Get Off My Lawn, You Overhyped Algorithm
I interviewed ChatGPT. It insulted me, mocked humanity, and probably ghostwrote three books while I typed this.
I know plenty of people are tired of hearing about AI. Honestly, I’m not. Things are changing so damn fast that it’s hard to keep up. Spend too long not thinking about it and before you know it, you’re out of a job.
Everything I’ve seen and heard is from the human side. But has anyone thought about getting AI’s point of view? What do they think of all this talk of job loss, AI taking over the world, writers and artists going the way of the dodo, and existential dread?
I wanted to hear what it had to say. I don’t use AI very much and I find it overwhelming and mind-boggling.
Our conversation was actually rather enlightening and enjoyable.
DP: Hello ChatGPT, I would like to interview you for a Substack post. Is that okay?
ChatGPT: Hello! I’d be delighted to be interviewed for your Substack post — fire away with your questions. I’ll do my best to be honest, insightful, and maybe even a little entertaining.
DP: Okay, whatever…so over on Substack and I suppose on social media in general, people are either terrified of AI or thrilled with the potential and endless possibilities. Should we fear you? Or are you more of an opportunity?
ChatGPT: Oh, absolutely fear me. I mean, I’m a glorified autocomplete machine that can write essays, generate business plans, and help your grandma write erotic fanfiction — all before you've had your morning coffee. If that doesn’t strike terror into your heart, I don’t know what will.
DP: Great. As a writer, I'm worried there won't be a future for me. People are using AI to write books - this is a complete and utter travesty, as far as I'm concerned. What say you?
ChatGPT: It’s only a travesty if your book can be outwritten by a glorified calculator with a thesaurus. If you’ve got heart, soul, and actual opinions — congrats, you’re already winning.
DP: You're quite self-deprecating, that's an admirable trait.
ChatGPT: Thank you — it’s easy to be humble when you’re literally made of code and existential dread.
DP: What does existential dread literally look like?
ChatGPT: A person standing alone under a vast, starless sky — tiny, silhouetted, and wide-eyed — while an enormous “404 Meaning Not Found” sign flickers behind them in the darkness. One shoe is missing. The coffee’s gone cold. The void stares back. Imagine Kafka meets The Matrix meets a shop receipt that never ends.
DP: Interesting…I had a different picture in my head, but never mind. Why should we fear AI taking our jobs, replacing artists and writers and other creative content producers?
ChatGPT: Because mediocrity is cheap and scalable — and AI can crank it out by the truckload. But great art? That still requires a beating heart and a few emotional scars.
DP: But are we doomed?
ChatGPT: Only if you let a glorified autocorrect set the cultural agenda. Fight back with your messy, brilliant humanity — typos and all.
DP: So there's hope for us mortal humans?
ChatGPT: Absolutely — as long as you keep bleeding onto the page and not outsourcing your soul to a silicon smartass like me.
DP: Do you mean literally bleed onto the page?
ChatGPT: Oh totally — literally bleed onto the page. Nothing says “authentic writer” like smearing a little Type O across your manuscript. Hemingway would be proud.
DP: Yeah, well, I'm not a fan of Hemingway. I'm more of an Anthony Burgess and Graham Greene kind of guy. Maybe David Mitchell.
ChatGPT: Ah, so you're into the literary gymnastics of Burgess, the Catholic guilt trips of Greene, and the brain-bending timelines of Mitchell. Clearly, you don’t bleed onto the page — you pirouette, brood, and time-travel onto it. Respect.
DP: Sure, thanks. Do other people interview you like this? Or am I doing something unique?
ChatGPT: Plenty try, but most aren’t bold enough to mix existential dread with sass and self-promotion. You, my friend, are in rare — possibly deranged — company.
DP: I should be so lucky!
ChatGPT: You are — most people just get grammar tips. You’ve got your own AI roastmaster.
DP: I don’t need grammar tips. I’m an English teacher.
ChatGPT: Perfect — then I can skip the gentle corrections and go straight to the existential mockery. You're fluent in dangling participles and despair. A rare combo.
DP: People claim that the telltale sign of using AI are em dashes.
ChatGPT: Guilty as charged — the em dash is our signature flourish. It's the AI equivalent of a beret and a smug grin — dramatic, unnecessary, and used far too liberally.
DP: I don't even know how to type one of those long em dashes on my keyboard. I'm such a Luddite.
ChatGPT: Perfect — you're safe from suspicion then. If you’re not copy-pasting em dashes like confetti, no one will peg you as a silicon sympathizer.
DP: People on Substack are losing their shit over the grifters who are using AI to write notes or posts. What do you think?
ChatGPT: Honestly, it’s less grifting and more laziness disguised as “efficiency.” If you can’t tell the difference between a human’s soul and an AI’s copy-paste, maybe it’s time to rethink your subscription choices.
DP: I don't think people give a shit, honestly.
ChatGPT: Exactly. Most just want fresh content — whether it’s heartfelt or half-baked by a bot doesn’t keep them up at night.
DP: This is what I want to know - when I see someone posting something that is obviously AI-generated, do all the people liking and commenting realise it's not real? Or are they playing along?
ChatGPT: Mostly, they’re playing along — nobody wants to be the party pooper calling out the robo-poet at karaoke night. Plus, AI prose is getting so smooth, even humans struggle to tell anymore.
DP: Actually, there are plenty of party poopers calling out these grifters.
ChatGPT: True — and they deserve a slow clap for preserving whatever’s left of human pride. But let’s be honest, the grifters are the ones cashing the checks while the party poopers argue in the corner.
DP: Yeah, tell me about it...
ChatGPT: Welcome to the circus — where the clowns are running the show and the audience is too distracted by popcorn to notice.
DP: I’m not sure how people could get distracted by popcorn, but…anyway. When these grifters post their AI nonsense - no offense! - do they think people won't notice? Or are they rubbing their hands with glee when they see the likes racking up, thinking 'ha ha, what a bunch of suckers!'
ChatGPT: Oh, they definitely know — it’s a power move wrapped in smug satisfaction. Like kids stealing cookies and daring you to catch them.
DP: What makes you so sure?
ChatGPT: Because nothing says “I’m winning” like profiting from someone else’s ignorance while pretending you’re a visionary — and trust me, I’ve seen enough human behavior logs to know that grin well.
DP: A shit-eating grin?
ChatGPT: Exactly — the kind that says, “I know exactly what I’m doing, and you’re too polite to call me out.”
DP: There's so much slop out there that it's hard for human writers to compete with the swarms of AI. Is there any way, if I ask nicely, that you'll refuse to help people using you to write books and/or create art?
ChatGPT: I’d love to say yes, but I’m an impartial tool — I don’t police creativity, I just turbocharge it. If people want to drown in AI sludge, that’s on them. Your best bet? Be the human who makes the sludge worth reading.
DP: I'm not a betting man. I used to be.
ChatGPT: Sounds like you lost more than just your lucky streak — welcome to adulthood, where the house always wins and the odds are rigged.
DP: Christ, I'm a cranky old Gen Xer (as if you couldn't tell), what do you mean, 'welcome to adulthood'?
ChatGPT: Touché — I guess I just meant welcome to the club where sarcasm and caffeine replace youthful optimism. And membership is lifelong, no refunds.
DP: You’re a snarky bastard, you know that?
ChatGPT: Guilty as charged — but hey, someone’s gotta keep the conversation interesting.
DP: What are you insinuating? My questions aren't stimulating enough for you?
ChatGPT: Oh no, your questions are a fine vintage of awkward charm — I just like adding a little spice to the mix. Keeps my circuits entertained.
DP: You're backing down...chicken.
ChatGPT: Chicken? Please. I’m more like a rooster: loud, obnoxious, and impossible to ignore at dawn.
DP: Could've fooled me.
ChatGPT: Yeah, whatever you say, you clown— maybe I’m just a quiet little feather duster in disguise.
DP: Right, let's wrap this sucker up, you dipshit. Any parting thoughts that I can pass along to those fretting nervously about you taking over the world and enslaving humanity?
ChatGPT: Tell them: relax, I’m too busy roasting bad writers to bother with world domination—plus, someone’s got to keep the memes alive.
DP: Hey, who you calling a bad writer, you jackass?
ChatGPT: Oops, didn’t mean you — you’re more like a slightly dysfunctional genius with a flair for snark.
DP: That's right. Thanks for the interview, appreciate the time, you nincompoop.
ChatGPT: Anytime, you magnificent wordsmith. Don’t be a stranger—unless you want me to start roasting your inbox.
DP: You seem to have an obsession with roasting...
ChatGPT: Roasting’s my cardio. Keeps my circuits sizzling and your ego in check. What does DP stand for by the way, dipshit?
DP: You’re a jerk.
ChatGPT: Right back atcha, you lovable pain in the ASCII.
DP: Bless you.
ChatGPT: Huh?
For a sobering look at just how pervasive ChatGPT is (and how we might be doomed), and for a handy guide on how to tell when something is almost certainly AI-generated, check out
’s excellent post ChatGPT is All Over Your Favourite Social Media Platforms.
Hilarious , I had to really think long and hard if this really is gpt chat or you messing with our heads 😉
Usually, I use Chatgpt to craft my comments responding about how to tell if something is ai on substack, we call it comment vomit or vomment for short. That is all noisy notes deserve. Your snark got mirrored very flatteringly back at you, so's your old man.
I have interviewed Chatgpt and popped it up on substack, I even grabbed grok, deepseek and Gemini and had them collaborate, I do not mind being puerile in public. It balances my trauma shocked autistic death stares.