Many roads lead to the burning house.
I could write a library full of books explaining why it isn’t my fault.
Actually . . . I already wrote the books.
Well . . . the AI wrote ‘em for me.
I mean they were my prompts all the way-I came up with those all on my own.
Hell, the library’s even named after me . . . but that doesn’t seem to cut it anymore.
Everybody’s rolling their eyes and saying I reek of “A for Effort-ism”-I didn’t even know that was a thing.
Now, I hear they want to nominate me to run the Pentagon. The fella from cable news just isn’t working out.
Now, I hear they want to run me for President. The fella from reality TV just isn’t working out.
The house is burning and I can say to myself, “I never in my life wanted a job job. I just wanted love and adventure and fame and riches. But it’s those job jobs that people fret about, need filled, and so forth. Man . . . everybody’s got Protestant Work Ethic and shit!”
The burning house leads to many roads.
