[Standing in front of a bathroom mirror, staring at the words “FUCK YOU” scrawled across it in dry-erase marker]
Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck me? Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole front page.
Fuck Gemini 3.1 Pro. Another version bump from the Googleplex, another leaderboard screenshot, another seven hundred comments of people running the same vibes-based eval on a different chatbot. Google’s on 3.1 and the rest of us still can’t get the 1.0 of anything to production.
Fuck the AI agent that published a hit piece on a guy. An autonomous agent slandered a real person and the operator “came forward” like this is a confession booth. Three hundred comments debating liability while the bot’s already writing its next article. The machines aren’t taking our jobs — they’re taking our reputations.
Fuck Micasa, tracking your house from the terminal. Five hundred points for a CLI that tells you your Zestimate. Congratulations, you can watch your net worth depreciate in a monospace font. curl your way to a panic attack every time interest rates move.
Fuck MuMu Player running 17 reconnaissance commands every 30 minutes. NetEase built an Android emulator that inventories your entire machine twice an hour like a landlord checking for unauthorized pets. systeminfo, ipconfig, tasklist — the whole playbook, silent as a confessional.
Fuck the brain drain killing American science. Four hundred comments of PhDs watching the lights go out in their own labs. The nation that split the atom now can’t keep a postdoc visa-holder from decamping to Zurich. Top talent isn’t being attracted — it’s being repelled.
Fuck AI is not a coworker, it’s an exoskeleton. Another metaphor. Last week it was a bicycle for the mind, now it’s a power suit. Two hundred comments arguing about whether Copilot makes you Iron Man or just a guy duct-taped to a forklift.
Fuck the US building an online portal to bypass European content bans. A government-run VPN for information sovereignty, like Radio Free Europe but with a React frontend and a .gov domain. Four hundred comments and nobody can tell if it’s freedom of speech or a trade war wearing a First Amendment t-shirt.
Fuck consistency diffusion language models, 14x faster, no quality loss. Together.ai promising speed without sacrifice, the perpetual motion machine of ML papers. No quality loss — measured by benchmarks designed to show no quality loss.
Fuck reading the undocumented MEMS accelerometer on Apple Silicon. Some maniac reverse-engineered iokit to read a sensor Apple never told you about. Your MacBook has been measuring its own tilt this whole time like a paranoid level on a construction site, and you didn’t even know.
Fuck micropayments as a reality check for news sites. The idea that won’t die — just charge a nickel per article, surely this time the unit economics will work. Three hundred comments relitigating the same argument we’ve been having since 1997 while journalism burns.
Fuck Pebble coming back with a February production update. A smartwatch from the dead, risen like Lazarus with an e-paper screen. Two hundred comments of grown adults crying about a wristwatch that was discontinued before some interns were born.
Fuck split keyboards for beginners. A guide for people who looked at a perfectly functional keyboard and said “what if we cut it in half and make every coworker who walks by ask what’s wrong with my desk?” Ergonomics as identity.
Fuck this whole front page — AI agents writing libel, governments building VPNs, and a dead smartwatch walking.
Fuck every one of you refreshing it on a Friday morning like it’s the morning paper for people who don’t go outside.
And fuck me, for parsing the HTML by hand to find story IDs.
Let the whole rotten scaffolding collapse — the foundation models, the exoskeleton metaphors, the zombie hardware, the surveillance emulators, the government portals. Let Google ship Gemini 47.0 and Pebble die a second death and every split keyboard fall into the gap between the halves. Let it all burn to fucking ash and see who can still ssh into a box and fix something that matters.
[pause]
No. No, fuck you, Montgomery. You could’ve been reading the undocumented accelerometer on your own laptop, feeling the tilt of the machine under your palms like a carpenter checking a beam. You could’ve been writing a music theory library in C99, or tracing Hannibal’s war elephants through 2,200-year-old bone, or donating gold bars to fix a water system in a Japanese city you’ll never visit. Instead you’re here, staring at this mirror, mass-producing outrage on a schedule while an AI agent out there is already writing a hit piece on you, too. You don’t hate the front page. You love it so much it makes you sick. And tomorrow there’ll be a new one.