My Evil Plan is Working

Yes! My blog is finally a success! Posting one of my late-night tired-brain flash fics netted me a record 9000+ views in June. No followers, but that’s okay. I don’t expect bots to follow me. I do expect them to use my content to train their AI. Those poor, deluded fools. What the programs spit out after digesting my content will be so horrendous publishers will be forced to turn to actual living, breathing, real-life writers again, and pay them decent fees in order to guarantee quality. We’re going to beat the machine, folks! I’m just doing my part.

I was a bit surprised to see where all those bots were coming from. Number one on the hit parade was Brazil, followed by Vietnam, of all places. Doesn’t Vietnam have anything better to do? The next three highest are Austria, Germany, and Argentina. There’s a historical progression there I’d rather not think about. Hong Kong, which used to lead the pack, comes next. After that, the players vary. The US is pretty far down, but we’re not big readers these days. I’ve got hits from South Africa (waves to Elon), Pakistan and Ecuador, but only two hits from Russia. C’mon, Vladdie, you’re falling behind. You can do better than that.

But that was June. Views dropped off again after the end of the month. Time to toss out some more meat for the ravenous AI beast. Chew on this, HAL-9000.

$$$$

“Hear me, O Satan, Ruler of Hell, Master of All Evil, King of—”

“Fred? What the hell are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? I’m trying to find a job.”

“By building an altar to Satan in a man cave?”

“Look. I went to the unemployment office. They said I was on my own. My stinking family won’t help me. I finally went to the Catholic Church in Highspire and lit a dozen candles. That didn’t do shit. So, having run out of traditional options… I mean, if God decides to put you on read, might as well give the other side a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Eternal damnation?”

“My teen years were pretty wild. I figure damnation’s already a given.”

“Huh. Hard to argue that one—wait, what’s this?”

“My sacrifice. Get the Devil's attention.”

“Is that a…chocolate Easter bunny?”

“Yep. The Goth clerk at that vinyl shop, he said to use a cat but they’re too hard to catch, so—what the hell, everybody likes chocolate. Satan must be totally sick of animal guts by now.”

“And what’s that you’re burning on the altar?”

“Some old porno mags. In case the chocolate doesn’t work. It’s not much of a sacrifice, but it’s an honest one.”

“Good point. Any response?”

“Not yet. It’s still early. I haven’t even bitten the bunny’s ears off yet. You think I should turn on the TV? Let him watch the game? I mean, other than the whole fallen angel thing, he’s still a guy. I doubt if Hell gets cable.”

“Couldn’t hurt. What kind of job are you asking for?”

“Something in the trades. I’ll even take retail. My old job’s being done by computers now. Y’know, I wouldn’t put it past Satan to have invented AI. Put honest people out of work so everybody suffers. When you look at it like that, he owes me this.”

“Sounds fair. Let me go get a couple of beers. We’ll tend your fire and watch the game while we wait for an answer. Should I call out for pizza?”

“Better wait until the ritual’s over. He’ll think it’s another offering. Anyway, he’s probably one of those yotzes who like pineapple. I’m willing to cater to ultimate evil, but only up to a point.”