a beast worse than stupidity
The following is generative AI with involuntary remarks from me
They had just finished a marathon session tweaking each other’s nipples and the algorithm—attempting to capture that ever-elusive thing they thought they were looking for. But as the servers whirred, spitting out comedic lines at random intervals, they realized there was another tension that begged for release.
The crisp cotton of his shirt brushed her bare forearms, and in that small friction she felt her pulse quicken. Their bodies knew a far older algorithm—that carnal one, but also a more recent one: an instinctual code of labeling a large corpus of satirical content—and clearly distinguishing it from outright disinformation—to train AI models in recognizing nuanced signals like comedic cues, hyperbole, and intentional absurdity (better equipping the AI to decide if content is purely satirical or dangerously manipulative).
“I hate to interrupt,” she murmured, angling her head to feel his lips grazing the curve where her neck met her shoulder, “but I’ve got a secret: The AI’s comedic timing is better when we feed it the Rule of Three—that classic setup, reinforcement, and twist.” Her voice caught on a soft moan as his mouth traveled, warm and insistent, across her collarbone. “No, Fake News. By studying how The Onion’s writers “twist” or exaggerate facts to create satirical angles, AI can learn patterns of embellishment or misdirection. If an AI is also fed real news headlines on the same topic, it can detect where the content drifts into imaginative territory. Like you, Fake News.”
His hand slid lower to cup the curve of her hip, fingertips pressing gently into firm muscle. “Then there’s incongruity,” he added, voice low. She turned in his arms, pressing her abdomen flush against his, and he felt a powerful surge of heat where their bodies met. “I think you are dumb Ben, with The Onion, AI can be trained on stylistic “tells” to identify when a piece of text is more likely to be humorous fabrication rather than factual. A model that understands these comedic constructs can assign higher suspicion to articles employing them in a seemingly serious context”
She reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair, breathing more heavily now. “And target awareness: We have the AI analyze audience data—cultural references, current memes—to ensure the jokes land. It’s so intimate, almost personal, how it has to know the audience inside out.” The closeness between them grew charged, her thigh brushing his, taut from the tension of the day’s work and the pent-up craving that thrummed between them now. “Wow, that sounds like six pitches from some of the worst people in Hollywood right now”, said Ben. “But what I’m focused on distinguishing misinformation from comedic memes, even though I call them both fake news which seems like something I should stop doing. Since it’s the whole thing. Like I publicly say these are my two areas of expertise, so the fact that I have called both of them fake news in the press is…”
“Shhhh…. you live to say my name, as any man in love would.”
His lips found hers with a slow, urgent pressure. She let out a quiet sound of need, deepening the kiss. In that moment, the entire lab—the code, the jokes, the nightly routines—receded into a swirl of mechanical screens (better screams or schemes). Slipping a hand beneath her blouse, he traced her skin, each curve and hollow more mesmerizing than any comedic formula. Her back arched, pressing her breasts into his chest, warmth radiating through thin layers of fabric. A gentle sigh escaped her as he grazed the sensitive line of her rib cage.
When they finally broke apart, breathing ragged, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “We still have to refine a few functions,” she whispered, referencing a technique for maximum payoff. “It needs to be as critical as Chelsea is when she says all this is necessary but we need to chose the right partner and involve all writers.”
She smiled, letting her palm drift over the taut plane of his stomach. “But I say we handle that in the morning.”
He pulled her in once more, feeling the heat of her body against him, a promise of deeper connection that no AI could replicate. “Agreed,” he murmured against her lips, voice thick with longing. “But right now, I’m far more interested in our excretions than expectations.” And with that, they surrendered to the intangible, alchemical spark that not even the most advanced AI—nor the cleverest comedic formula—could truly predict or replicate.
“Cool. Sounds gross.”
