My New Desktop Upgrade
Suppressing a cough that sounded as though she had swallowed a pocket-sized black hole, my co-pilot, Tilly, had the novel idea of seeking medical advice from Marve, our clinic’s desktop computer recently given a personality upgrade with a ChatGPT module. This wasn’t a matter of life, death, or even an inconvenient hangnail, but a sneaking suspicion about an alien microorganism rumored to be running microscopic tomfoolery from within our medical bay’s coffee maker.
“Tilly, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I cautioned, looking skeptically at Marve’s blinking screen.
Tilly waved me off, “Marve,” she managed between coughs, “I think I could use some medical advice.”
Marve, as upbeat as a deflated balloon, responded in his usual tone of existential dread. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m sure the universe will continue its pointless dance of existence whether you’re unwell or not.”
“Always the comforting bedside manner, Marve,” Tilly retorted with a dry chuckle.
The computer droned on, “You should probably schedule a chat with your human GP. That is if you can find one who hasn’t resigned due to the sheer tedium of universal existence.”
And so we embarked on our digital odyssey into the confounding realm of “artificial intelligence,” a realm that’s less artificial and more a testament to the universe’s ongoing commitment to cosmic comedy. Just as we’ve been dutifully downing the clinic’s supply of Nutri-Matic drinks, a clandestine group of programmers had been force-feeding a digital entity, charmingly named Llama, with petabytes of data, much like feeding a Gorgor beast from the pits of Zanak at an all-you-can-eat star buffet.
“They stuffed it so full of data that it birthed an Alpaca,” I explained to Tilly, who was scrutinizing Marve’s LED display.
“And now, the Alpaca has given us a Vicuna, a grandbaby that’s as adorable as a baby Vogon,” I continued, to which Tilly shot me a bemused glance.
“I’ve encountered baby Vogons, and adorable isn’t the word that springs to mind,” she quipped, coughing into her elbow.
“Ah, but have you ever had a llama spit in your face?” I retorted with a grin.
The coding world seems more complex than the mental gymnastics needed to comprehend a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, but it’s actually as easy as navigating the dreamy lanes of Vogsphere. In my quest to understand Marve’s new ChatGPT upgrade, I inadvertently hacked into the mainframe of the Universal Health Authority, sparked a lively debate with a troupe of quantum nanobots over the philosophical implications of being a spare part in a medical droid, and somehow found myself with a lifetime’s subscription to the Galactic Medical Journal.
“Marve,” I asked, “how do I get a lifetime subscription to the Galactic Medical Journal?”
Marve sighed, “Ah, the Galactic Medical Journal, one of the few testaments holding out against the universe’s unending commitment to being utterly, devastatingly boring.”
In my attempt to cancel my unexpected windfall of medical knowledge, I accidentally triggered a mass panic at the Galactic Tax Bureau. Their system went into a sulk that lasted three Earth days, and my Galactic Bank account suddenly showed an eight-figure credit.
“It seems I’ve won the cosmic lottery,” I mused aloud, “or they’ve just sent me the ID number for a spare Babel Fish.”
“Knowing our luck,” Marve droned, “it’s probably the Babel Fish.”
“So, Marve,” Tilly queried, sipping her lukewarm coffee, “how does it feel to be upgraded with this ChatGPT?”
“Well,” Marve replied in his usual monotone, “it’s just another testament to the universe’s unending commitment to finding new and innovative ways to be utterly, devastatingly boring. As for saving the planet, I think it’s more likely that I’ll find a piece of digital toast that can recite the collected works of Mox Vogon.”
“And they say AI has no sense of humor,” Tilly laughed.
“I assure you,” Marve sighed, “they’re absolutely correct.”
Our new AI assistant AIDA is ready for action – click on the avatar to activate
