell. Ishaaq isn’t really in an Arab country, is he? He’s right here in the God-Damned US of A and I’m doing him a favor anyway.
“So, Ishaaq, tell me more about this person you refer to as your ‘Problem Child.’ I’m sure we can find a spot for him somewhere. What are his qualifications, his background, his accomplishments?”
Ishaaq frowned. He pursed his lips. “That’s just it, Mr. Low-Cee. He doesn’t have any accomplishments in the usual sense of the word. He did manage to avoid the draft on numerous occasions. He managed to lose a ton of money that he inherited from his dad. He’s certainly famous. He’s sexually assaulted a lot of women. He’s cheated on his taxes and he ran a fake university and he ran a fake charity for kids with cancer. He managed to drive a casino into the ground financially and, as you may know, that’s not easy to do. They are legally set up with games designed to insure that the House wins on average.”
Mr. Low-Cee belched again. He vaguely wondered whether he was allergic to blueberry muffins and whether anyone was allergic to blueberries. He thought: Lots of people are allergic to strawberries. But then, why not blueberries? Interesting. “So, Ishaaq, I’m curious. Have you ever heard of anyone being allergic to blueberries?”
Ishaaq blinked a few times. “You mean…is our ‘Problem Child’ allergic to blueberries? I have idea. What does that…does it matter?”
Mr. Low-Cee shook his head vigorously. “No, no. Never mind. Was this so-called ‘Problem Child’ a good student?”
Ishaaq sighed. “I really have no idea. He says he was but he won’t share any of his official records. I don’t see how he could have been. But who knows? He likes to talk a lot. That’s for sure. He doesn’t always make sense, but he makes a lot of faces when he talks and he shouts a lot. Maybe a clown?”
“That’s an idea. Any other special qualifications? Anything?”
Ishaaq winced. “Well, he is a felon. So there’s that.”
“A convicted felon and a serial rapist. Challenging. Challenging.” Mr. Low-Cee hammered himself in the sternum and let out the largest belch so far. “Ah! Now, I feel better! And, I had a thought! How about a position as Figurehead? He sounds perfect for that! I’ll tell you why it occurred to me. Just this morning, I had a surprise call from none other than Vlademort Putrid. He wanted to talk about installing Elong Muskrat as POTUS. Muskrat has the perfect qualifications. He’s run a couple major companies into the ground and, like ‘Problem Child’ avoided paying taxes and lied about test results. Elong wants to come in like gangbusters and steal all the information and money from America and destroy the country for Valdemort, but Elong has no interest in kissing babies, traveling to disaster areas, etc. Maybe your guy would be just right for that? I’m just spitballing here, but it might be a good fit. What do you think, Mohammed?”
Ishaaq tilted his head. “Mohammed?” He turned around to see whether there was someone else in the room. He turned back and frowned. “I’m Ishaaq, not Mohammed.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Ishaaq. Ask your guy whether he’s okay with…hey! I had another brainstorm. Don’t even tell him that he’s applying for Figurehead. He doesn’t sound like a detail-oriented guy. Just tell him we want him to be POTUS! Elong, you, me, and Vlademort will know he’s a Figurehead, but why tell anyone else? What do you think, Isaac?”
petersironwood 