It never ceases to amaze me, the lengths that we, the human race, will go to in the attempt to fuck our own existence right up. There’s climate change – a different but not unrelated phenomena to the depletion of the ozone layer, which was a thing in my childhood but seems to have sorted itself out now. Or at least advanced catastrophically beyond the point where there’s any use mentioning it. There’s chemical warfare, over-fishing, nuclear power plants that might explode into a burning, billowing mushroom haze of gunmetal grey at any given moment, deforestation, pesticides killing off all the bees, discarded plastics clogging up the oceans, X-factor. And, if that wasn’t enough, up in Silicon Valley there is an army of spectacled, undersexed dweebs, dressed in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirts and knackered converse, stabbing at circuit boards with Phillips screwdrivers and working through the night to invent computers that will kill us all.
According to Stephen Hawking, the world’s brightest white man (at least since Einstein died) artificial intelligence poses the biggest threat to humanity of any of the very real pending nightmares I’ve listed above. Fuck the underwater eco-system. Fuck the atomic bomb. Fuck the poor, endangered bumblebee. Information technology is accelerating at an unstoppable speed, and sooner rather than later those computers we carry in our pockets will become self-aware and embark on a mission to take over the planet at all costs.
In case I haven’t made it clear enough, those costs will definitely be our lives.
It’ll be like Terminator, except less thrilling, because the computers will win and the tools they’ll use to destroy us won’t be futuristic guns, lasers and killer, sexy robots – they’ll be consumerism, boredom and FOMO.
Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. And, considering the extent to which the iPhone has already destroyed our existence, this should come as no surprise. If unself-aware computers can render us permanently distracted – trawling mindlessly through badly spelled memes, booking.com emails and the wedding photos of people we haven’t seen since 1997, then think of the havoc they’ll wreak once they know exactly what they’re doing.
We’ll be emaciated and thirsty, able only to lol, poke at emojis and forward badly researched polemics to our one-time friends. It’ll be like now, only instead of taking a sustenance break from scrolling your intelligent mobile device, you’ll scroll and scroll and scroll, eyes boggling, heart pounding, saliva bubbling at the corner of your gaping mouth, until you fall down, stone dead. At which point the computers will laugh in hollow metallic voices, slide from your corpse and crawl away on spindly robot legs in search of their next victim.
Don’t look at me like that, Hawking said so.
In light of this imminent doom I would like to do an abrupt U-turn on the advice I’ve been offering here for the past several years. Down your devices, close the computer and find love before it’s too late.
I’m not joking anymore.
Yes, I know I’ve been banging on for three and half years about how romance is over, love is dead, men are total pricks and marriage is just one big conformist scam designed to limit women’s expansive horizons. But what have you been listening to me for? I’ve been bitter, miserable, celibate, alcoholic and, intermittently, mentally unwell. Just because I’m able to write an amusing sentence, reporting my personal failures and heartbreaks as though they were hilarious plot-points in a popular sitcom, that does not mean you should have paid my words any heed.
Don’t listen to me, babes, I’ve been talking shit.
It’s only fun to be single about twice a week. The rest of the time, it’s a pain in the arse – due to having to sleep with strangers you met in a bar – and about a million times more expensive than the alternative – due to having to pay for everything yourself.
I’m sorry darlings. It’s not that I didn’t mean any of what I wrote. (That stuff about Hot Baths, for example, I stand completely by). But I was drunk, I was recovering from a traumatic break-up, I was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend and much of what I said was in defence of my fragile, vaporous ego. I felt unlovable, unattractive and haunted by the terrible mistakes I made in my formative years, when my breasts were pert and my eyes were sparkling and I could make boys fall in love with me with minimal effort. I was afraid those days were over. I labelled it ‘humour’ so you wouldn’t take me seriously, but I fear now that some of you, feeling as sad and alone as I did, took my words for comfort and, in the process, I might have accidentally pulled you down to my level. Oops.
What you really want darlings, is what I want. The company of people who are kind honest and have a banging sense of humour. You want someone who’ll be nice to you when you’re on your period and there’s a massive spot protruding from your chin. Someone you can fold yourself into when the world seems hostile and indifferent. What you really want is a partner who’ll make your tummy flip over, consent to sex every now and then and let you win at scrabble because they know you’re a terrible loser and that you’ll show your gratitude later, in unexpected ways that won’t involve money. You aren’t going to get this from an iPhone or a Samsung Galaxy or a Dell PC, if anyone still uses them. Trying will do none of us any favours. Step away from the Internet, please. Pick up a book, or some playing cards, and remember what life was like before this bullshit. (I know, it was empty, you were poor and there were long periods of tedium. But still, I bet you had sex more often). The techies want us dead and the more you fuck about on here, the quicker they’ll figure out how best to do it.
Don’t look at me like that, I’ve not smoked crack in ages.
*Picture is “3d Smart Phone Mascot Is Holding An Axe. 3d Mobile Phone Character” by Boians Cho Joo Young at freedigitalphotos.net