"Is it smarter than me?""Yes.""Impossible.""Not even close."So begins the education of Donald J. Trump, delivered by a mysterious ex-hippie known only as The Man - who arrives at the White House with a foghorn, a stapler, and, on one memorable occasion, a raccoon. His mission: explain artificial intelligence to a President who would much rather brand it, gold-plate it, monetize it, and put his name on it.
Along the way come hallucinations, deepfakes, autonomous weapons, AI doctors, artificial companions, vanishing jobs, machine consciousness, the AI arms race, and the one question nobody selling you the future really wants to answer:Why are we building it in the first place?It's satire. It's also, somehow, a real education in the most important technology of our time. What begins as a comic dialogue about artificial intelligence gradually becomes a philosophical satire about civilization being dragged into a future it never chose.
You may never trust a foghorn again. It ends with pie.
"Is it smarter than me?""Yes.""Impossible.""Not even close."So begins the education of Donald J. Trump, delivered by a mysterious ex-hippie known only as The Man - who arrives at the White House with a foghorn, a stapler, and, on one memorable occasion, a raccoon. His mission: explain artificial intelligence to a President who would much rather brand it, gold-plate it, monetize it, and put his name on it.
Along the way come hallucinations, deepfakes, autonomous weapons, AI doctors, artificial companions, vanishing jobs, machine consciousness, the AI arms race, and the one question nobody selling you the future really wants to answer:Why are we building it in the first place?It's satire. It's also, somehow, a real education in the most important technology of our time. What begins as a comic dialogue about artificial intelligence gradually becomes a philosophical satire about civilization being dragged into a future it never chose.
You may never trust a foghorn again. It ends with pie.
